21
Libby’s stomach knotted, her hands clenched, and she fought down the unreasonable urge to spin on her heel and run all the way back to the quay. “Bram! What are you doing here?”
Mabena clicked the door shut behind them—effectively cutting off her escape.
Her brother lifted one powerful eyebrow and kept right on glaring at her. “What am I doing here? I’d think that’s fairly obvious.”
She wanted to be furious, to channel all the churning emotions into some strong response, like Mabena would have made. Instead, all she could think was that she’d never disobeyed her brother before coming here. Never disobeyed their father before him. Not willfully. And this was why. That look.
Even so. If she obeyed him now, the other man sitting in her sweet little kitchen would be her whole future. She darted one quick glance at Lord Sheridan to remind herself of why that would never do. And lifted her chin. “I’m not going back. I’ve let the cottage for the summer, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
“Meow!” A tiny bundle of stripes came tearing from her bedroom upon hearing her voice and probably would have climbed directly up her skirt if she hadn’t bent down to scoop him up. Darling curled into his favorite spot under her chin, butting his head against her and purring loudly. At least someone knew how to properly greet her after an absence.
Bram had opened his mouth, no doubt to issue some command she’d have to ignore despite the churning of her stomach, but he huffed out an incredulous breath instead. “Has that thing been here the whole time?”
“That thing?” She stroked a hand over the kitten’s vibrating back, lest he be insulted. “His name is Darling.”
Bram sent his eyes to the ceiling, looking fully exasperated. “Of course it is.”
“And what exactly do you mean by ‘the whole time’?” There, finally, the kitten’s purring was infusing her with a bit of confidence. “How long have you been here brooding and invading my privacy? And how did you get in?”
“Please.” He nodded toward the closed door, which made the sun streaming in the windows glint off his honeyed blond hair. “Mother provided me with your landlady’s information when she gave me your address. And given that this so-called privacy was purchased with my money, though without my knowledge, I don’t think you get to complain about . . .” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes at something behind her.
No. Someone. “Who is—wait. Moon?”
She’d forgotten how different her friend looked—the change had been so incremental. And so complete for weeks now. But her new appearance would be a shock to Bram, who’d never seen her in anything but her high-necked, prim-and-proper dresses, her hair neat and severe. Today, the injury had inspired her to keep her hair altogether down, and the wind on the trip had blown it into an absolute fury of curls. She really didn’t bear much of a resemblance to the Moon who’d served at Telford Hall, so Libby could hardly blame him for the momentary confusion.
Mabena sighed. “Good day, my lord. Lord Sheridan.” Her headache was audible in her voice. “I think I’d better put the kettle on.”
Never one to let confusion reign for long, Bram renewed his glare. “Don’t bother. We won’t be here long enough to need it.”
Libby wasn’t optimistic enough to think he meant he would leave and leave her there.
Mabena ignored him, giving the table a wide berth on her way to the stove. “None for you, then. Very well. Lord Sheridan? Tea?”
“Yes, I—”
“Sher!”
Sheridan sighed but deflected her brother’s scowl with a wave of the hand. “That cup at the pub was terrible. Have a little—well, a little pity, Telford. A man can’t be expected to go a whole day without a decent cup.”
Even hearing him speak made Libby’s shoulders go tight.
Bram relented. Though his relenting looked suspiciously like anger. “I cannot believe Mother allowed this. No, that she enabled it. Sending her daughter off alone with no one but a lady’s maid to chaperone her. And you!” He surged to his feet, no doubt so that he could tower over Libby. Yet his voice was surprisingly quiet. “This isn’t like you, Lib. Why would you do such a thing?”
“What choice did you leave me?” She dropped her own volume to a whisper, though there was no hope the others wouldn’t hear it in the confined space. “You weren’t listening to a word I said! Had I stayed, you’d have bullied me into an engagement with him.” She gestured with her non-Darling-supporting hand toward Sheridan, then felt her cheeks go hot. “No offense intended, my lord.”
His green eyes sparked, though it looked strangely more like amusement than anything. “No, no. Of course not. I took it for a compliment.”
Mabena, helpful creature that she was, snorted a laugh from the stove.
Bram growled. “You weren’t exactly listening yourself. But I’ve never known you to be so—so selfish and underhanded.”
