9

Rain—or its weak, misty sister—had plagued them again for days, and while Mabena might have braved it on her own, she wasn’t about to suggest that Lady Elizabeth Sinclair simply don a mackintosh and wellies and they go to Tresco as planned. Because Libby would do it in a heartbeat, and then Mabena would be parrying curious glances and outright questions all day as to why an earl’s sister was prancing about in the rain.

It had taken her until church on Sunday for her to put aside her irritation over that too-chatty Charlotte Wight. She needed nothing to put her in another mood. Not when Libby, by her very desire to be forgiven for something she didn’t even do, made her feel so very prickly in all the wrong ways.

And the thought of people smiling and laughing over her employer being so different from what they expected just soured her mood all over again. So they stayed on St. Mary’s through the rainy days, talking to ferry captains and bakers and grocers and anyone else Beth was likely to have spoken to while she was here.

Not that any of them offered the slightest insight as to where she could have gone when she piled her boat full of stuff and sailed out of Hugh Town’s quay. Like Mrs. Pepper, they’d all just assumed she’d gone home, and no one had seen her or her boat since. But they did confirm that she’d stockpiled enough food and whatnot to see her through weeks, when one combined her purchases from different stores. Wherever she was, she was well enough fed, and the weather had been mild.

When Tuesday dawned bright and promising, it took only one brow-raised half-smile from Libby to have Mabena sighing out her agreement over breakfast. “Yes, all right. Today we’ll go.”

Libby’s excited squeal made her feel more like a heel than ever. A lady shouldn’t be so blasted easy to please. Mabena almost wished, as she scrubbed their porridge bowls clean, that Libby were more like her mother—or even the ghastly Edith. At least then the Scillonians would exchange five words with her and have no question at all as to why Mabena kept her dress buttoned up to the chin and hadn’t come home once in two years.

“Are you trying to scrub the enamel off that bowl, Mabena?”

The soft tease tried its best to pull a smile onto her lips. But the sour won. Mam would accuse her of having put vinegar in her tea instead of sugar. “Yes, that’s it. Blighted enamel.” She set the bowl atop its mate with too loud a clatter. And glanced up.

Mistake, that. It showed her Libby’s pinched brows, and the uncertain curve of her lips. “Have I . . . ? Or perhaps you’re embarrassed to be seen with me on Tresco? By your family?”

The sigh that heaved its way up took all the fight out of her. “Don’t be silly, Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps it’s the other way round.”

It wasn’t, exactly. A lady couldn’t possibly expect her maid to come from anything grand. There was no reason to be embarrassed by her family. If anything, Libby would find the Moon home to be more than she likely expected.

But every time Mabena saw it, she still heard those vile words in her ears. “You aren’t enough, Benna. Your father’s a blighted shipwright, not a gentleman or an academic. You—you’re more suited to be a maid to the sort of woman I need than a lady yourself.”

Blast that blighted Cador Wearne. She ought to have kicked him from the bluff then and there, straight into the Atlantic he was so set on crossing. With the rage he’d kindled in her chest, she probably could have kicked him all the way to those coveted academic circles of his precious London.

“Mabena?”

And now she was gripping those bowls like she’d as soon grind them into dust with her bare hands as put them away. She slid them into their place in the cupboard and forced a smile. “Sorry, my lady. Bitter memories keep finding me. This is why I haven’t come back till now, I suppose.”

And she wouldn’t have come now if Beth Tremayne had the good sense to mind herself and not go disappearing. Mabena wasn’t ready to face all this. Not by half. And now she was casting blame on her oldest, dearest friend.

She dragged a long breath into her lungs. “Let’s bring a change of clothes. If I know you at all, one day in the Gardens won’t be enough. You’ll want to go back tomorrow, so we’d better just plan to stay overnight.”

Libby looked ready to skip to her room. Such a simple thing really shouldn’t bring an earl’s sister this kind of joy. “Perfect. Where shall we stay? With your family? Or is there a hotel or inn or something?”

