She closed the door with an artless shrug. Not the sort he often saw gentlewomen give, designed to draw attention, saturated with guile, studied. No, this was simply a shrug. Refreshingly honest. “I really don’t know. But she left her things here. Moon gathered them up—I’m not certain what she did with them, but they’re probably in her room.”

Moon—Mabena. Recognition slammed him hard. The girl from the gardens of Telford Hall, whom he’d met when Mabena’s parents had begged him to go and see if she was all right in her new position—and more accurately, see if he could talk her into coming home.

He hadn’t known, when he stumbled across the girl sprawled in the dirt, that she was the daughter of the house. But he’d pieced it together in the time since, given the subtle information in Mabena’s letters home.

Now he sucked in a breath and executed a quick bow. “Forgive me, Lady Elizabeth. My shock has eclipsed my manners. I didn’t realize you and Moon”—it took every ounce of self-possession to remember to call her that rather than Mabena—“were holidaying here this summer.”

Was that disappointment that sagged her shoulders? Why? She even let out a little breath that rang of frustration as she tucked back a tendril of hair that had slipped free of her braid. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, sir. You know my name, but I don’t recall ever learning yours.”

No, their hour-long walk through the gardens at Telford Hall hadn’t been cluttered with such unnecessary things. For all he’d known at the time, she could have been a governess, a maid enjoying her half day, or even a daughter of one of the many visiting families. He hadn’t known, when he’d let himself be prodded to Somerset, that he’d be stumbling upon a funeral, and certainly not that he’d find the bereaved daughter covered in garden dirt. Though had he known at the start, he would have simply assured the Moons that Mabena would get on well enough with her.

He inclined his head. “Forgive me again. Mr. Oliver Tremayne, of Tresco.”

“Tresco?” Her spine snapped straighter, and she darted a look toward the window. And presumably the islands beyond it. “But . . . then you’re not one of Bram’s friends. He knows no one here.”

Bram? It was logic more than knowledge that told him she must mean her brother. He shook his head. “No, I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Lord Telford, aside from the few minutes he granted me when I arrived at your home at so unfortunate a time.” He, too, motioned, but toward her door. “I’d merely come to make certain Mabena Moon was well. Her parents asked me to make sure she was all right.”