He was the sort of man Beth deserved. He’d treat her right, cherish her, take care of what was hers every bit as much as what was his. How did some men seem to know how to do that instinctually, and others never learned it at all? “Maybe I’ll just come along with you when you marry. Take care of the passel of children you’re sure to have.”
When the flush worked its way into Beth’s cheeks, it made Senara aware of how pale they’d still been before. “On the one hand, I can’t imagine anything more perfect than you at my side to teach me how to be a good mother. But on the other hand, it would entirely defeat my point. Or . . . maybe not.” A mischievous little grin stole over her lips. “If ever Sheridan and I—well, a certain valet of his would probably be quite happy if you tagged along.”
She could feel the flush in her own cheeks now—turnabout, she supposed. But hers had the sting of shame underscoring it.
A fine man like Ainsley deserved better than her. His utter kindness proved it over and again. She’d expected him to avoid her in the last week, but he hadn’t. She couldn’t think why he kept smiling at her, speaking gently to her, when he knew well what she’d done. And it wasn’t for any foul motives either—not Henry Ainsley.
No. Not Henry Ainsley. “That can’t be. He’s Rory’s cousin, you know.”
Beth’s fingers stilled. “What? That’s an odd coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Not as odd as you may think. He only paid attention to me because he realized I had a connection to the Scillies, and hence all this business of yours. He’s tried to sell you all out, Beth. He made the Scofields think they were confidants.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “He meant to make me help him. Thought I would turn on you, too, for the promise of money and marriage.”
She opened her eyes to find Beth gaping at her. Senara sighed. “You see, then, how ugly and convoluted it all is.” She lifted her hand again to touch the key on her necklace. “I don’t know what my future will hold—but not a family. Not any time soon. Certainly not with him.”
Beth’s expression went contemplative. “I’m trying to remember the story of your necklace, but it’s been so long since you’ve told it to me. It’s old, though, isn’t it?”
A happy distraction from the emotions ready to swamp her, and may God bless Beth for the subtle redirection. “So said Mamm-wynn F, when she gave it to me.” Her lips turned up as she remembered her grandmother’s words. “She told me my life could be anything I made it to be, as long as I remembered that family is the key to it all.”
Beth wouldn’t even remember Fiona Dawe, though. She’d been naught but a mite when she died. It was a wonder she even remembered there was a story to the pendant—she couldn’t have been more than six the last time Senara told it to her. “According to my grandmother, the key once belonged to a grand house—that’s why it’s so pretty. It unlocked something just as beautiful, though she didn’t know what. Only that it was first given to some beautiful island lass by her true love, and she passed it to her daughter, and on it came down the line. A reminder that the grandest thing we can ever seek is love. Riches will come and go, be found only to be lost again, but family . . . family stands the test of time.”
Beth picked up her needle again but then just sat there holding it, brow creased. “It’s odd, isn’t it?”
Senara blinked. “What is?”
“That none of your family’s stories were in the ones Mother wrote down.”
It was, now that she mentioned it. “I suppose that is strange.”
Beth set the sewing down and looked as though she was about to stand.
Senara stopped her with an upheld hand. “Rest. I’ll ask her.” It wasn’t as though she had to go very far to do so. Mam had the kitchen windows open into the garden, so she only had to cross the flagstone path and get to the right side of it, then step carefully into one of the flower beds that Ollie and Tas both tended. “Mam? Are you in there?”
Her mother’s face appeared, looking half amused and half horrified. “Get out of the gladioli, dearover, before your father sees you there. What is it?”
She motioned toward Beth and stepped carefully back out of the bed. “Beth pointed out that in the collection of stories her mother had put down, there were none from our family.”
“Oh.” Mam’s face took on that somber mask that always descended when the talk turned to the late Mr. and Mrs. Tremayne, or to Morgan. She nodded and reached for something. “Give me just a moment and I’ll come out.”
Senara hurried back over to the garden table and pulled out a third chair, just in time for her mother to join them. She’d brought a pitcher of lemonade and glasses with her, because that was Mam. She couldn’t ever arrive empty-handed. It made Senara smile.
Beth, too, as she accepted a glass. “I was just thinking a taste of your lemonade would be perfect. Thank you.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble. Now, your mother’s stories.” Mam poured herself a glass and took a sip from it. “We’d always meant to take the time. But it seemed foolish to set up an official one, as she did with everyone else. Why bother, when we could just sit down of an evening and chat? We’d made mention of doing it countless times through that winter, but we never quite got to it. Then you were due home from finishing school, Beth, and Master Oliver from university, and . . . well, she put the whole project aside for a while to get everything ready for you both, and then there you were, home again. The whole family together. I’d heard her and Morgan whispering about the project again, though, just a few days before the storm. And I said how we ought to make it a point to have our time soon too. But then your father got that note from Truro Hall, and they had to make the trip to the mainland, and we decided it could wait. Again.”
When her mother’s face went tight like that, Senara could all but see it playing out again before her eyes. She’d have been worried when the storm kicked up unexpectedly—it was her way. She’d have looked out every window, as if answers would come. Praying. Waiting for those bullying clouds to break up and speed away.
Mam traced a finger around the edge of her glass, teasing a mournful note from it. “That storm—you weren’t here, Senara, and I don’t know that I ever had the stomach for telling you about it, after. But it was horrible and took us all by surprise. Even Jeremiah Moon hadn’t felt it coming, and you know that’s saying something. We tried to tell one another they’d have made it to the mainland before it hit, that they were well enough ahead of it. We tried to tell ourselves they were perfectly well, and that we’d have a telegram from them any minute, assuring us of it. They always sent word as soon as they got there, always. Morgan would fret otherwise.”
Beth swallowed, her gaze just as unfocused as Mam’s. “But no word came. And no word and no word. Night fell. We thought they must’ve just forgot—that it was a difficult crossing, and it took them too long, and by the time they reached shore, they were tired. That it slipped their minds.”
Mam lifted her eyes, brimming with tears and aimed straight at Beth. “If I could turn back the clock, that’s the day I’d go back to. I’d do something, say something to keep them at home.”