“My mam would be honored to have you—and may disown me if I tried to stay anywhere else.”

“Meow.”

Mabena scowled down at the striped nuisance winding about Libby’s legs. She’d tried to forbid the cat from coming inside, but it had “slipped in” the other day when Libby held the door open—deliberately too long, if one were to ask Mabena—and had hidden under the lady’s bed until Mabena had given up trying to force it out.

She’d capitulated. More because of the happy smile on Libby’s face than because, really, it wasn’t her decision. But nothing said she had to be gracious about it. “And what are you going to do with the cat while we’re gone?”

“Leave him outside with food enough to see him through.” Libby bent down and lifted the mite into her arms, laughing when the tabby tried to crawl onto her shoulder like a blasted parrot.

“You oughtn’t to let him do that. He’s trying to assert dominance over you.”

Libby lifted her brows, more curiosity than challenge in her expression. “Really? How do you know?”

Mabena scowled. “It’s what my mother always said. I don’t know. Seems logical, doesn’t it?”

Yet there the creature was, all but wrapped around Libby’s neck as she shrugged. “I rather thought it was just their instinct to find the highest place to perch. But then, cats aren’t my specialty. I’ll have to do some reading about it.”

And in the meantime, she apparently meant to wear the thing like a scarf. Mabena rolled her eyes and strode toward the bedrooms. “I’ll pack for us. You try to convince the little monster to go back outside.” Mabena had been trying for days, but the beastie wouldn’t cross that threshold again for anything, even the promise of more bacon. “And name it, will you, if you mean to keep it?”

Libby grinned, as if the request were a sign that Mabena was softening toward it. Which she wasn’t. She just knew that her companion would get cross eventually if she kept calling it “the little monster.” And much as a cross Libby sounded amusing in theory, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be half so fun in practice. One of them needed to be all sunshine, and it certainly wasn’t Mabena these days.

“I’m fairly certain it’s a tom, though it is rather difficult to tell on so small a kitten.”

“If you say so, my lady. I haven’t a clue.”

“In which case, I was thinking Darwin.”

Mabena paused. “Not after Charles Darwin.”

“Well, he was one of the greatest naturalists of the modern era.”

“There’s controversy around nearly all his theories.” Not that she’d known much about his theories until she started serving Libby, aside from the fact that most people on the isles considered them heretical.

“He was awarded the most prestigious scientific award in all of Britain! The Copley Medal isn’t handed out to just anyone.”

“Your mother would be appalled and think you were railing against the church.”

There, a crack in Libby’s smile. Though it brought Mabena no pleasure to widen it, not really. “Plenty of clergy thought his theories noble and not at all in opposition to biblical teachings.”

“And others—the voices that won the day—thought they demanded a polarization of science and theology.” Mabena shook her head. “You’ll find the people here far more given to theology than science, my lady. Some may find it offensive if you name it Darwin is all.”

Libby’s sigh made her wish it were otherwise. “Very well. Darling, then. That’s what I’ve actually been calling you, haven’t I?” She rubbed a finger under its chin. “I was considering Darwin largely because it sounded similar. But we’ll just stick with my original thought.”

A tomcat named Darling. Though she shook her head, Mabena’s lips finally twitched up into a semblance of a genuine smile. “Well, convince Darling to go outside. I’ll have everything ready in ten minutes, and we can be off.”

It was bound to be a trying two days. But they might as well get them started so they could get them over with.

Libby was far from the only tourist in the Abbey Gardens on such a gorgeous sunny day, which was a bit of a shame. She stepped from the Garden Lodge, past the artfully arranged figureheads of ships long since sunk or retired, and wished she had the whole place to herself so she could explore every bloom and leaf. The Lodge delivered visitors onto what they called “the Avenue,” a winding path that led through the Gardens. She took the first turn it offered, into an area marked as “the Wilderness.” Ferns abounded—identifiable as such, but far different from the varieties to which she was accustomed. She’d seen images of a few, but to behold them with her own eyes . . . Her breath caught with glee.

