Though even glancing down at it made her smile. “Thank you. My grandmother made it. She has a true talent for knitting lace.”
“It’s stunning. Where did she find the pattern? I do a bit of knitting myself, though I’ve never attempted anything so intricate.”
“Oh, she creates her own patterns. Each of her pieces is unique.”
Abbie’s eyes went wide. “That makes it even more stunning. I’m an absolute dunce about that sort of thing. I can follow a pattern, but if it requires creativity, I am guaranteed to make a mess of it.”
They were walking through the heart of the village now, so Beth decided she may as well start playing tour guide, pointing out the Polmers’ bakery, the hat shop above which Lady Emily was currently staying, and a few other shops she thought might interest them. They nodded along, interjected a mild exclamation now and then, but Beth found it interesting—and endearing—that their loudest exclamation was over the Naiad when they saw Mr. Pepper loading the trunk onto it.
“Oh, that is the most beautiful sloop I’ve ever seen! It’s yours, dear?”
Beth nodded to Millicent’s question, unable to keep from smiling. “Isn’t she lovely? My uncle crafted her, and a matching one for his daughter, named the Mermaid.”
“I see talent runs in your family. You uncle is a true artist.” Millicent stepped over to view the sloop from a different angle, then turned bright eyes on her sister. “You know what Theo should do?”
“Commission one for our lake at home. I completely agree. We’ll have to recommend it to him.”
What a family these three were. Beth chuckled as she stooped down to pick up a shell with a lovely pattern of pink and white that Mamm-wynn would appreciate. “You’re too late. He already has.” She gave the pug a pet while she was on its level and then stood again, saying, when Abbie gave the shell in her hand an odd look, “Oh, for my grandmother. I always bring her a little something back whenever I’m away from her. Just a silly tradition.”
Abbie’s face moved into an expression that Beth didn’t quite know the name for. “How absolutely lovely.”
“Oh!” Millicent came back over to them, brows furrowed. “Did you get the note to George written, Abbie? Did we need to visit the telegraph office before we go to Tresco?”
“I left it with Payne. She said she’d walk there directly after we’d gone.”
“Good. We all know Theo wouldn’t have thought to write to him, don’t we?”
Beth had no idea who George was or why Sheridan should have written to him, but she had no trouble believing he’d have forgotten a letter to someone in the face of pirate prince lore and Druid cairns abounding. She smiled as she tucked the shell into her pocket. “Well, ladies. I think our tour ought to start with Peninnis Head, visible there at the mouth of the sound. They say it’s . . .”
24
What the devil was taking Beth so blasted long? Sheridan reached one end of the Tremaynes’ back garden and spun so he could pace to the other. Again. Beth was mad, that’s what. A raving lunatic, to willfully go around them as she’d done and put herself in the cross fire of his sisters.
Didn’t she have a shred of fear in her? She should know better. Abbie and Millicent were not to be treated lightly, and the grim look on Ainsley’s face when he heard that Beth had gone off at the crack of dawn to bring them here from St. Mary’s had shouted that truth just as clearly as the knot in his own stomach.
He loved his sisters. He’d be happy to see them. But he knew better than anyone how overbearing they could be. And didn’t Libby all but cower in a corner when they were in the same room? They could be terrifying. And while Beth no doubt could hold her own, she shouldn’t have to, not so soon. Not until after he’d had a chance to present his list to them and convince them of how perfect she was.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met a young lady as strong-willed and headstrong as Beth Tremayne,” he muttered to the roses.
From the table, Oliver chuckled behind his newspaper. “You knew that before you didn’t propose to her.”
He grunted and turned back to the thatch anchor in the corner of the garden. Practical thing, that, though he’d rather hoped when he first spotted them all over the islands that they had more interesting stories to tell. Like the Betrothal Stone in the Abbey Gardens—in many ways a scaled-up version of these small granite slabs—with its history dating back to the Druids. “And perhaps I admire it about her. In general. But I do hate the thought of her and my sisters butting heads without anyone else there to smooth things over.”
The newspaper rustled. “Are you saying you don’t trust that my sister’s charms are sufficient to win your sisters over as quickly as they won you?”
“Well now.” That wasn’t quite fair, was it?
“Or is it your sisters’ fair-mindedness and good taste that you’re doubting?”
He winced. If ever they heard their taste being called into question . . . “Neither. Or both. That is . . . see here, Tremayne, it’s fear. It doesn’t have to be logical, does it? And Ainsley is quite certain that I have a fight on my hands. I mean, I know they’ll like her. I just don’t know if they’ll approve of her. Like Telly, you know. With you. At first, I mean. You had to prove yourself, and I don’t want Beth to have to do the same so soon.”
Oliver just chuckled again. “We can walk to the quay if you’d like. Rather than wearing a new path through the garden.”
“No, no. They said they’d meet me here.” If they’d wanted him to meet their boat, they would have said so. No, for whatever reason, they didn’t.
Perhaps because they intended to take a blighted eternity to get here and didn’t want him waiting hours for them. He made another pivot and aimed himself toward the colorful daisies that were Beth’s favorites. “Probably have her taking them round the coast of every island, you know. Telling them all the local lore. They’ll have her out all day. Can never get enough of touring new locales, those two. Always eager to see one more place instead of taking a minute to examine the previous in any detail.” It always took forever to drag them to the actual site they were aiming at.
Maddening.
“Well, Beth certainly shines when sharing the local lore. I imagine she’ll dust off all Tas-gwyn Gibson’s best tales for them.”
His lips couldn’t help but tug up at the thought. They’d definitely like her, especially after a storytelling tour. But what if hearing all the local tradition from her lips made them think her all the more “just” an island girl?
But it would be all right. He had his list, which he’d expanded still more last night. He’d included rebuttals to every single argument Ainsley had said they were likely to make. And given Abbie’s penchant for organization and Millicent’s merciless focus on solving every problem under the sun, real or imagined, they ought to be so impressed by the effort he’d made that . . . that . . . well, come to think of it, being impressed with his effort didn’t guarantee they’d be won over by the arguments themselves. Which were sound, but even so.