“So then—what?” Ainsley shot up to a sitting position. “What does Paris have to do with anything?”
“Your mother said she wanted to go. See the Eiffel Tower. Don’t you remember? Part of that game Millicent had us playing on Christmas Eve, where we all had to name the place we’d most like to see. She said Paris. So, let’s send her and your aunt and that cousin who wasn’t a blighter to Paris until all this blows over.”
Ainsley blinked at him. But there was no lecture in this one, not that he could discern. Just surprise. “You would send my family to France for weeks or months?”
Though why he was surprised, Sheridan couldn’t fathom. “Obviously. It’s your mother. That’s sacred, you know. We’ll let a few rooms at that hotel we stayed at two Aprils ago. They’d like that, don’t you think? Close to all the attractions and museums. And I’m certain the manager will remember me. He’ll see they have a fine time. I can ask Abbie and Millicent to take care of it, give them something to do. They’ll be happy to make arrangements—we won’t mention why, though. No need to get them worried.”
Ainsley breathed a laugh. “I admit, I would feel better if they weren’t at home to be threatened. Thank you, my lord. I’ll wire her again tomorrow. Tell her to expect to hear from your sisters.”
“And I’ll compose a note to wire to Abbie and Millicent, whenever you go. Now—back to Miss Dawe.”
Ainsley groaned. “Must we? She was like a ghost all day today, barely present. I could practically see her hurting, and I . . . I don’t know how to mend it. And what’s worse, my cousin saw in a glance how I feel—he’ll try to leverage that. No doubt a note will arrive soon, saying if I want to keep her out of this business then I had better supply him with information.”
Sheridan stole another glance at Ainsley’s profile in the moonlight. “You care for her.”
Ainsley just sucked back in the breath he’d heaved out. “It doesn’t matter if I do. I thought I’d be a help to her the other night by coming out, but clearly I’ve made things worse. She won’t even look at me now. It’s as though my mere presence is a reminder of it all, and everything I say upsets her further.”
In the light of day, in a lighter way, discovering that prim and proper Ainsley was sweet on a girl would have deserved all sorts of poking and prodding and teasing. Perhaps a jest about how if he and Beth had six children, they’d certainly need a governess.
But now wasn’t the time for any of that. “Ains.” Sheridan leaned forward again. “Even if you have upset her . . . sometimes we need to be upset. Sometimes that’s the only thing that will convince us to let down our walls and allow someone in. Or even to turn to God.”
“And sometimes it builds the walls higher.”
“Yes, sometimes. But my valet—he’s rather wise when it comes to such things—would say that every time we make a mess of things, every time we take a wrong step, it’s just an opportunity for the Lord to meet us in an unexpected way. He would say that if you really care for her, and if she’s hurting, then the best thing you could possibly do is put her in God’s hands and just pray that He’ll give you the honor of being one of the people He uses to heal her.”
“I want to be. I always want to be one of the people He uses, but especially this time. I’m just afraid I’ve ruined it.”
Sheridan sighed. “I’m always afraid I’ve ruined it, every time I open my mouth. But God is bigger than our mistakes, I’m told. In fact, I’m fairly certain my wise valet would say that the best thing we can ever be is a willing instrument in His hand. That we ought to stop worrying that our every word is wrong and instead let the Master Craftsman wield us however He will. There may be stray chisel marks, the times we slip. But He’ll still set the stone where it belongs. We just need to remember our lives are a monument to Him, not to ourselves.”
Even in the darkness, Sheridan could see Ainsley narrow his eyes. “You really aren’t quite a heathen, for all your obsession with Druids.”
“I keep telling you that. It’s just that I don’t much care for the sanitized Christianity that society has embraced. They’ve tried too hard to make it civilized.”
Those eyes just narrowed more. “You’re not about to become a heretic instead of a heathen, are you?”
“On the contrary. They’re the heretics, not me—the people who try to make Christian history tidier than it is, I mean. Have you read all those stories of the martyrs? And the Old Testament! The Druids have nothing on Judeo-Christianity when it comes to mysticism and odd rituals.”
“Sheridan.”
“Well, think about it. How many times have you seen a lady blush and skip verses when she’s reading aloud from the Bible? It’s far too raw for Millicent in some places. Not ‘Christian’ enough—come now, even you have to admit that’s ironic.”
Ainsley stood, shaking his head. But a starlit smile played on his lips. “I’m not quite certain how the conversation has taken this turn, but I’m going to go in to bed before any stray bolts of lightning come this way. Good night, my lord.”
“Night.”
Ainsley started for the side gate that connected the Tremayne garden to the Dawes’. But he paused a few steps away. “And thank you. For protecting my family, but also . . . I needed that reminder about being an instrument in God’s hands.”
Sheridan grinned. “Don’t thank me. Thank my valet. All wisdom is his.”
“See, I told you I heard voices back here.”
Sheridan spun in his chair at Telford’s voice, raising his brows when he saw not only him but Tremayne rounding the house from the front, both still in their dinner dress. “What are you two doing out in the middle of the night?”
“We heard a few noises from the general direction of Piper’s Hole while we were walking Libby to the Moons’.” Tremayne nodded a greeting to Ainsley, who gave a wave of farewell and then proceeded through the gate, and pulled out a chair. “So, we decided to investigate, given all the shenanigans there this summer.”
“I don’t suppose you found Scofield hiding out by the pool.” Sheridan used his foot to push a third chair away from the table for Telford.
“No, just the burnt remains of a few crackers.” Telford shook his head. “Lads enjoying their third-term break. Or seizing the opportunity to celebrate their headmaster’s engagement with a bit of mischief.”
Tremayne grinned. “They should have lit them on Wearne’s doorstep.”
Telly snorted. “You’re friends now, remember.”
“Ah. Right. Easy to forget.”
Sheridan shook his head. It was that rivalry between Oliver Tremayne and Casek Wearne that had, in a strange way, convinced Telly that Tremayne was deserving of Libby’s heart. He’d tossed himself in front of a bullet to save Wearne’s life, after all, even though they’d been lifelong enemies.
Just imagine what lengths he’d go to for the lady who held his heart.
Perhaps Telford was remembering the same thing. He looked for a moment at their host, his gaze thoughtful. Then glanced toward Sheridan and donned a crooked smile. “Have you exercised your brotherly duty yet on Sheridan, Oliver?”