Or maybe he’d have simply been more violent than he was. Maybe he would have hurt Oliver before threatening her. “Something happened on the way there—I’ll tell you the details with Mabena, but . . . but we—Beth—a man demanded silver. In two weeks, in the big cave.”
“What?” He drew them to a halt and turned to her, searching her face. “Who? Are you all right? Were you injured?” His gaze flew over her, snagging on the jasmine flower in her hair and then down to her arm. Could he somehow see what she suspected were bruises by now, under the shawl and through the moonlight? His hands cupped her elbows in that way of his.
Maybe Mabena was right. Maybe she had been doomed by elbow-magic since the first touch. “Nothing serious. And I don’t know who it was, but I noted everything I could. I’ll write it down when we get in.”
“Libby!” The screech came from behind them. Lottie had barreled out of the gate again, though she didn’t go beyond the circle of light. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re engaged to Lord Sheridan?”
Could this night get any worse? “I’m not!” Then, more urgently but more quietly, meeting Oliver’s eyes. “I’m not.”
Lottie simply laughed and went back into her garden. But Oliver smiled and turned her toward home again. “I know.”
“You . . . how?” It should comfort her, maybe. But instead, dread curled up in her stomach.
“Mabena mentioned that was why you came to St. Mary’s. To escape your brother’s planning.”
She’d told him that? Despite the fact that it was Libby’s to share or not? Despite the fact that she’d known Libby wanted no one to hear of it?
He’d taken her elbow again, so no doubt he sensed how she felt about that. “I’m sorry. It’s not my business—I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind you knowing.”
And she didn’t.
What she minded, more than she could possibly articulate, was Mabena telling.
14
Try as Libby might to focus on the new list of Latin names that needed to be applied to her catalogue of flora for St. Mary’s, her gaze kept wandering away from her notebook and to the two envelopes resting on the table.
The first had been delivered yesterday afternoon by another anonymous chap asking for Elizabeth. They hadn’t opened it, tempted as Mabena had clearly been. They would wait for Oliver to arrive, which he ought to be doing any moment. The second had come in the morning post, and Mama’s familiar script had lured Libby into tearing it open straightaway.
She rather wished now that she’d held it for later. She’d expected her mother’s usual cheer, perhaps even a note of thanks for doing as she instructed and attending the Wights’ dinner party. She hadn’t expected the rebuke that kept battering now at her mind.
Did you truly only stay forty minutes, Libby? Mrs. Wight’s note sounded most distraught—she was afraid they had offended you somehow. Is that not exactly what I have warned you countless times will happen if you do not make an effort to engage with your peers? I know it is difficult for you. But you must try, dearest. For your own good, you must.
And while I know you will not want to hear this, I find myself compelled to say it: Perhaps you should seriously consider your brother’s arrangement with Lord Sheridan. I know you wanted the summer away so that he might “come to his senses” and argue with Bram—but I do secretly hope that instead, you will give it some thought and come home in September ready to make the betrothal official. For all your clashes, Sheridan would not mind your eccentricities. He would indulge your preference for country life. He would respect you. I can think of no better match for you, dearest.
No better match? Libby gripped her pencil with far too much force. How could her own mother think that? Did she deserve—could she hope for—no better than a man who would simply tolerate her for his friend’s sake?
She squeezed her eyes shut. What would she do if Sheridan didn’t object? If she went home at the end of summer and the situation was exactly how she’d left it? No, if it was worse. By then, Bram and Sheridan could have spoken to far too many people about their ridiculous agreement. And how in the world would she muster the gumption to argue with everyone?
Darling leapt onto the table, batted at the envelope for Beth, and gave a loud meow when Libby picked him up and deposited him back on the floor. Even she had her limits, and kittens on the same surface where she ate pushed beyond them.
As did mothers suddenly taking the side of brothers. But how could she resolve that one?
The knock at the door interrupted those morose thoughts, and she jumped to her feet even as she called out, “Come in!”
Most of the gentlemen she knew would still wait for someone to open the door for them, but Oliver took her at her word and let himself inside with his usual smile. “Good morning, my lady.”
Mabena surged out of her room with a scowl. “It’s about time.”
He lifted his brows. “Am I late? It’s scarcely nine thirty.”
“She’s been a bit impatient.” With Mama’s words still fresh in her mind, Libby expected to have to dig for a smile. But it came easily to her lips as she motioned toward the envelope on the table. “I insisted we wait for you before we opened it.”
Oliver’s lips twitched. “You’re a brave soul, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Here.” Mabena snatched up the envelope and thrust it toward him. “It’s a fat one, but small. Doesn’t seem like it would include pages of manifests again.”
With an amused calm that surely covered his worry over his sister, Oliver joined them at the table and took the envelope. He opened it, withdrew the single sheet of paper inside, and frowned as he unfolded it. It took Libby only a moment to see why as a pile of pound notes slipped into his hand.
“Money?” He sounded utterly baffled. “Looks like . . . a hundred pounds.”
“What does the note say?” Not that Mabena waited for him to read it. She simply moved to his side to read it over his shoulder.
Tempted as Libby was to do the same, she made herself remain in her place. Mama’s voice was still too fresh in her mind and would be scolding her for unseemly enthusiasm in a gentleman’s company.
Thankfully, Oliver satisfied her curiosity. “It says, ‘Since you never answered as to whether you’d prefer a wire or a bank draft in exchange for the artifact, please find the cash enclosed.’ That’s all. No signature, as usual.”
Mabena’s brows were knit as tightly as Mamm-wynn’s shawls. “That’s a lot of money. But for what? What artifact?”
Oliver shook his head. “Clearly Beth found something.” Eyes alight, he refolded the money into the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. “I’ve gone back through everything I can find from the weeks before she declared her intentions of summering on St. Mary’s. I’ve never bothered with a detailed calendar of engagements, but Mamm-wynn has always been meticulous about such things, and she allowed me to check her records. She had jotted down everywhere Beth mentioned going.”
Mabena’s frown didn’t ease any. “Since when does your grandmother track your every move?”