Behind her, Mabena chuckled. “You’re going to be here all day, aren’t you?”

“Come and find me in a week. Maybe a month.” She intended to start right here by the door and move as slowly as necessary to take in absolutely everything.

“And this is why we came here even before going to my parents’.” At least Mabena finally sounded amused again, instead of angry. Libby’s stomach had been in knots for days, the way she had refused to come out of the mood Lottie had put her in. “Have fun. I’ll take our things to their house and find you later. Shall I arrange for luncheon and tea somewhere, or just bring you a sandwich?”

“Sandwich. Please.” Positioning herself as out of the way on the path as possible, Libby dropped to a seat on the ground, crossed her legs under her skirt, and opened her notebook. The Abbey Gardens had provided her with a little booklet that named many of the blooms, and between that and the gardener, she meant to put together an exhaustive catalogue. Though really, two days wouldn’t be enough for such an undertaking, not even close. She’d have to start working on Mabena now to come here with her at least one day a week this summer. Or let her come on her own. There were tourists aplenty on the boats between islands. Surely that would be acceptable if Mabena didn’t want to join her.

According to the booklet, the gardener counted the blooms every January, and this year there had been two hundred and eleven varieties, nearly all of them exotic and to be found nowhere else in England—other than when the seeds had been carried to the other islands in the chain. The Gardens were arranged like the empire itself, with species from the different colonies and outposts grouped together. Here, at the door, she was in Australia. As fine a place as any to begin.

She started with a sketch of the Gardens themselves from this vantage point. She always liked to get the wide view before she switched to the narrow. When she was back in her cottage, she would put color to it, but for now, black strokes on clean white paper would suffice.

“An artist, are you?”

She was nearly finished with this first sketch and ready to flip the page when the deep voice drew her gaze up. She smiled when she saw the older gentleman crouching down beside her. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was the gardener, though she’d caught only a glimpse of him inside, where he’d promised to chat with each guest and answer any of their questions. It would hardly be fair to dominate his attention, but she knew well she’d have questions enough to keep him busy all day.

She flipped to one of the sketches she’d done the other day of the seabirds, complete with scientific names and her observations. “A naturalist. The sketches are just part of my observation and discovery.” That was always the first step to learning, after all—observation.

The gardener nodded, appreciation in his eyes rather than condescension, which was the usual response she got from people. Especially men.

“Well done, indeed. You’ll find a rich selection here in our Gardens, to be sure. Mr. Menna,” he said then, a palm extended. “The gardener.”

She probably ought to use her full name with title, but it seemed too pretentious for the setting. “Libby Sinclair. How do you do?” She put her fingers into his palm, liking him even more when he bowed over them even without knowing she was a titled lady.

“Wonderfully, miss. Thank you. Have you any questions yet? I do realize you’ve barely begun your exploration, but I’m happy to answer any inquiries.”

No fewer than a dozen rioted for a place on her tongue, which made her laugh. “I could keep you occupied all day, sir. Here’s the most important though—do you need an apprentice?”

He laughed, though there was nothing mocking about it. Just actual delight. “I’ve a bit of one already in the vicar. But I do enjoy talking about my gardens with avid pupils. You are certainly welcome here any time, Miss Sinclair, and I’d be most happy to share any knowledge with you that I have and you desire.”

The vicar—he must mean Mr. Tremayne. He was the only vicar on Tresco, so far as Libby knew. And it made sense that he and Mr. Menna would be not only acquainted but friendly. That certainly explained how he’d known so much about botany when he led her through her own gardens with such expert ease.

Though she wanted to glance around to see if perhaps he were here now, she instead kept her focus on Mr. Menna. Conversing with him was ever so much easier than chatting with the holiday-goers on St. Mary’s. “That’s very kind of you, sir, and I’ll no doubt take you up on your offer. Though you ought to attend the other visitors first. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

He chuckled and leaned a little closer, dark eyes sparkling. “To be perfectly honest,” he said in a whisper, “I’d prefer to spend a day with someone genuinely interested than with someone who only came because they were told they must. But we’ll let that be our secret. I try to think of it as a challenge to interest those casual visitors and help them see the splendor all about them.”

