Andrea Kane (22 page)

Was it an indication that her father was alive? Or simply a manifestation of her internal turmoil over Slayde? Either way, by week’s end, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. There was no longer any excuse. Her body was almost fully recuperated. ’Twas time to act.

Her mood was one of staunch determination when she arose on the sixth day following Slayde’s departure. She’d slept not a wink, alternately planning the upcoming day and tossing about in a futile attempt to rest her cluttered mind.

This was to be the day; she’d decided that somewhere between three and four a.m. Aurora didn’t know it yet, but right after breakfast, they were going to make the long-awaited trek to the lighthouse—only this time they would succeed.

Courtney frowned, brushing disheveled strands of hair off her face and crossing over to the dressing table. What she truly wanted was to leave for the Windmouth Lighthouse immediately, and breakfast be damned. But Elinore was joining them for their morning meal, and she’d be terribly hurt if Aurora and Courtney were absent when she arrived, so the conversation with Mr. Scollard would have to wait a few more hours.

Pensively, Courtney poured cool water into the basin. If things went well, she could visit with Elinore, meet with Mr. Scollard, and be back at Pembourne by midaftemoon—just in case the other cause of her upheaval returned.

Slayde.

Instinct told her he’d be home soon. The very thought made her pulse race, triggering several different reactions, each one as powerful as it was conflicting. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and welcome him home. She wanted to hang back and see if he could really keep his vow and restrain his feelings for her. She wanted to interrogate him about whatever he’d learned in London.

And she wanted to do these things all at once.

Courtney rolled her eyes. ’Twas no wonder she couldn’t sleep. She could scarcely manage her thoughts when she was awake.

A songbird outside her window trilled, reminding her that the morning was ticking by. Well, whether or not the new day was ready for her, she was ready for it. Purposefully, she splashed some water on her face, just as her bedchamber door opened.

“Courtney?” Aurora poked her head in. “Finally, you’re up. Did I forget to tell you Elinore was coming to breakfast?”

“You told me four times,” Courtney assured her, grinning as she plucked a lime-green day dress from her wardrobe. “And each time I was delighted.”

“But you’re not ready.” Still hovering in the doorway, Aurora frowned.

“The viscountess is not due at Pembourne for over an hour,” Matilda announced, sailing into the room. “I’m certain we can have Miss Courtney dressed and ready in that amount of time. That is,
if
we have no interruptions.” She arched an affectionate—though pointed—brow at Aurora.

“Very well,” Aurora said with a sigh.

“I’d planned to find you before breakfast anyway,” Courtney told Aurora with a meaningful glance. “If it’s acceptable to you, I’d like to take that walk we discussed—just as soon as Elinore leaves.”

Aurora brightened at once. “Of course. I know just the walk you mean.”

“So do I,” Matilda inserted dryly. “Are you certain you’re up for it, Miss Courtney?”

“I’m certain,” Courtney replied. Grinning, she did a mock pirouette in place. “See? I’m as good as new.”

“Almost,” Matilda qualified.

“Excellent!” Aurora turned to go, infinitely more cheerful than when she’d arrived. “I’ll see if Cook needs help.”

“And I’ll be on time for breakfast,” Courtney called after her. Still smiling, she turned to Matilda. “If I’d been blessed with a sister, I’d want her to be just like Aurora.”

“Perhaps that blessing will come to pass,” Matilda replied, readying the gown as Courtney slipped out of her nightrail and into her undergarments.

Courtney’s fingers paused on the ribbons of her chemise. “What do you mean?”

A knowing smile. “Here, lovey, step into this.” She eased the dress up Courtney’s torso, carefully avoiding the tender area where her ribs had recently healed. “I mean that you and Lady Aurora might become sisters, after all. If not through blood, then through marriage.”

The very word made Courtney’s mouth go dry. “What makes you think that could happen?”

“Really, Miss Courtney, I’ve worked at Pembourne since before the earl was born. I’m aware of everything that occurs here—as well as things that don’t. And one would have to be blind not to see the way you and Lord Pembourne look at each other. If ever there were two people in love, it’s you.”

“You’re very insightful,” Courtney murmured. “But Matilda, love in one thing; marriage is quite another.”

“The earl hasn’t a snobbish bone in his body. So if you’re fearful of the class difference…”

“It has nothing to do with our social standings. Nor with our feelings. ’Tis just that—” She stopped, not sure how much to reveal.

