“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.”