“What a lovely perspective.” It certainly was healthier than growing frustrated when people didn’t seem to care about the same things you did. Which was how she ended every single conversation with Edith. “I pray you open someone’s eyes today, Mr. Menna.”

“And I pray you enjoy every minute you spend here, Miss Sinclair. Don’t hesitate to find me if you have a pressing question. Otherwise I’ll certainly find you in a bit.”

She smiled him on his way and turned to a fresh sheet of paper. Her first individual subject would be the Alsophila australis—a fern, so said its leaf, but far larger than the sort she saw at home. The stalk was as thick as the trunk of a sapling, and it was at least three feet tall.

It was like being in another world altogether. One she could happily get lost in. Where, she had to wonder, had Oliver Tremayne last been in these gardens? If Mr. Menna called him an apprentice of sorts, then he must spend a lot of time here. Had he ever knelt right here, where she sat now? Had he helped to plant any of these specimens in the ground or arranged the stones that guarded them?

And why did the thought of that make her fingers tingle around her pencil? She took a deep breath and focused on her work. First this fern, and then the ones neighboring it. As the morning went on, she had to scoot to a new position several times as the sun arched over her, warming her shoulders.

“There you are, dearest.”

She may have ignored the unfamiliar voice if its owner hadn’t stopped directly at her side, casting a shadow over her page. Libby looked up, the crick in her neck telling her as surely as the angle of the sun that she’d been here for hours already. Her prepared smile went genuine when she beheld the little sprite of a woman grinning down at her, as ancient as the stones all over the islands, from the look of her.

She didn’t know why the woman spoke as if she’d been searching for her, but it was hard not to enjoy being found by such a face. “Good morning, ma’am.” Had Mr. Menna sent the lady to find her? Perhaps it was his mother, and she’d offered to check on the odd girl who was sitting on the pathway, drawing. That must be it.

The lady held out a hand. “Come, dearover. I’ve been wanting to walk with you.”

“Oh.” Odd, but . . . “All right.” She scampered to her feet, tucking the pencil into her notebook and the notebook into its usual place under her arm. She then put her hand into the old lady’s, marveling at how soft her skin was, like the most precious paper. “Where shall we walk, ma’am?”

The lady’s laugh was how Libby imagined a fairy’s, if she ever bothered to think about how a fairy might laugh. Which she hadn’t until now. “How many times must I tell you? You needn’t call me ma’am. Just call me Mamm-wynn, dearest, like the others do. Heaven knows I’ve earned the badge, at my age.”

She knew from Mabena that it was simply the Cornish word for grandmother. And she had no real reason not to call the woman by such a title, if it was what she preferred. Perhaps she considered herself the grandmother to everyone on the islands. But that “how many times” gave her pause for a moment. Had she confused Libby with someone else? If so, mightn’t that someone else be upset if they found their grandmother hand in hand with a complete stranger?

Well, she’d try to catch Mr. Menna’s attention as they walked. If the woman had wandered away from a group of tourists or her family home, he would surely know it and help her return the delightful figure to her rightful place. She gave the delicate hand an equally delicate squeeze. “Of course, Mamm-wynn.”

“That’s a good girl.” Mamm-wynn patted her arm, her smile still as bright as the sun. And her eyes looked perfectly clear, not clouded with confusion. But then, what did Libby know of such things? Papa’s parents had died when she was too young to remember them, and Mama’s she never saw more than once a year, living on the other side of the country as they did.

“So, tell me, dear—what do you think of our islands, now that you’ve been here awhile?”

Did a week count as awhile? She tipped her face up to take in the blue sky, watched a gull circle, and then smiled as she took in the expanse of the garden again. “I think . . . I think I could spend the rest of my life here and never miss the mainland for a moment.”

