She stroked a thumb along the pattern of the shawl she clutched like an anchor. Maybe she was—or had been. But that was in a different life. She wasn’t that Mabena anymore. She was just Moon now. Trusted maid of Lady Elizabeth Sinclair, sister of the Earl of Telford.

A jagged nail caught in the yarn, and she let out a sigh. All right, so obviously some of the old Mabena lived on, otherwise she never would have given in to that anxious beating of her heart last week and convinced Libby to come here for the summer. But she’d been worried, when the letters stopped after that last startling one.

And she’d been right to be worried, clearly. Where the devil had Beth gone? She should have been here, in this very place. This beautiful shawl that Mrs. Tremayne had knitted for her ought to have draped her shoulders, not been left in a drawer. And while Mabena had once been the sort to follow a whim wherever it took her, hardly caring if her family knew where she’d gone, Beth had never done the same. Oh, she’d adventured aplenty, it was true—but never without letting her family know. Yet here Mabena was, in the house Beth Tremayne had let for the summer but then vanished from.

Her pulse quickened again. Something was amiss. She could only pray, if her prayers weren’t as out of practice as her rowing, that it was something as simple as an unplanned trip to the mainland. But Beth hadn’t mentioned anything that could lure her there in her last letters. Which left Mabena with her fears of something . . . else, though she didn’t know what it might be.

And since the blighted islanders couldn’t be trusted to care for the hearts of their daughters—Mabena was proof of that—what choice did that leave her but to come home and look after Beth herself?

“Mabena?”

She looked up to find Libby in the threshold of her room, a smile on her face and a few books in her hands, including her sketchbook and pencils. “I’m going to follow that path down to the shore. Perhaps wander a bit.”

She didn’t invite Mabena along. And Mabena couldn’t blame her. There was nothing like exploring a new place unhindered—and there was no safer place to let a young woman wander than along these shores. She couldn’t get lost, there was no traffic to speak of, and the islanders had long ago learned to keep a watchful eye on visitors. So, ignoring the stern image of Lady Telford’s face that flooded her mind, she nodded. “I’ll have luncheon ready for you at noon.”