Page 82 of To Treasure an Heiress
She lifted her brows. “Because I fell in love with you so very quickly? Don’t be silly. If anyone drank a love potion, it was you. You’re the one who’s been tripping all over himself since we met.”
She had a point. And that cheered him right up, since he could be fairly certain no one had slipped anything into his tea that day she came home. The only one he’d expect it of was Mamm-wynn, and she’d been unconscious at the time. “Very true. No potions even then. Which leaves a simple miracle. That you, Beautiful Bold Beth the Best, care for me, the absent-a-good-adjective SheriDoom.”
With a happy little sigh that made him smile, she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. “How could I do anything but?”
She’d done a fine job of it those first few weeks. But he decided not to remind her of that again just now. Better by far just to hold her close. And marvel.
23
It had seemed like a brilliant idea that morning as she sipped a solitary cup of tea and nibbled on a piece of toast. It seemed a bit less of one now as she stood before the cottage door.
Beth indulged in a moment of utter nerves, smoothing a hand down the skirt of her dress and trying to imagine exactly how unruly her hair was under the brim of her hat. She had to look a fright. Such was the way of things after the sail from Tresco to St. Mary’s. Why hadn’t she thought of that before she decided she’d just remove the question from Sheridan and come to get his sisters herself?
Because, she had to admit, all she’d been concerned with was his quite obvious hesitation when she’d offered. A hesitation that had done the same thing to her that disapproval had always done at finishing school—made her straighten her spine, lift her chin, and determine to show the whole world what she was made of. Sisters of the Marquess of Sheridan included.
Only now did she pause to remember that she was made of island gumption rather than London breeding, of last Season’s fashions, and of windblown ease. There was no way these ladies were going to be impressed with her. Which Sheridan clearly knew, hence why he’d said last night that Mabena was probably the best choice of ferry operator.
Oh, why had she gone this morning to tell Mabena to stay at home and leave this trip to her? Her cousin had shot her a dubious look even as she relented—because Mabena was a wise girl, and a caring one, and clearly she’d known this was a bad idea too.
But it was done now. She couldn’t exactly come all this way andnotannounce herself and take them home.
Dear Lord ...She didn’t know quite what to pray, so she breathed out a long sigh and gave herself another moment to consider it.You know better than I do what’s at stake here. I want them to like me—if not this very moment, then soon. I want them to accept me. I want them to realize that I’ll do whatever it takes to make them proud and do honor to the Sheridan name. To see that I would do anything, absolutely anything for him. He’s so amazing, Father, all I ever wanted and yet nothing I thought I wanted. He’s...
She shook herself. If anyone knew Sheridan’s virtues and endearing features, it was God. He didn’t need her to enumerate them for Him. Though standing here listing each thing she’d come to love about him would be far more fun than knocking on the door.
“Chin up, Beth,” she muttered to herself. “Shoulders back. Smile with grace. You can do this.”
She lifted her hand to knock. And then jumped back with a gasp when it opened before her knuckles could connect with wood and a somewhat familiar male back greeted her vision. “Mr. Pepper?”
A grunt was her answer as her former landlord backed out of the door, followed by a trunk that must be quite heavy, given the continued grunting and the shuffling of his feet. And then his son-in-law emerged, arms around the trunk’s other end and strain upon his face. “What’s he got in here, anyhow? Rocks?”
From somewhere inside the cottage, a cultured female voice answered, “Don’t be silly. We didn’t touch his rock collection. It’s merely cannonballs you’re feeling.”
Mr. Pepper grunted. And then cast a glance Beth’s way. “Ah. TheNaiad, then?”
For a split second, Beth could only gape. Sheridan hadn’t mentionedthat it wasn’t just his sisters who were coming. What had he done, instructed them to bring his entire collection of Rupert artifacts?
As if she needed to ask.Of coursehe had instructed them to bring his entire collection of Rupert artifacts. She nodded. “That’s right. Are you quite all right to be carrying that, Mr. Pepper? Your back—”
“Is fine enough for a moment. We’ve a cart there behind you.”
So they did. She hadn’t even noticed the handcart as she’d walked toward the cottage that had briefly been her own, so distracted had she been with worry over whether the Howe sisters would dismiss her in a single glance.
Still. Mr. Pepper wasn’t as young as he used to be. “Can I help you in any way? Steady the cart, perhaps?”
Kindness peeked through the strain in his eyes. “Good of you, Miss Elizabeth. But nay. Don’t want to go soiling that pretty frock of yours.”
A woman filled the doorway the moment Mr. Pepper’s son-in-law left it, though she was clearly not a Howe. She wore the high-necked grey dress, prim and plain, that declared her a lady’s maid. And her eyes looked absolutely exhausted as they turned to Beth. “Who might you be, if you’ll pardon my asking?”
It took Beth a moment to place the accent. Yorkshire, perhaps? Somewhere to the north. They didn’t hear too many of those down here at the southernmost edge of England. She found it far easier to smile at the maid than she’d anticipating doing for the ladies and dipped a quick curtsy. “Miss Elizabeth Tremayne. The marquess has been staying with my family—I’ve come to bring his sisters to Tresco.”
“Brilliant. They’ve been champing at the bit.” Rather than either invite Beth in or close her out, the woman stepped aside, opening the door wide. “Miss Tremayne has arrived to take you to Tresco, my ladies.”
In her mind, she’d come up with what she deemed a reasonable image of Sheridan’s sisters. She knew the younger was in her late thirties, the elder having just turned forty. She knew they were both unmarried, and that they’d raised Sheridan themselves after theirparents died when he was four. She knew that they frequently traveled with him on his expeditions. And so it had seemed likely that they’d look a bit like him but be showing their age. That they’d emerge from her holiday cottage—or rather, Libby’s holiday cottage, now—dressed in field-worthy clothing. Perhaps they’d be a bit plump. Or too wiry. Matronly.
Her expectations, however, couldn’t have been more wrong. The only thing she’d gotten even close to right was that they looked a bit like him.
The two women who stepped into the lane could have been stepping out of the pages ofVogue. They were ... well, they were stunning, both of them. Had she not known their ages, she would have thought them thirty at the most. Beautiful faces, largely untouched by lines. But saturated with elegance. Their dresses were the absolute pinnacle of fashion—one was a soft aqua shade with the most exquisite embroidery Beth had ever seen, the other a bold red-and-white stripe that drew the eye directly to the lady’s enviable figure. They both had glossy hair in shades close to Sheridan’s, though it was a shade darker on the taller of the two, the one in aqua. She couldn’t tell who was the elder.
