She is a woman of deep faith.
She is quite likely descended from Prince Rupert! (Telly told me this one should clinch it.)
She’s beautiful. I know it’s shallow of me to list it, but I can’t help it. From the moment I first saw her, I’ve just wanted to go on staring. Even though Telly says she’s only a normal sort of pretty. I completely disagree. She’s the most beautiful woman ever to live.
That was as far as he’d gotten last night, because the next words that had wanted to spring forth from his pen wouldn’t do at all.
I love her.
It was true. And they’d know it just from the other items on the list. But it didn’t seem right to simply write it down and read it off to them. He ought to tell Beth first, after all. And not tell his sisters in some studied way.
But he’d thought up a few more items in the meantime, so he added those now.
She’s intelligent—can’t believe I didn’t mention that one earlier. You’ll note it right away.
She’s strong. In spirit, but not only. I know you’re always sticklers for fitness in a young lady, and she has a reputation on the island for being able to outrun anyone. I haven’t seen it myself yet, but that’s just because she doesn’t run away from me. Anymore, I mean.
She’s an expert sailor. I know how you admire such skill.
She can even navigate without visual aids, just with a compass and watch, true Nathaniel Bowditch style. See the item about her intelligence.
She is bursting with life. Imagine the vivacity she could bring to the castle.
Which naturally got him imagining her in his ancestral home, strolling about poking at the suits of armor and making jokes with him about how he’d soon have to add another wing to expand the gallery if he didn’t slow down his collecting. Then imagining the laughter of children ringing through the halls. He’d never really bothered imagining such a future before. But the old stones could do with a bit of new mirth to soak up, couldn’t they?
Well, blast. Now he was back to wanting to write down that he loved her. He tossed the pen onto the table before it could betray him and leaned back. No, standing. Standing was better. He followed the course of his pen to the table, pacing around it simply for something to do. Given her distraction with taking care of Beth, Miss Dawe hadn’t been quite on top of keeping everything tidy in here. Which was just as well, since he would have pulled it all back out every evening anyway. He loved nothing better than the quiet hour or two he took in here after the house was asleep.
Well, that was a lie. He loved even more that time Beth had joined him. Maybe, now that she was healed and looking herself again, she’d repeat it. Another tryst to add to their courtship.
A gust of wind tore through the open window, inspiring him to spin toward it and pull the sash down. A bit too late, though. The rustling of papers all throughout the room told him he had a mess on his hands already.
The downside, he supposed, of leaving everything out when no one was using it.
Hopefully nothing had been blown out of place too much. He turned again to make sure of it.
And nearly stepped on a stray page right away. A folded one. He bent to pick it up, realizing in an instant that it wasn’t one he’d seen before. It was in Beth’s hand, but not arranged in the form of an outline like most of her notes were. Perhaps it had come from the book that had blown open on the floor.
He scooped it up, too, so he could close it. Treasure Island.
Ah! Fascinating. The stolen copy, no doubt, that she’d written in. He very nearly opened it back up. Had to dig his teeth into his lip to stop himself. Curiosity had to give way here, though. The last thing he wanted to do was make Beth angry at this point in time, over something so trivial.
He slid the book onto the shelf beside her favorite chair and then glanced at the paper. Had it been in the book? If so, he ought to refold it and slip it back inside. But it could just as easily have blown from somewhere else. How was he to know?
He glanced at the first line, just to get an idea of what it was.
Once upon a time, in the islands called Scilly, lived a girl called Elizabeth, who everyone called Beth. Brought up on the sea and the granite and the isles, Beth sought adventure above all. And she found it. First by exploring every rock and rill of her island home. And then, when the call of romance grew loud in her ears, she turned her sights toward the mainland. But no true love awaited her there, and so home she came once more.
Well now. Unable to control his smile—and not honestly trying—he leaned against the wall. She’d written herself a fairy tale. He ought to add She’s utterly charming to his list next. He read on, thoroughly enchanted by her lyrical prose.
Then, one day, this island lass found a treasure map hidden away in her grandfather’s house, once the home of a pirate king. “Could it be?” said she. “The long-lost treasure of Mucknell the Menace?” Knowing not whether she dare to hope, she remembered her dearest friend from her years at school—sweet Emily, whose father was of great renown. “A trustee is he,” thought Beth to herself, “of the greatest museum in all the land. If it be true, he will know, and if false, he shall advise.”
And so off she sent her map to grand old London Town, where the earl of renown declared, “By Jove! Follow this map, dear girl, and it’ll lead you to the pirate’s hoard! And anything you find, you may send my way. For I have a friend who will pay you well.”
Visions of Seasons swimming in her head, fair Beth set out to unlock the secrets of the map. But wanting to keep her family from thinking her foolish, she convinced her brother, Good Vicar Oliver, to let her spend the summer on the next island over, so in secrecy she might search.
Little did she know that this friend of the earl was none other than the Nefarious Marquess of SheriDoom. And when he heard that pirate treasure could be found in the isles, in he sent his henchman with vile intent.
“Sheridan? What are you reading!”
It was panic more than question, which drew his gaze up in time to see Beth flying through the room, eyes wide. She snatched the sheet from his hands.
He let her. “Wind blew. Papers went everywhere, I all but stepped on it.”
“I assumed the wind had made a mess, that’s why I came in, I . . .” She was looking at him with horror. Absolute horror. “It isn’t—I wrote this ages ago. When we first met.”
“That’s your excuse?” He lifted his brows and slung his hands into his pockets. “The Nefarious Marquess of SheriDoom? Really?”
Though she’d been out all day in the sun and had come home with pink cheeks, they washed pale now. She clutched the paper like it was a life preserver in a raging sea. “I was angry. You know I was angry.”
His pockets wouldn’t do after all. He pulled his hands free and folded his arms over his chest instead. “I don’t care how angry you were. Some things—well, they’re just beyond the pale.”
“I didn’t honestly think you a villain!” She winced, like she’d been doing last week when her ribs hurt. Except he knew those had healed. “Well, perhaps I did, briefly. Or wanted to. But I couldn’t think it for long.”
“You thought I was a villain?” Now his arms fell stupidly to his side. “An actual villain?”
Her expression twisted. “Well . . .”