The words bit, as he’d no doubt meant them to. She stumbled back a step. “I am not. Self-preservation isn’t the same as selfishness.” Was it? It couldn’t be. “And there was nothing underhanded about it. Mama knew exactly—”
“And yet I was let to think you’d gone with her to Edith’s! I spent the last month pitying you for what you must be suffering in her company, while all this time you were here. Which I had to learn from Lord Scofield, of all people, because my own mother and sister didn’t see fit to inform me!” He’d tried to pace, but the tight quarters had only allowed him to take a few steps and then pivot.
She stroked a hand down Darling’s back again for comfort. “Did you see Mama or just write to her? How is she?”
As if he’d be so easily redirected. “I spent a lovely two days there, convincing her to hand over the particulars so I wouldn’t be obliged to knock on every single door on St. Mary’s. Which I’d have done.” He folded his arms again. “Our sister delivered her husband another boy, by the way. Not that you’ve asked, despite the fact that Mother hadn’t let you know yet.”
How could she have known to ask? She’d thought it would be another week or so. Still. The queasiness nearly upended her. “I’ll send my congratulations straightaway. Edith is well?”
“Is she ever anything but?”
Mabena provided a bit of helpful clatter from the stove. “Strong or weak, Lord Sheridan?”
“Oh.” Sheridan didn’t so much as flick a glance toward Mabena. “Strong, I’d say.”
“You can give her your congratulations in person. When I deliver you directly to her door.” Bram’s scowl dared her to argue.
She’d never taken him up on his dares. Not before. But this time, he was in for a surprise. “I’m not leaving. I can’t.”
He waved that away. “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Pepper. Given that I wasn’t interested in a refund, she doesn’t really care if you vacate the place.”
“That isn’t why I can’t.” How to explain it to him though? In a way he’d understand and, dare she hope it, approve?
Before she could think of such magical words, a light tap sounded on the door. A familiar tap. The one that was immediately followed by the door simply swinging open and Oliver stepping inside. His gaze was on whatever was in his hands, and he entered as he said, “Benna, I picked you up some of the aspirin the doctor prescribed, and—oh.” Here he finally glanced up, or perhaps just sensed too many people in the room. His spine went rigid, his shoulders snapped back, and his chin came up. Then dipped again. “Lord Telford. How do you do?”
Her stomach would never feel right again. Libby pressed her cheek to Darling’s side, willing his purring confidence to penetrate a little deeper. “Bram, you remember Mr. Oliver Tremayne of Truro Hall.”
Her brother’s glower intensified tenfold. “No.” Which was a blatant lie—he never forgot a face, nor the name it paired with.
“Sure you do,” Sheridan put in happily from the table, making her like him for calling Bram out. A little. “He came—when was it? To Telford. During the funeral, that was it, but not for you. For . . .” Scrunching his face into a ridiculous parody of concentration, he tapped a finger to the table. “To check on someone. A maid or some such. Remember? We were in your study, situating your books when he was introduced. And you said to me, ‘Where the devil is Truro—’”
“Thank you, Sheridan.” Bram looked like he’d enjoy socking his friend in the nose for his assistance.
Oliver cleared his throat. “To check on Miss Moon.” He nodded toward Mabena. “My cousin.”
Sheridan still wore that idiotic look of contemplation. “No, that wasn’t it.”
Mabena snorted another laugh.
It didn’t seem to bother him any. “By which I mean, it’s not what you said. At the time, that is. Aren’t you a vicar? You went to Oxford with my cousin.”
Ever calm, Oliver nodded. “I believe I said she was a parishioner, at the time. Also true, and I didn’t want it to appear that her family was interfering, not trusting her in her independence.”
Maybe he intended it to be a jab at Bram’s presence. She couldn’t be entirely certain, though she rather hoped it was.
And her brother clearly felt it as such, given the way his posture stiffened still more.
Another shadow filled the doorway, this one the frowning, hulking form of Casek Wearne. “I thought we were meeting at the boat, Tremayne. Why are you . . . ?” He trailed off as he stepped inside. And his frown rivaled Bram’s. “Who are you blokes? Everything all right, Benna? My lady?”
Mabena pressed her lips together over what Libby suspected was another laugh. Or at least a grin. She tipped the teapot over a cup and handed it to Sheridan. “Everything’s fine, dearovim.”
