It had sounded so simple on paper last night when she made the plan. But when put to the test, Libby never had the faintest clue how to interact with the people who were supposed to be her peers.
The woman, however, didn’t seem to have the same problem. She was calling out a cheerful “Good morning!” the moment Libby was close enough.
Smiling back was not difficult. “Good morning.” She paused a polite distance away, making a show now of surveying the scene. “A lovely day for a family outing, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s perfect! I’m so glad I convinced my husband to get us out of Manchester for the summer.” The woman stood and came nearer. “Mrs. Giles Haversham. Victoria.”
“How do you do?” Libby opened her mouth, ready to give Mrs. Haversham the same name she’d given Mrs. Pepper. But no. If she wanted to be the best possible help to the Tremaynes, she had to earn people’s trust. And, dash it to pieces, she’d do that better with her title. “I’m Lady Elizabeth Sinclair.”
And indeed, the woman’s eyes flashed brighter. “How do you do? Newly arrived on St. Mary’s with your family?”
Libby nodded, not bothering to correct her on the “with your family” bit. “Have you been here long?”
“Just since Monday, but it’s a charming place.”
She wouldn’t have encountered Beth at all then. Double dash it. “It is indeed. My maid is from Tresco, so I’ve made her promise to play tour guide for me. Though I was also hoping to find a few other holiday-goers who had been here longer and could tell me which spots they’ve most enjoyed.”
There—that was a rather skillful fishing for information, wasn’t it? As subtle as any of the drawing room conversation Mama had tried so desperately to teach her.
“You may want to talk to the Myer family, then. They’re letting a house to the north and have been here since May.”
Perfect. She chatted a bit longer, until the little girl called her mother over to show her the haphazard sandcastle she’d built, and Libby seized the opportunity to wish them a good day and walk on.
She introduced herself to six more neighbors over the next two hours, and it got a bit easier each time to approach the lady of the family and say hello. They were all friendly enough, though none had been here more than two weeks. And the Myers, she discovered when she happened across their next-door neighbors, were already gone for the day, having hired a boat to take them to St. Martin’s for some bird watching.
Bird watching. Her heart thrilled at the mere mention. She’d have to make time for that at some point as well.
Walking back wouldn’t take nearly as long as walking this far had done, since she wouldn’t feel the obligation to do more than wave a cheery greeting at all the people she’d just met, so she decided to press on a bit farther, past the Myers’ cottage. She’d go so far as that stone one up ahead and then—
“Libby? Lady Elizabeth, is that you?”
She froze, telling herself she was surely imagining the familiarity of the voice. Though of course she wasn’t, because otherwise how would the voice have known her name? But really, what were the chances that Charlotte Wight was here, now?
Very good, apparently, as proved by the young lady who ran toward her, laughing, arms outstretched, as if Libby were the very dearest of long-lost friends. She drummed up a smile but didn’t manage to get her own arms raised before Lottie swept up to and over her like the tide, crushing her in an embrace.
“I can’t believe it!” the young lady squealed directly into her ear. “It’s been ages! You look just the same though.”
From anyone else from the finishing school where Libby had met her, it would have been a catty insult—young ladies weren’t supposed to emerge “just the same” as they were when they matriculated. But Lottie hadn’t a cruel bone in her body. Libby had to grant her that much.
Lottie didn’t, however, give her any more time to reply than she ever had. Laughing, she linked their arms together. “I was just telling my mother how I hoped I’d find a friend, because otherwise this was bound to be the most boring summer in history. Well. Not the most boring.” She leaned close, her blue eyes twinkling. “There’s some rather pleasant company to be found of the gentlemanly sort. Lord Willsworth and his cousin, Mr. Bryant, are here. You know them.”
Did she? There was a possibility, she supposed, that they’d met in London during the Season. “Er . . .”
“Willsworth is a viscount. He’d be a perfect match for you, now that I think about it. He’s a patron of the sciences—you’re still interested in that nonsense, I suppose?” Wheeling them about, Lottie led her toward a cluster of chairs and a giant umbrella, under which Mrs. Wight was stationed, her nose in a book. “I prefer his cousin anyway. Mr. Bryant is positively dreamy—and worth more per annum than his cousin, though he doesn’t come with a title. Your family, I think, would prefer the viscount. Which is absolutely perfect. Unless.” She halted again and turned eyes now wide on Libby. “Is your brother here with you?”
Given that Lottie actually paused for a response this time, Libby cleared her throat. And felt as though her words emerged at a crawl, compared to the breakneck pace of Lottie’s. “No, I’m afraid not.”
Lottie’s lip poked forward into an exaggerated pout for a second, then she laughed again and tucked back a strand of mahogany hair that the wind had teased free. “Of course not. He’s no doubt in London for the Season proper. It’s just as well. As big a coup as it would be to land an earl, I should probably be more reasonable than that. Neither my dowry nor my name is likely enough to interest your brother.”
Libby just blinked at her. Truth be told, she had no idea what might interest Bram in a future wife. He’d been far more concerned these last two years with finding someone willing to put up with her for the rest of her life. She’d been an utter failure last Season. And the Little Season this spring hadn’t gone any better. She’d begged Mama and Bram to stay at home after they returned to the country for Easter. Her mother had been happy to visit Edith instead, and Bram would simply travel to and from London whenever he wanted to be there for Parliament.
As for what of that to say to Charlotte Wight, she had no notion.
But Lottie never minded that Libby hadn’t a clue how to keep up with her conversation. In fact, Libby had always suspected that was why the talkative girl had latched on to her during their shared year at the academy. Libby was one of the only ones who didn’t fight her for a part in the conversation.
She was also always so exhausted by her after an hour that she’d hidden from one of her only friends at school more often than she was comfortable admitting. But really, when only one side did all the talking, could they even properly be called friends? Lottie knew precious little of her, other than that she was fond of “that science nonsense.” And that she had an earl for an older brother. The thing all of society most cared about, it seemed.
“But now the summer is absolutely perfect,” Lottie was saying, unhindered as usual by Libby’s lack of participation. “Mother, look who I found wandering the beach! Lady Elizabeth Sinclair! You remember Libby, don’t you? From the Château Mont-Choisi?”