No, it was more than that. Always quick, so quick, to care. This time her exhale was more sigh than huff. “Nothing like that. Her brother was trying to convince her to marry his best friend, Lord Sheridan—a marquess. And the lady wanted nothing to do with his plans. That’s all.” Libby wouldn’t be happy she’d shared that, probably, given her inclination toward privacy. But she couldn’t very well let Ollie worry over her too, could she?

His shoulders eased back down to a normal position, rolled back. He nodded. And reached for her elbow. “Mabena—”

“Oh no you don’t.” She leapt away from his touch. “None of that elbow-magic of yours, Oliver Tremayne. I’ll keep my heart to myself, thank you.”

He breathed a laugh and slanted a look at her that made his next words redundant. “I don’t need your elbow to know your heart.”

Probably true, but still. Everyone in the Scillies knew that when Oliver Tremayne took hold of your arm and looked deep into your eyes, he saw right down to your soul. A few of the old biddies whispered that it went beyond the natural. Mabena didn’t know about that, but she granted it had made him the easy choice to fill the role of village vicar. Everyone had already loved him. Trusted him. Wanted to share their secrets with him and receive in turn his encouragement and counsel.

But Mabena wasn’t in need of any spiritual guidance, thank you very much. She just needed to know where Beth was. “Can we focus, Ollie? She’ll be back out any moment.”

“Certainly. You can begin by explaining why you don’t want your employer to know that we—”

“Because,” she said with exaggerated articulation, just to interrupt him, “it would raise more questions than I care to answer about what took me to her home in response to their advertisement about a position. Beth, if you recall, provided my recommendation.”

And why was the look he gave her bordering on sad? Or worse, disappointed? “Benna.”

“Don’t chide me. That’s a bed I made long ago, and I’m happy enough to lie in it. So play along, will you? Pretend I’m just another parishioner.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could argue—which was clearly what he intended—Libby appeared in her doorway, her arms full of scientific whatnot, giving Mabena the perfect excuse to rush forward. Away from Oliver Tremayne. “Oh, my lady! Let me help you with that before you drop something.”

Libby relinquished a basket full of papers she was juggling, though she kept the microscope firmly in hand. At least the grin she gave Mabena assured her that she hadn’t heard any of the furious whispering. “How was the visit to your parents, Mabena? You weren’t gone all that long.”