“I beg to differ.” Bram looked as though steam might spill out of his ears to match the kettle at any moment. “I don’t care for the fact that strange men just waltz into my sister’s holiday cottage without so much as a by-your-leave.”
Casek didn’t shift at all upon realizing Bram was a lord, not just a bloke. He looked, in fact, utterly unimpressed. “You’re the lady’s brother?” She could have hugged him for his sneer. “You don’t seem much like her.”
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“That she never lords over anyone. Fit right in, did our lady. You seem more cut from Tremayne cloth.”
Insulting both him and Oliver in one fell stroke. Libby didn’t know whether to be impressed or panicked.
Her brother didn’t seem too conflicted. Just annoyed. “Hardly.”
“Oh, look, her door’s open!” A new voice drifted in from outside and made her decide on panicked. Not Lottie too. She didn’t need anyone else crowding in here, and—drat it all, Charlotte Wight never did know when not to stick her nose in. She burst through the open door, the dual shadows of the viscount and Mr. Bryant behind her. “Libby, you’re back! I was hoping you would be soon. I have the absolute best news—Emily is returning! Only there are no cottages left to let, so I . . .”
Someday, this would all be very amusing to look back on. Someday, Libby would no doubt laugh at how many times the same pattern was played out, with guests coming in unannounced and then stammering to a halt upon spotting Bram. Someday, perhaps, she would even joke with her brother about the effect he had on people.
Someday seemed very far away just now. Now she just had to marvel at the sheer bad luck of it. And somehow find the gumption to make introductions. She began with a loud clearing of her throat. “Bram, you may recall that I mentioned my friend from the Château. This is her, Miss Charlotte Wight, along with Lord Willsworth and his cousin, Mr. Bryant. Everyone, my brother, Lord Telford. And his friend, Lord Sheridan.”
The fellows had crossed paths before, as evidenced by Sheridan’s cheerily trying to place where they’d done so. Bram no doubt recalled, but he’d lapsed into a frown again after an obligatory greeting, gaze flicking from the viscount to Libby to Oliver. She could all but read his thoughts—he was wondering if his little sister hadn’t managed to find a decent fellow to spend time with after all, and then doubting she had the sense to follow up on it. He’d be noticing how awkward Lord Willsworth looked as he edged into the cottage—into which he’d clearly never stepped foot—versus how comfortably Oliver had let himself in.
While Sheridan chattered at Willsworth and Bryant, Lottie turned to Libby with wide eyes that all but screamed, Your brother is here! “Anyway,” she said as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “Emily. There’s nothing left to let on St. Mary’s, and our cottages are positively bursting already—my aunt and cousins just arrived, you see, which I hadn’t known they’d be doing when I extended the invitation to Lady Emily. So, I was rather hoping you could put her up here? You’ve two bedrooms, haven’t you? And if the maids prefer it, they could room with ours. Or we could lend a couple cots for them, if you prefer they stay nearby. Though to be sure, I hadn’t realized your brother was here. Where is he staying? Did he find a room somewhere? We’ve had absolutely no luck finding anything, though perhaps it’s because he swooped in and let the last ones.”
Bram shifted to Libby’s side, fingers gripping her elbow. “Your friend can have the whole cottage. Libby is coming home.”
Lottie’s face fell. “Oh, but she mustn’t! I had such fun planned for the three of us! And it was probably quite a task for Em to convince Lord and Lady Scofield to let her join us and—”
Porcelain clattered as Sheridan’s cup met his saucer. Odd, that. He didn’t usually lack for grace. “Did you say Scofield? I mean, pardon me. Not to interrupt.”
Not that Lottie minded, given the fact that it was another eligible bachelor who did the interrupting. She dimpled, nodded. “That’s right. Lady Emily Scofield, one of my dearest friends. Along with Libby, of course. It shall be properly wonderful, having all three of us together!”
Bram had at least turned his narrowed eyes on Sheridan, though his fingers didn’t loosen any on Libby’s elbow. “I do apologize for disrupting your plans, Miss Wight. But my sister is needed at home.”
“No, I’m not.” It came out as little more than a squeak though, covered by another loud gush of wordy displeasure from Lottie. Libby squeezed her eyes shut, wincing a bit when Darling’s claws bit in as he tried to climb a little higher onto her shoulder. He was no doubt as fond of the crowd as she was.
Sheridan’s voice won out next over the din. “Oh, we’ve been staying in Penzance the last two days, ferrying over. You’re right—there’s absolutely nothing here to let.”