Only when she spoke the words did she realize how true they were. Perhaps it was a strange sentiment, given how much of the week had been spent indoors hiding from the rain. But every time she’d stepped outside, be it to the beach or into charming little Hugh Town, or onto the boat that had ferried them from St. Mary’s to Tresco this morning, that same sense of contentment had overtaken her.

This place was more than the mere facts she’d learned about it before coming. It wasn’t just an archipelago situated twenty-five miles off the coast of Cornwall. It wasn’t just the host to exotic species imported from around the empire. It wasn’t just six square miles of flower farms and sheep pastures and beaches.

It was something more. Something that made her wonder if she’d find here what eluded her in London, and even at Telford Hall.

Mamm-wynn hummed her approval of the answer. “That is just the way I felt when I first came here.”

Libby looked down at the pixie of a woman. “You weren’t raised here?”

“Oh no.” The lady laughed again. “I was born and raised in Essex. It was my husband I took a fancy to first, when he was in London for the Season. That was . . . my, more years ago than I care to count. More than seventy-five! I was seventeen that spring, and he was the handsomest thing, with those snapping eyes as dark as midnight.”

Her dreamy sigh made a grin tickle Libby’s lips. She’d never been much for romantic fancies herself, but she couldn’t deny the charm of hearing a woman in her nineties still sigh so over her husband. “And so you married him and he brought you here?”

“Quite so. I was uncertain at first, I admit it, when he said he meant for us to stay here. I thought it impossible that I could survive on such a small island.” Another magical laugh, and Mamm-wynn tugged her toward a branch in the path that led away from the Australian plants. “But then we got here, and I stood on the hill overlooking Bryher and the sea. And I knew.” She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. “You know the value of names, don’t you, dearest?”

“Hm?” The abrupt shift made her blink. “I . . . names?” Was this a rebuke for not giving Mr. Menna her full name, complete with honorary title? Had she somehow found her out?

But Mamm-wynn indicated her notebook. “You’ve written down the Latin names, haven’t you?”

“Oh! Yes. Precise nomenclature is how we can identify and separate one species from another. When something is given a unique name, it’s . . . well, it’s like a tip of the hat, in a way, isn’t it? It’s us acknowledging that it is unlike anything else previously named. It is something unique.”

Had she delivered that little speech to her own grandmother, she’d have gotten an owlish blink and then a stiff reminder that such talk wasn’t likely to win a young lady a husband.

Mamm-wynn, however, nodded, sending a wisp of silver hair dancing on the breeze. “Exactly so. And it’s the same with people. Names . . . they matter to us. They shape our souls in ways I’ve never fully understood. But have you pondered the power of them? That the angels instructed parents in what to name the children of promise—John the Baptizer and Jesus, just to name the obvious two. The Lord renamed Abram. Sarai. Jacob. Simon Peter. Saul of Tarsus. Why?”

Libby let her gaze wander the path Mamm-wynn had put them on. “The Long Walk,” Mr. Menna had called it in his introductory speech inside the Lodge that morning. Dozens of plants vied for her admiration—palms, aloes, gum trees, cacti, dracœnas. And she’d always much preferred thinking about them than theology.

But no one had ever put a biblical question to her in such a way. She let it roll about in her mind as they walked at a pace faster than she’d have expected Mamm-wynn to be comfortable with. “I suppose . . . I suppose because the Lord recognized an evolution in them.” She darted a glance at her companion to see if she’d object to the choice of word like Mama would have. But her wrinkled face remained happy, so she pressed on. “They began as one creature—Abram or Sarai or Jacob or Simon or Saul. But through the events of their life, they became something else altogether. Abraham, Sarah, Israel, Peter, Paul.”

Mamm-wynn nodded. “And that evolution couldn’t go unnamed. Because the naming itself is crucial. Part of the change, don’t you think?”

“Part of the acknowledgment of it, at the least.”