Matilda fastened the final button on Courtney’s gown. “Lord Pembourne is a complex man. He’s been a loner all his life. That tendency intensified over the last decade—for obvious reasons. But in my opinion, he has a tremendous capacity to love and be loved, a capacity that was buried deep inside him and that awaited only the right woman to coax it out.” She beamed, smoothing Courtney’s bodice, then lifting her chin with a gentle forefinger. “I believe that woman is standing right before me. What’s more, so does she. Now, shall we arrange your hair before the viscountess arrives?”

Sparks of anticipation danced in Courtney’s eyes. “We shall. All at once, I find myself ravenously hungry.”

“You’re looking splendid. Why, there’s color in your cheeks I haven’t seen until now.” Elinore studied Courtney over the rim of her coffee cup, nodding her approval as she spoke.

“I’m feeling much better,” Courtney replied, biting into a biscuit. “And I have you and Aurora to thank.”

“Not to mention the fact that Slayde will soon be home,” Aurora added.

Courtney shot her a look. “I’d sooner think it’s Elinore’s visits and Cook’s meals that sped my recovery.”

“Then let’s just say my brother’s arrival will complete the process.”

Elinore cleared her throat. “You’re fond of Slayde, I take it?”

“He’s been generous and heroic, from saving my life to opening the doors of his home to me,” Courtney answered carefully. “We also have a great deal in common. So, yes, I’m fond of him.”

“And he’s fond of you as well,” Aurora said cheerfully.

“How wonderful.” Elinore smoothed her strand of pearls, eyes alight with interest. “When did this happen?”

“Nothing’s happened.” Courtney wondered if the prospect troubled Elinore. After all, Slayde’s mother had been her best friend. Perhaps she wanted more for him than a sea captain’s daughter.

“Nothing’s happened
yet,”
Aurora qualified again. “But it will.”

“I certainly hope so,” Elinore surprised Courtney by saying. “Lord knows, it would give him a new purpose, something that should have happened long ago.”

“What do you mean?” Courtney inquired.

Elinore glanced at Aurora.

“Courtney knows all about Mama and Papa’s murders,” Aurora answered her unspoken question. “Slayde filled her in, given the fact that he believes the Bencrofts were responsible for both that crime and the one just committed against Courtney’s father.”

“I see.” Elinore’s gaze flickered to Courtney. “Then you understand the way Slayde thinks, how preoccupied he’s been since his parents’ deaths. I’ve tried, over and over, to convince him to bury the past, to get on with his life. But it’s been more than a decade, and he’s only withdrawn deeper and deeper into himself. If you can give him something else to care about, a future to look toward, you’ll have repaid his heroism and generosity threefold.”

Courtney’s misgivings abated. “Have you known Slayde since he was a young boy?”

A nod. “I was sixteen when Theomund and I wed, and I came to live at Stanwyk. Aurora wasn’t yet born and Slayde was about six. He was quiet and serious even then, spending most of his time on his studies or out sailing his skiff. Whatever he undertook over the years—be it reading and writing, or sailing and hunting—he always excelled at them. And he always did them alone.”

“Did you see him often?”

“Not really. Soon after my marriage, Slayde was off to Eton, and he returned only on holidays. Then, it was Oxford, Europe, India.” Elinore sighed. “Slayde rarely stayed at Pembourne for any length of time, especially after his parents died. It was as if the horrible memories drove him away.”

“I’m sure they did,” Courtney murmured, automatically reaching into her pocket and extracting her father’s timepiece. “Memories can sometimes be unendurable.”

“What is that?” Elinore asked, brows raised in curiosity.

“My timepiece. I customarily leave it in the drawer of my nightstand, but today”—a quick glance at Aurora—“I needed it with me. It belonged to my father. He gave it to me just before he was thrown from our ship.” Courtney snapped it open to show Elinore the scene within. “ ’Twas at that moment it stopped. It hasn’t resumed, other than once, when—” With a sharp sound, she broke off, her gaze riveted to the watch’s face.

“Courtney?” Elinore pressed. “What is it, dear?”

“The watch. It moved again. Just now. Like the last time. ’Tis as if Papa…” Abruptly, she bolted to her feet. “I must know.” Her distraught gaze shifted to Aurora. “We’ve got to leave for the lighthouse. Now. Please, Aurora. If Papa’s alive…if there’s anything I can learn…”

Aurora rose at once. “Elinore, will you excuse us?” she asked, already following Courtney toward the door. “Courtney and I must make a trip to visit Mr. Scollard. She’s well enough now. And if anyone can help her, he can.”

Elinore stared after them, looking utterly bewildered. “Why, certainly. Is there anything I can do?”

“Just understand,” Aurora called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hallway. “We don’t mean to be rude. ’Tis just that—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off by the sound of the entranceway door as it shut behind them.