Libby forced her eyes open, trying—and failing—to pull her elbow free from Bram’s hand. “Then you had better get back to the ferry. The last one’s leaving soon, I believe.”
Bram glared down at her. “You’re absolutely right, Libby. So you had better start packing. Moon can help you with that, and I’ll see to your . . . guests.”
“I told you.” Not only was her voice still too faint to be heard above the other chatter in the room, but it was quavering now too. “I can’t leave right now.”
Her brother let out an exasperated sigh. Then, miraculously, his face softened. A bit. “You can bring the cat, you know that. Have you a basket or something to put him in? He is a pretty little thing.”
He had always had a soft spot for animals—at least the ones he could claim as pets, as he didn’t share her fascination with the wild creatures of the world. But she shook her head, throat going tight. “It isn’t Darling, Bram.”
“We’d probably have room for one of you—don’t you think, Bryant?” Willsworth was saying. “Or, hmm. You probably have your valets with you?”
“Yes, in Penzance still though. No point in them coming over with us every day,” Sheridan replied. “And that’s very kind of you, my lord. Though—I say, Telly—what do you think? Give your sister a day, couldn’t we? We could get along all right for a day without our valets.”
All the noise was making her head buzz in a way it hadn’t done since she’d escaped the London ballrooms. “A day will not be enough. I need the rest of the summer.”
“Absolutely not.” Now her brother’s gaze scorched the entire company, as if he wasn’t sure who to blame but knew one of them must be responsible for this seeming daftness in his usually pliant little sister. “You’re coming home.”
“I am not!” This time she actually shouted. Her—shouted. And the whole room fell silent.
Bram stared at her as if she’d grown a second head and named it Alice. Clearly he didn’t know what to make of her. Never in her life had she contradicted him about something like this, even when they were children. He cocked his head to the side. “If you’re staying . . . then I’m staying.”
Her stomach positively heaved. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered into Darling’s stripes. To prove it, her knees wobbled, and she might have crumpled to the floor if not for Bram’s hand on her arm.
Oliver was at her other side, somehow. Bram’s fingers gone and his leading her backward a step, to the sofa. She sank down onto it without quite knowing how he’d performed that magic trick and not really caring. It let her lower her head and drag a few soothing breaths into her lungs.
“It’s all right,” he was murmuring to her. “You’ll be right as rain in a moment. Too many people, I’m guessing?”
Too many people here. All wanting something of her, none of which she knew how to give without compromising the one thing she needed. “I can’t leave. I can’t.” Her voice was still shaking, sounding embarrassingly near panic. And why? She’d never even felt this flustered at a ball. Close, but there she’d known what was coming. And there, most people ignored her. They weren’t all crowding into her rooms, demanding she house this one and leave with that one and abandon the only people who had ever made her feel at home while the dearest woman in the world lay unconscious nearby. “Mamm-wynn.”
“Who the devil is Mamm-wynn?” Bram, hovering over her.
Oliver cleared his throat. “My grandmother. We found her unconscious yesterday, and she’s yet to awaken. She and your sister took a fancy to each other, my lord.”
Bram hissed out a breath. “That’s why you don’t want to leave? For heaven’s sake, Libby, why didn’t you just say so? Am I such a monster that you think I’d force you from the sickbed of an old woman you’re fond of?”
She didn’t rightly know. It had never come up.
Oliver stroked a comforting hand over her back, once. Enough to still a few of the tremors. Probably enough to earn more of Bram’s ire too. “I’ll do what I can here,” he whispered to her. Then he stood, cleared his throat. “Lord Sheridan, Lord Telford—you’re both welcome to lodge at my house on Tresco for as long as you like. We’ve the room. For your valets too, if you send for them tomorrow. Miss Wight, I’m certain I can help your other friend find somewhere to let. Why don’t you all go ahead home for now, and I’ll ask around a bit. When is she arriving?”
“Friday.”
“Lovely. That should be enough time. I’ll send you word tomorrow. Casek, would you run down to Mrs. Gilligan’s and ask if she’d consider letting someone stay in the flat above her shop this summer, since her daughter isn’t using it after all?”
Within a few seconds, he’d somehow ushered Lottie, Willsworth, and Bryant out the door—and they were thanking him for it, not seeming at all like they felt pushed out. Libby breathed a bit easier when they were gone. Casek went too, though with a bit of grumbling and a snarl that he’d meet Oliver back at the boat.
