“But accepting and appreciating are vastly different, my lord.” His fingers curled into his palm. “And she deserves more than just being tolerated. She deserves to be loved.”
“At what cost?” Telford cast a critical eye over his gardens and the house Oliver loved so much. “Perhaps she thinks she likes it here, but it’s a novelty. How quickly would it begin to chafe when you couldn’t afford to buy her new slides or books or allow her to travel?”
He didn’t mean to bristle. But he wasn’t as broke as all that. “Don’t presume to know my ledgers so well, my lord. But even so—I think you underestimate your sister.”
Telford blinked at him, shook his head. “I’ve known her for twenty years. You’ve known her for a month.”
“And Lord Willsworth has had only a few conversations with her, yet I imagine if he came to you seeking your blessing, you’d give it. And why? Because he’s titled? Wealthy? Do you really suppose those things will make her happy?”
Rather than answer, Telford studied him for a long moment. Not with the immediate dismissal he’d looked upon him with before, or with the disdain he’d lavished upon him since. He seemed, for the first time, to be trying to gauge the sort of man he was. Then he drew in a long breath and straightened his shoulders. “Again, I don’t mean to be an ogre. But she’s my sister, and I have to protect her. You understand that.”
“Of course I do.”
“So then. You know it’s with her best interests in mind that I say this, not because I have any particular dislike for you.” He took a step back, lifted his chin, and looked suddenly the earl, not just the big brother. “If you propose to her, and if she says yes, she won’t get a penny of Telford money. No dowry. No monthly allowance.”
A perfectly logical threat meant to dissuade him if he were only interested in her because of the windfall she could bring him. “Understandable. But would you cut her off emotionally as well?”
Telford’s brows slammed down. “I beg your pardon?”
Oliver buried his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’m perfectly capable of providing for a wife. But I would never want to be responsible for causing a rift in your family. And so I ask if all you would withhold is your financial support, or if you’d also refuse to speak to her. To visit her? To allow her communication with your mother?”
“I hadn’t given it any thought.”
Because he hadn’t thought it would be an issue. He’d thought the moment Oliver learned she wouldn’t come with a dowry he’d lose interest. He’d thought, seeing the size of his house and knowing of the bills that had once stacked up on his desk, that he could be categorized quite simply as a money-grubber.
Oliver lifted his brows. “Well, think about it, if you would, my lord. Because I’m in love with your sister. I think she could be quite happy living here, but I don’t think she could be happy without you and your mother in her life. So, if you intend to take that away, then I won’t speak up. I’d rather lose her than let her lose you.”
Telford would be wondering if it was a ploy. A play. A bid for his respect that would lead him to relent on the monetary side as well.
But it wasn’t. And the more he considered it, the more he’d surely see that. Because all he’d have to do was say a few words, and Oliver had just promised never to declare himself. He had nothing to gain here but Libby herself. And everything—absolutely everything to lose.
26
Our Lord is the opposite of that. He has created a universe of order and rules—but He himself is so much bigger. So full of mystery.”
The words kept replaying in Libby’s mind as she held Mamm-wynn’s hand in her own. She hadn’t meant to catch that exchange between Bram and Oliver, but how was she supposed to have closed the door when she’d heard her brother state so baldly that she had no use for God? When she’d been so shocked at hearing the words from his lips that she couldn’t help but hold the door an inch open to hear Oliver’s response to it?
When the question of whether he was right pounded ferociously at her heart?
How had he even known that? She’d never breathed a word of her doubts to anyone at home. Never given voice to her questions, not until she came here. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint Mama by asking such things, and Bram—she didn’t frankly know how Bram felt about matters of faith.
She has no use for God.
Libby rested her forehead on Mamm-wynn’s hand, not sure why that statement made her eyes burn. But it wasn’t exactly true. Not given the words Oliver had spoken, which were. Perhaps she saw no point to the version of God she’d been taught since childhood, the one who was himself limited to the point of being boring, who wanted only obedience to a set of strict rules and for His children never to question Him. The one who was at war with science and the evolution of human thinking and who demanded one choose between faith and knowledge.
But how could she go on thinking that really was what God was like when she’d seen something far different since coming here? She’d closed the door after that reply from Oliver, but his words had followed her up the stairs and into Mamm-wynn’s room.
“How did you know?” she whispered, turning her face a bit so she could look at the lady’s. “How did you know where Beth was? How did you know to send Oliver to St. Mary’s a month ago? To bring me a shawl, to lend me a necklace? How did you know that we’d . . . ?” She couldn’t finish that sentence—because Mamm-wynn was wrong about that part. Perhaps Libby had fallen in love with Oliver, but that didn’t mean he’d want to marry her. Why would he, when she, with all her questions, would make such a terrible vicar’s wife? Bram was right. She wasn’t good enough for the Reverend Mr. Tremayne. She couldn’t be what he needed.
Something brushed her head, and she started before realizing Mamm-wynn had lifted her other hand, that she was stroking her fingers weakly over Libby’s hair. Her eyes blinked open too, and the corners of her mouth had moved up a few precious degrees. “The veil.”
“Pardon?” Perhaps Darling’s loud purring from where he was curled up at the lady’s shoulder had garbled Libby’s hearing. Or perhaps these first words she’d spoken in days were disoriented, confused. But she’d spoken! That was worth shouting about. And Libby would shout it, in a minute. She’d go for Oliver and Beth and let them know. Once she could tear her gaze away from Mamm-wynn’s.
Because it didn’t look confused and unfocused as it had been. It looked piercing. And yet soft. Like a shaft of light. “The veil is slipping,” she whispered. “The one between worlds. As it did for Grandmama.”
Though Libby didn’t know exactly what she meant, she knew she didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded far too much like death. “Don’t talk so. You’re going to get well.”
“Yes.” Her lips curled higher. “I will, for a while. But these old eyes are seeing different truths now. Different facts.”
Libby shook her head. “I don’t understand. There is only one set of facts.”
“Is there?” That fairylike chuckle slipped into the room, made Darling shift, curl into a new position even closer to Mamm-wynn, and redouble his purring. “Is that what your microscope has shown you?”