Well, with that single exception that had gotten her sacked, she’d made a career of living up to people’s expectations for her. Surely she could impress this valet. She cleared her throat so she wouldn’t sound too eager. “I’m not certain the skills transcend.”
Collins hooted a laugh. “Don’t worry, Miss Dawe. I assure you—taking care of our gents is just like keeping a couple of kids in line.”
Mam rinsed her hands, dried them, and sent Senara an amused look. “Have I asked you both already how long you’ve been with them? If so, forgive me, for I don’t recall the answer.”
Ainsley answered first. “Twelve years, roundabout. Lord Sheridan was little more than a boy when his sisters hired me.” He pulled another handful of pea pods toward him. “Then Lord Telford hired Collins a couple years later. It’s fortunate we get along, since those two are together more than they’re not.”
Collins gave Ainsley a friendly elbow in the ribs. “Like the brother I never had.”
Mam opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, a commotion at the front of the house clattered its way into the kitchen. A door slamming against a wall, raised voices, thundering footsteps.
“What in the world?” Senara shoved the peas aside and was on her feet and out the corridor in half a second, too used to leaping in to defuse any fray—because in her previous life it was usually one of her charges behind the shouting and rushing. Ainsley, Collins, and Mam were all hot on her heels, though—because in this house there were no children to be causing a ruckus, only ladies and gents.
Maybe they were right, and the groups weren’t so different.
Oliver was tripping out from his study to investigate. Telford and Mamm-wynn appeared from the library, and Beth was already halfway up the stairs, shouting over her shoulder, “I’m not saying he is! I’m only saying you aren’t!”
The front door slammed shut again, and a battered creature who might or might not have been Lord Sheridan under the dried blood, bruised face, and wet clothes yelled back, “And that’s a fine reason to toss me in the sea.”
“It was an accident!”
“Ha!”
“Good Lord above, have mercy.” Ainsley edged past her and charged toward his employer. “What happened?”
“Scofield.” Sheridan spat the name and winced.
It meant nothing to Senara, but clearly it meant considerably more to the rest of them, even her mother.
Mam pivoted on her heel. “We need ice and hot water. Senara, would you fetch towels?”
They’d need a whole clothesline’s worth, given the ocean Lord Sheridan was dripping onto the floor. Senara nodded and dashed off for the linen closet, grabbing an armful of fluffy terry cloth. When she ran back to the entryway, there were only distant voices, trailing puddles, and Oliver waiting for her with an outstretched arm.
She let him take a few of the towels and begin to sop up the worst of the seawater. She handed a few more to Ainsley, who reappeared long enough to take them with an understandably distracted murmur of thanks. And then she stooped down to dry the puddle trail.
“So what happened?” she asked softly as she spread the towels over the floor.
Oliver shook his head. “From what I could tell, Sheridan and Beth had a bit of a run-in on Gugh with a fellow we’ve been keeping an eye out for. He’s after Mucknell’s treasure.”
“Mucknell’s . . .” She paused to look over at him. How very odd. The entire decade she’d been away, she couldn’t recall thinking even once about those old pirate tales. But this was the second time they’d come up now in a week. Here and now, of course . . . and at Cliffenwelle, just a week ago.
When Rory had sat with her in the garden during her half-day off and said, “You’re from the Isles of Scilly, right, love? I’ve heard there are some entertaining tales from the days when pirates made them their headquarters. Tell me some.”
A coincidence that he had asked and that she’d shared the proper history she’d learned at school—and some of Mr. Gibson’s outlandish stories besides. So, why did her stomach go heavy? “I always thought those were just stories.”
Oliver opened another towel. “As did we all. But Beth found a map, and it led us to some silver. It seems this chap thinks there’s more to be found, and he has buyers ready to bid on it.”
“Buyers.” Silver. Actual pirate treasure, and high-ranking gents trying to get their hands on it.
Rory’s parting words, whispered to her when she was supposed to be rushing to the train station, came back to her. “I’ll come for you, love. I’m going to resign soon, and I’ll come for you. I’ve had a bit of a windfall, and I can finally get out of service. We’ll make a home somewhere, together. Just wait for me in the Scillies. Go straight home.”
She shook off the terrible suspicions that sprang up like the worst fears always did, quick and full-grown. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. How in the world would Rory ever have gotten mixed up with whoever these Scofields were?
“Mm. Sheridan was one of them. And some American whose identity we’ve yet to uncover.” With a sigh, Oliver stood, the wet towels in his arms, and cast a troubled gaze up the stairs. “I should see to Beth.”
“No, let me.” She sprang to her feet, adding her wet towels to his stack. “I’m happy to. It’ll be just like old times.” And give her time to resign those outlandish thoughts back to the abyss into which they belonged.
His lips twitched at the corners, then settled into a neutral line. But his eyes were far from neutral. They looked deep into hers. Too deep. Too knowing. “I’m glad you’re home, Senara.”
She shifted toward the stairs. Tried for a light, dismissive smile, but it shook at the edges. He wouldn’t be glad. Not if he knew why she was. “Me too.”
She turned away, needing to escape his dark-eyed probing. It just wasn’t fair that the lad she’d watched when he was little was now tending the souls of Tresco—and seeing hers in a glance.
She hurried up the stairs, feeling only a momentary pang of guilt for leaving the master of the house with the armful of wet towels. The Tremaynes had never been that sort of master’s family, the kind that sat back and waited for others to serve them. And from what Mam had said, Lady Elizabeth never demanded a thing either. She would be the sort of mistress that this house—this village—expected. The kind who loved first and asked only for what she couldn’t manage on her own.
Senara rapped on the door at the top of the stairs. “Beth? May I come in?”
A squeak, footsteps, and then the door creaked open. “Since you’re not an arrogant brat of a gentleman, yes.”
The storm in her young friend’s eyes was familiar enough to make Senara feel comfortably at home. She slipped in and let Beth close the door behind her, making no attempt to tamp down a smile. “Bad morning?”
Beth growled and stomped past her, throwing herself onto her bed just as she’d been doing all her life. “Why are men all such idiots?”
“The same reason women tend to be such fools over them, I suspect.” She gathered her skirt and sat on the mattress beside Beth. “I can’t quite wrap my mind around my little Beth having gentleman problems. You’re supposed to be ten still. Twelve, at the most.”