He sighed at the circuit of his own thoughts. He didn’t know what made Beth do anything these days. Baffling creature. She too had insisted on going to the mainland for her schooling. But why hadn’t her experience taught her all she needed to know about the society to which their father’s family technically belonged? They’d never accept the Tremaynes. They’d always snub them the moment they realized their mother’s side wasn’t quite so sterling. They’d always look down on them for being too much a part of the islands, not present enough in London, their holdings too modest to be of any account. In her year away, she’d only ever made one friend worth mentioning. So why her constant yearning for a Season? Why, why the insistence to get away again this summer?

Mamm-wynn reached over and patted his stomach, hugging him from the side as they walked. “You’re fretting, Ollie. What does the Good Book say about that?”

He breathed a laugh. “Somehow, it’s always easier to quote those passages for another than live it for myself. Especially when it comes to Beth.”

The moment he said her name, he regretted it. Mamm-wynn’s eyes clouded over, and her gaze wandered to the sea. “Where is Beth? She isn’t where she ought to be.”

This time he sighed. “No. She isn’t.” And if she had her way, she’d probably charm some visiting nobleman who was holidaying on St. Mary’s and let him take her away forever, leaving them. Drawn like a moth to some flame he couldn’t even see.

“There you are!” Mrs. Dawe rushed into the garden, worry drawing lines out from her mouth as she came to his grandmother’s other side and gently took her other arm. “You had me right worried, Mrs. Tremayne, vanishing on me as you did.”

Mamm-wynn straightened her spine, raising herself to her full height—all five feet of it. “A lady has a right to take a morning stroll when she wishes.” She cast a mischievous little grin Oliver’s way, which shored up a few of the sagging places in his spirit. “And to watch her boy best those Wearnes in the race.”

Blessed laughter tickled his throat, spilled into the sea air, joined the calls of the gulls cruising overhead. He leaned down to place a kiss on her too-soft cheek. “I had better get ready for the day.” His gaze sought Mrs. Dawe’s.

She nodded, a promise in her eyes. “Go on, then. The missus and I will get settled with some tea and porridge, won’t we, dearover?”