“Lottie.” She hadn’t, in fact, realized that the stories had made their way to St. Mary’s, though she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. “There’s no such thing.”

“There has to be something, doesn’t there, to inspire the stories?” Charlotte shook her head hard enough to dislodge a curl. “I never discount such tales, not with all the time we’ve spent in Ireland. I have no doubt at all that fairies are real—and they’re nasty little creatures. Scillonian ghosts could well be the same.”

“There are no ghosts on St. Mary’s. And I can walk the five minutes home without—”

“Please don’t.” Lottie seized her arm and held it tight. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. Just wait a moment, that’s all, and I’ll have Daddy take you home.”

She didn’t want to wait for Mr. Wight. Didn’t, frankly, want to walk home with him. She cast a longing look down the road—and nearly laughed with relief at the familiar figure walking their way. “There’s Beth Tremayne’s brother. He can accompany me.”

“Where?” Lottie dropped her arm and turned with her. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s giving the sermon tomorrow—he’s probably walking to the vicarage or something.” She saw no reason to mention that he’d be coming from her cottage. Or that the vicarage was in the opposite direction. She didn’t know why he was walking this way, but she wasn’t about to complain.

Lottie pursed her lips. “All right, he’ll do, I suppose. But I’m going to make sure he agrees before I leave you.”

And get a look at him, no doubt. Lottie was nothing if not consistent in her desire to catalogue and rank the handsomeness of all eligible bachelors in England with as much care as Libby had given her study of butterflies when she was fifteen.

Either Oliver recognized her in the light spilling from the garden or he lifted a hand in greeting to every person he saw. Which, come to think of it . . .

But he was smiling as he drew near enough for her to make out his features, and he said, “Lady Elizabeth, good evening.”

“Mr. Tremayne.” She edged a step away from Lottie. “I wonder if I might impose upon you to escort me back to my cottage? I’ve a trifling headache but don’t want to pull the other guests away.”

“No imposition at all.” He stopped a step away and held out an arm, nodding a greeting to Lottie. “Good evening.”