Oliver also stepped toward the door. “I won’t impose any longer. I’ll just . . .” He held out the bottle of aspirin as a finish to his sentence and slid it onto the table, his gaze moving to Mabena. “Don’t let your headache get out of control, Benna. Take it, and then to bed with you.”
Mabena had managed to fix her own cup of tea during the chaos. She leaned against the wall now, sipping it. “I’ll be well again tomorrow. Well enough, anyway, to take Libby back over to Tresco to see your grandmother.”
“If not, I’m happy to ferry you both. Let’s say if you’re not there by ten o’clock, I’ll come and fetch you, shall we?”
Mabena tilted her head. “That seems reasonable.”
It didn’t escape Libby’s notice that Bram hadn’t agreed to Oliver’s plan. But even now, with no one left in the cottage but the five of them, he didn’t object. He just regarded Oliver evenly for a long moment and then asked, “I suppose your boat is at the little quay in Hugh Town?”
Oliver nodded, and Bram mirrored it. “We saw it when we were exploring the town yesterday. Sher, why don’t you go down with Mr. Tremayne now, and give me a moment with my sister?”
Sheridan, of course, agreed easily. He swigged the last of his tea and stood. Oliver nodded his agreement too, shooting one final look at Libby. It said a lot, that look. More than words ever could. And made her stomach settle enough that, after dragging in a deep breath, she could stand again. “Thank you, Mr. Tremayne. For all your assistance.” The mister felt odd on her tongue after having used Oliver for the last few days. Silently she added, You didn’t have to do this. I appreciate that you did.
He must have received her unspoken message. His eyes twinkled at her. “It’s truly my pleasure, Lady Elizabeth.”
He and Sheridan departed, and Mabena slipped discreetly to her room. She’d no doubt still hear every word, but it gave them at least a pretense of privacy.
Bram didn’t linger long in silence. He sat again, without taking his gaze from her face. “Is it really about the grandmother?”
She sank back onto the sofa. “Yes.” It was the truth, if not the whole truth. But she couldn’t tell Bram about the mysteries and dangers holding her here—he’d forcibly drag her back to the mainland. And she certainly couldn’t tell him that she couldn’t imagine leaving Oliver or the islands. He’d have her over his shoulder in a heartbeat, carrying her off kicking and screaming.
He let out a long exhale, eyes still narrowed a bit. “I don’t know that I believe you. He walked in here as if he owned the place. And what happened to Moon that he came barging in with aspirin and orders to rest? She’s never been prone to headaches, has she?”
She had her doubts that he’d have known it if she were. But she shook her head. “She slipped in a cave and hit her head rather badly. It’s why we were on Tresco an extra night.” If he’d been chatting with Mrs. Pepper already, he’d have learned that she ought to have been back yesterday. Though with a bit of luck, thoughts of Mabena would distract him from thoughts of Oliver.
Wishful thinking, that. “I knew the moment he showed up at Telford Hall that he was trouble.”
Libby rolled her eyes. “You did not. And he isn’t. He’s . . .” Wonderful. Dream worthy. The best man I’ve ever met. “. . . very kind. He answers all my questions about the flora and fauna of the islands with endless patience.”
He grunted. “I imagine he does. But put those thoughts I can see you thinking out of your head straightaway. You’re marrying Sheridan, not some—”
“I am not!”
“Fine.” He waved her words away like he would a fly. “That Willsworth fellow would do then, I suppose. A viscount, isn’t he? Interested in paleontology, which ought to suit you. He would do.”
Heat seared her cheeks. And, even more humiliating, tears flooded her eyes before she could even feel them coming and blink them away. “Are you that eager to be rid of me, Bram?”
“Now, Libby, don’t . . . come now. Here.” He pulled out one of his ever-present handkerchiefs and thrust it at her. “You know well it isn’t that at all. It’s not about getting rid of you. It’s about making certain you’re well cared for.”
But she was well cared for—at Telford Hall, with him and Mama. Why wasn’t that enough? And why, if he was so eager to shove her off on someone else, couldn’t he let her choose someone who would actually like her? Maybe even love her? Was that too much to ask?
A question she didn’t intend to voice. Because, quite frankly, she was a bit terrified of the answer.