“With a plant, to be sure. But people have an awareness that plants don’t—they need to know their name.” The lady splayed a hand over her heart and looked out along the Long Walk as if it took her through the years and not just the Gardens. “I needed to know mine. And I didn’t, not fully, until I married my Edgar and came here, when I realized I hadn’t just taken on his name. I’d truly taken on my own for the first time. And I could hear it in the whisper of the sea breezes.”

She sent Libby another smile. “I always say that there are some born here. Some who visit. Some who leave. Others who stay. And it isn’t because of circumstances or opportunities. When we stay, it’s because the islands know our names, and they whisper them to us on the wind. But others—others keep their names locked away, held secret from the Scillies. And because they won’t let the islands know them, they can never really know the islands. They can never love them.”

As fanciful, certainly, as one might expect of a fairy. But a fairy who likened ideas to the Bible, so perhaps it wasn’t just fancy. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

Taking in another sweet-scented breath, Libby tilted her head. Listened to the wind whispering through branches. “Do they know my name, do you think?”

Another pat of a featherlight hand on her arm. “How could they not, when you show them that sweet heart of yours?”

The thought made her lips curve in a way she couldn’t ever recall them doing before, and she followed Mamm-wynn’s gentle guiding toward another offshoot of a path. Perhaps she was only spending a summer here, but all the same she relished the idea that she could belong. By virtue of simply knowing and being known. Of loving it.

If that were truly how one knew when one was home, then it was no wonder she’d never felt so secure in London, where she felt the need to guard her true self at every step, every word, every introduction. And even Telford Hall . . . she’d always known it wasn’t meant to be where she stayed forever. How could a daughter not know it, when from the time she was old enough to carry on a conversation, her elders spoke always of family alliances and good marriages and making a match that would benefit them all? They might as well have shouted, “Your role is to leave us as quickly as possible!”

How could one feel truly at home in a place always ready to foist one away?

“Here we are.” Mamm-wynn drew her to a halt in front of a weathered slab of granite with two holes in it, one directly above the other. They were near the walled edge of the garden now, it seemed. Just beyond it was a building—a church, from the look of it. Which meant St. Nicholas’s. Where Oliver Tremayne could be even now.

Libby focused again on the moss-kissed stone. “Where, exactly?” She’d seen similar stones around St. Mary’s, sort of. Granite ones, certainly, and roughly the same rectangular shape, though this was by far the largest she’d beheld. Those others had only one hole though. And while most were simply garden decorations at this point, a few still had cords tied to the holes, the other end of which extended to the roofs. Anchoring the thatch, Mabena had said, to keep it from blowing away in the first good storm.

Mamm-wynn giggled and gave her arm a playful nudge with her shoulder. “As if you don’t know.”

Had Mr. Menna mentioned the stone that morning? Libby tried to recall, but she hadn’t noted anything about a large slab of granite.

But the lady didn’t seem to notice her silence. She let loose a happy little sigh and leaned into Libby’s arm as if they were old friends. “I always loved hearing the tales of the Betrothal Stone. They’re probably more fiction than fact, but even so. I wove a few of my own for my children. And when my dear boy proposed to his darling right here, I think I was every bit as pleased by it as Theresa was. And now you have your own story to tell!”

Libby’s stomach flopped. Not exactly in the way it had when Mabena rebuked her and Lottie. But still, it wasn’t comfortable. Clearly this lovely lady thought her someone else. Which was not only ironic, given the talk of the importance of names, but also distressing. She needed to find out where Mamm-wynn belonged and return her. Because as delightful as their conversation had been, she hadn’t ever meant to have it with her.

That probably shouldn’t make disappointment sink so heavily into her bones. But it had been nice, if only for a quarter of an hour, to call her Grandmother and feel as though she belonged there by her side.

Her smile wobbled now when she put it on. “May I help you home, Mamm-wynn?”

As if the mere mention of it sapped her strength, the lady leaned more heavily upon her and nodded. “I think that would be wise. Mrs. Dawe will be cross with me for sneaking out again.” But she laughed. “I keep telling her that someone has to keep her on her toes.”

