Rain—or its weak, misty sister—had plagued them again for days, and while Mabena might have braved it on her own, she wasn’t about to suggest that Lady Elizabeth Sinclair simply don a mackintosh and wellies and they go to Tresco as planned. Because Libby would do it in a heartbeat, and then Mabena would be parrying curious glances and outright questions all day as to why an earl’s sister was prancing about in the rain.

It had taken her until church on Sunday for her to put aside her irritation over that too-chatty Charlotte Wight. She needed nothing to put her in another mood. Not when Libby, by her very desire to be forgiven for something she didn’t even do, made her feel so very prickly in all the wrong ways.

And the thought of people smiling and laughing over her employer being so different from what they expected just soured her mood all over again. So they stayed on St. Mary’s through the rainy days, talking to ferry captains and bakers and grocers and anyone else Beth was likely to have spoken to while she was here.

Not that any of them offered the slightest insight as to where she could have gone when she piled her boat full of stuff and sailed out of Hugh Town’s quay. Like Mrs. Pepper, they’d all just assumed she’d gone home, and no one had seen her or her boat since. But they did confirm that she’d stockpiled enough food and whatnot to see her through weeks, when one combined her purchases from different stores. Wherever she was, she was well enough fed, and the weather had been mild.

When Tuesday dawned bright and promising, it took only one brow-raised half-smile from Libby to have Mabena sighing out her agreement over breakfast. “Yes, all right. Today we’ll go.”

Libby’s excited squeal made her feel more like a heel than ever. A lady shouldn’t be so blasted easy to please. Mabena almost wished, as she scrubbed their porridge bowls clean, that Libby were more like her mother—or even the ghastly Edith. At least then the Scillonians would exchange five words with her and have no question at all as to why Mabena kept her dress buttoned up to the chin and hadn’t come home once in two years.

“Are you trying to scrub the enamel off that bowl, Mabena?”

The soft tease tried its best to pull a smile onto her lips. But the sour won. Mam would accuse her of having put vinegar in her tea instead of sugar. “Yes, that’s it. Blighted enamel.” She set the bowl atop its mate with too loud a clatter. And glanced up.

Mistake, that. It showed her Libby’s pinched brows, and the uncertain curve of her lips. “Have I . . . ? Or perhaps you’re embarrassed to be seen with me on Tresco? By your family?”