The Windmouth Lighthouse was nestled at the foot of the hills, beckoning them like a warm, familiar friend.

“How lovely,” Courtney whispered, pausing to regain her strength, tilting back her head in order to admire the stone tower from its base.

“It’s fifty-seven feet high,” Aurora informed her, as proud as if she’d built the structure herself. “And over a hundred years old. But Mr. Scollard keeps it looking new. He not only operates the light, he maintains the entire building himself; there’s not one chipped or broken stone, or a spot on the balcony that’s not freshly painted. Come—let’s go in.” She tugged at Courtney’s arm. “Your strength is all but sapped.”

“You’re right about that.” Briefly, Courtney leaned her forehead against the cool stone, watching as Aurora walked through the unlocked door. “Shouldn’t we knock?” she murmured, following along, then hesitating at the threshold.

“It’s not necessary. Mr. Scollard knows we’re here. See? He’s prepared a fire and some tea. Why don’t you sit down and rest a bit.”

“How on earth did he know…?” Courtney’s voice drifted off as she entered the lighthouse, blinking in surprise as she did. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this quaintly decorated room with watercolors hanging over a settee, twin armchairs perched on either side of a brick fireplace, and a glorious fire, before which sat a tray containing a steaming pot of tea and three cups.

“Isn’t this room perfect?” Aurora demanded.

“Perfect,” Courtney echoed, still staring at their refreshment. “How did Mr. Scollard know we’d be coming?”

Aurora shrugged. “The same way he knows everything. Look back there.” She pointed toward an alcove at the rear of the room. “That leads to Mr. Scollard’s chambers. I’ve never seen them, but I know he built them himself so he’d be able to man his post at the blink of an eye, without the hindrance of traveling. Every evening, at the first sign of sunset, he heads up to the tower to light the lamp. He’s never been late nor skipped a night. Whenever I visit—be it morning, noon, or night—he escorts me to the tower. I adore watching the ships and the waves and listening to him spin his yarns. They’re filled with adventure and excitement.” A fond smile. “I’ve been visiting the lighthouse since I was a child. And in all these years, Mr. Scollard has never run out of legends or patience.”

“He sounds wonderful.” Totally intrigued by Aurora’s description, Courtney lowered herself to the settee, catching sight of the endless spiral staircase that led to Aurora’s haven. “Is Mr. Scollard in the tower now?”

“Customarily, he would be. He spends most mornings polishing the lanterns, making certain all the apparatus is in perfect working order for sunset. However, given our visit, I suspect he’s in his chambers.”

“Did you tell him we might be coming by today?”

“No. I never need to tell Mr. Scollard anything. He foresees things on his own, which is why he’s doubtless on this level rather than in the tower. He realizes you’re too weak to make such a steep climb.” Seeing Courtney’s baffled expression, Aurora grinned. “Trust me. Mr. Scollard will be joining us in a few minutes. Then you can form your own opinion.”

Even as Aurora spoke, a light tread sounded from the rear, and Courtney twisted about expectantly.

A minute later, an elderly man emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. His weathered face, beneath a mop of snow-white hair, was lined with age, but his keen gaze was sharp as a tack, his eyes the brightest blue Courtney had ever seen. Fascinated, she stared at him.

“Welcome, Miss Johnston,” he said, his gruff voice devoid of surprise. “See, Rory? Your friend healed quickly. Almost quickly enough to suit you.”

“Nothing is ever quick enough to suit me, Mr. Scollard,” Aurora returned with a grin.

“True.” He gave a disgusted grunt. “No patience. Not a whit. Even after all these years.” His glance fell on the teapot. “Why haven’t you had your tea?”

Somehow Courtney found her voice. “We were waiting for you.”

“Don’t. You need your strength. Or else you’ll undo all Matilda’s hard work.” He poured a cup and handed it to Courtney, his hand as steady as a lad’s. “Here. Strong. Too strong for Rory, but she’ll have to make do. You’re the guest today. So the tea is just the way you like it—strong and dark. That’s what happens when you live among sailors. You learn their habits. Never met a sailor who took his tea weak.” He glanced about the room, his vivid eyes searching. “You could actually use some of that brandy you like so much. I’ve got a bottle around here somewhere.” A shrug. “Maybe later. Yes, later would be better. Spirits make you too groggy. And if you’re not clear-headed, we won’t be able to examine that watch of yours.” He arched a brow at Courtney, whose mouth was still hanging open. “Drink the tea now while it’s hot,” he advised. “You can stare at me later.”