Hopefully whoever Mrs. Dawe was, she wouldn’t be cross with Libby for keeping her out instead of returning her the moment their paths crossed. But she hadn’t known the lady had been sneaking anywhere.

And even if she had, she wasn’t entirely certain she would have done anything differently. Even if the conversation had been intended for someone else, it had lit something in her.

“We had better take the shortcut.” Mamm-wynn indicated another path.

“All right.” Libby slid an arm around her companion’s slight waist as they walked, the better to support her, since it seemed her energy was flagging with each step. They slipped out a small door in the garden wall that clearly wasn’t used by many people, and Libby followed the subtle presses of the lady to know where to go from there.

They didn’t walk far before they’d entered the gate of a quaint stone house that she prayed was where the woman actually lived. It was bigger than its neighbors, set apart, with a beautiful vista stretching down to the sea. Nothing nearly so grand as Tresco Abbey, where the Lord Proprietor lived. But beautiful. She’d have liked to take a moment there at the gate simply to pause and admire it—the way it looked as though the stones had sprung from the ground itself and clambered atop one another, moss acting as mortar; the way the sun glinted off the windowpanes and made them wink a greeting; the explosion of color in the flowers growing along absolutely every line and boundary and wall.

If this was where Mamm-wynn’s Edgar had brought her when they wed, it was no wonder she had let the islands know her name. Who wouldn’t want to live here? Perhaps it was only a fraction of the size of Telford Hall, but it would be perfect for a family to grow in.

The door opened as they approached it, and a worried-looking woman of middling age bustled out. “There you are! And what will Master Oliver say when he learns you’ve sneaked out again, Mrs. Tremayne?”

Mrs. Tremayne? Master Oliver? Libby nearly stumbled on the perfectly smooth flagstones under her feet. Had this lovely woman—his grandmother, no doubt—mistaken her for Beth, as the strangers had?

But no. Beth wasn’t engaged or married either. She’d have no story of the Betrothal Stone to tell. Perhaps she’d mistaken her for a neighbor. A niece. Who was to say?

The worried woman—Mrs. Dawe, presumably—had reached their side and turned grateful eyes on Libby. “Thank you so much for seeing her home, miss.”

She didn’t have to force the smile. If this was what Mrs. Dawe looked like when cross, then she could only imagine her happy. “It was my pleasure, I assure you.”

Mrs. Tremayne linked her arm through Libby’s again. “We’ll have some tea now, I think. Are you hungry yet, dearover?”

“Oh, of course! Come in, please.” Mrs. Dawe—a housekeeper, perhaps?—waved a hand toward the still-open door. “A bit of refreshment is the least we can offer in thanks.”

“Oh.” She wanted to accept. Which might be the first time in her life she could say such a thing of an invitation from a stranger. “I’d love to, but Mabena Moon will be looking for me in the Gardens.”

Mrs. Dawe chuckled. “Not for a while, she won’t. Her mam roped her into helping her set up a new display in her shop, and they were nowhere near done when I walked by ten minutes ago. You’ve time to come in, and I’ll send Mr. Dawe round to let her know where you are. Lady Elizabeth, then, is it?”

She liked the way Mrs. Dawe said it—as if it were simply a matter of fact, stated for clarity, not something to fuss over like Mrs. Pepper had done. She didn’t at all mind nodding her agreement. “That’s right.”

“Lovely. You and Mrs. Tremayne can rest in the drawing room while I put the pot on and get lunch together. Master Oliver ought to be home soon too.”

She wasn’t sure what Mrs. Tremayne’s wink was supposed to mean, but it made Libby’s cheeks feel warm again. But then, she’d forgotten to pay attention to whether her hat was shielding her face from the sun, so it was possible she’d just been sunburned.

No one seemed to mind that Libby didn’t say anything. She let the lady of the house lead her into the pretty little drawing room and didn’t even mourn the time she wasn’t spending in the Gardens.

The plants would still be there in an hour. For now, she would simply enjoy the time with the Botanist’s grandmother.