“Because.” Hair in a tidy chignon, Beth spun to face her again. “This is all his fault. If he hadn’t told them he’d purchase any artifacts dealing with Mucknell and Rupert—”
“Beth.” Senara stood. Calmly, slowly. Met her eyes. “This is me. What is it really?”
Her young friend huffed and pointed at an empty shelf. “Lord Scofield sold him Mother’s trinket box when I sent it to him to see if it was Prince Rupert’s crest on the lid. And he refuses to give it back.”
“Oh.” That certainly put it more in perspective. “And it was Scofield who gave him the black eyes, not you?”
She hadn’t solved any of her friend’s troubles nor answered any of her own questions. But at least she brought a fresh smile to her lips.
“I’m glad you’re here, Senara,” Beth said softly. “I’ve missed you.”
Senara smiled back. “I’m glad I’m here too.” And perhaps it didn’t need to be wasted time just waiting for Rory to come. Perhaps she really could help. “Ainsley suggested I may be of some assistance to everyone with my organizing skills. If you think . . . ?”
“Oh.” Surprise flickered through Beth’s eyes, chased by relief. “You know, that could be just the thing. It seems our group can’t ever agree on what to do next.”
“Not surprising, given how many of you there are, and all strong-willed.” But she did have ample practice bending strong wills toward the best path. She smiled. “Brief me on absolutely everything. And we’ll see what I can do.”
9
Sheridan had scarcely emerged from his bedroom in the last thirty hours, but it wasn’t because he was sulking—despite what Ainsley said. He’d been half frozen from the unplanned dip—never mind that tourists were frolicking in the same water in their bathing costumes on the beaches nearby. He’d been lying low because he’d been contemplating their next move regarding Scofield—never mind that he always did his best thinking aloud, and preferably with Telford.
And he’d had the worst blighted headache of his life, because his nose was most assuredly broken. And he had two streaks of bruising under his eyes.
If that didn’t give him the right to isolate himself in his room for a day or so, what the devil did?
But by teatime on Friday, his mood was only growing surlier and Ainsley was threatening to shove him forcibly into the corridor, so he shrugged into his jacket, cast only one scowling look at his battered reflection in the mirror, and trudged to the drawing room.
Which was empty, despite the growling of his stomach saying it was teatime.
The back garden, then.
Though he didn’t know why he was bothering. He could have food delivered to him, like he’d insisted upon for luncheon yesterday. He’d felt too pained and ill to stomach anything for tea and had barely touched his supper, so obviously he’d made a sound call in skipping those meals in the dining room. Requesting a tray for breakfast rather than risk trying to take it with others and embarrass himself by getting ill in front of everyone had been purely sensible.
Embarrassing himself more, that is.
It wasn’t as though Mrs. Dawe resented the requests. She’d delivered his food this morning herself and fawned over him, insisting on another dose of aspirin, even though his headache was only a dull thud now.
He ought to have ignored Ainsley’s prodding. Because as he drew near to the back garden door and heard the happy voices of Beth and Mamm-wynn and Telford and Oliver, he was quite certain that joining them was the absolute worst idea he’d had since the one that had sent him down the hill on Gugh yesterday, convinced he needed to rush to Beth’s aid.
Idiot. She certainly hadn’t looked the least bit upset to be in Nigel Scofield’s company. Which just went to show how foolish she was.
He stepped into the sunlight, which immediately pounded a stake into his skull. Blast it.
“Sher! Crikey.” Telford materialized at his side. “You look like secondhand death.”
“Thanks. Really.”
His friend held out a full, steaming cup of tea. “I got a taste of his skills last week, if you recall. Full commiseration here.”
It made him feel half a degree better. Or maybe that was due to his first sip of tea, brewed strong, just how he liked it.
Of course, it was also how Telly liked it, and Mamm-wynn had clearly made the cup for him.
Sheridan lifted it in a salute of genuine appreciation for the sacrifice. “Where did he learn that, do you think? Certainly not in London.”
“Okinawa.”
At Beth’s voice, his every muscle tensed. He wouldn’t even look at her. He was better off without her, if she was so senseless as to fall for a cad like Scofield.
She sat in the chair beside her grandmother, teacup cradled in her hands, and looked positively gorgeous in a dress of sky blue that teased the shade of it from her eyes.
Blast and bother. He dragged his gaze away again and stomped to an empty chair beside Oliver.
Beth sipped her tea. “Which you would know had you deigned to join us yesterday evening when Lady Emily came for supper. He apparently spent several years traveling Asia. It’s called karate.”
She pronounced each syllable deliberately. No doubt wanting to pay them special honor, since it was the chosen form of combat of her darling Nigel.
He slouched into his chair. “So sorry. I hope my absence, as I nursed a migraine from the broken nose her brother gave me, didn’t dampen your evening with your friend.”
Her smile was positively glacial. “Not at all.”
“Elizabeth Grace.” Mamm-wynn tipped the teapot over another cup and handed it to her grandson. “Mind your manners.”
Telly, taking the other empty chair between him and Mrs. Tremayne, passed him a plate with a crumpet already slathered with butter.
Sheridan sighed around his first bite. “You’re a true friend, Bram.”
Beth muttered into her teacup something that sounded suspiciously like “As if he deserves one.”
He would ignore that. He turned to the gentlemen, putting her out of his line of sight. “I assume someone made an attempt to locate Scofield or his yacht around the islands yesterday?”
Oliver nodded. “I took the Adelle around and recruited a few friends to help too. Enyon said he saw a craft matching Beth’s description of the yacht near St. Agnes on Wednesday evening. It’s called the Chatelaine. It was nowhere to be found by yesterday afternoon, but he easily could have gone back to Penzance. With that motor, he could come and go as he pleases if he brings his own supply of fuel.”
Cheery thought, that. He could show up again any time, without warning. Sheridan took another bite of crumpet. Perhaps it was just that he hadn’t had anything more substantial than this morning’s porridge since supper on Wednesday, but it tasted like ambrosia. “I’m going to steal Mrs. Dawe away.”
Mamm-wynn and Oliver chuckled. Beth took another sip of tea. “Perfectly in character. Once a thief . . .”
He dropped the crumpet back to his plate. “I am not a thief. I bought that box.”
“Which was stolen property. A gentleman would return it.”
“Yes, well, I’m rather glad I haven’t, or you’d probably have given it to that reprobate by now. He’d have smiled at you and you’d have—”