Gripping folds of her gown, Courtney sat forward, staring off toward the Channel as her purpose found her, just as Mr. Scollard had predicted. She’d leave right away, seek her truths.
But how could she reach them? In one of Slayde’s ships.
Swiftly, she rose, gathering her skirts, preoccupied with one goal: to rush down to the wharf and be gone.
You owe it to Slayde to tell him first, her conscience warned.
Impossible, her urgency argued. Slayde is in London. I haven’t a clue when he’ll return. And I haven’t the time to wait.
Her common sense tried next. But it’s nearly night, the worst time of day to sail off to parts unknown.
I can’t let that—or anything else—deter me. I must go.
She’d taken but three steps when another internal voice resounded, this one halting her in her tracks. Patience, Courtney. It was Mr. Scollard, speaking as clearly as if he stood beside her. You must learn some. Now more than ever—you must.
“Mr. Scollard?” She looked about in bewilderment. Nothing but the gardens and trees met her scrutiny.
Listen with your heart, Courtney, the gruff, omniscient voice persisted. It won’t fail you.
With a resigned sigh, Courtney retraced her steps, sank back down into the chair. “Very well,” she acquiesced, somehow unsurprised by Mr. Scollard’s unseen presence. “I’ll try.”
She could almost see him smile.
She must have dozed.
Firm hands gripped her arms, shook her awake with gentle, but insistent motions. Disoriented, she cracked open her eyes and shivered, wondering why so cold a breeze permeated her bedchamber. “Matilda, would you mind closing the window?” she murmured. “It’s so chilly in here.”
“I’m not surprised,” Slayde’s deep voice replied. “It’s one a.m. and you’re sleeping in the garden wearing only a thin muslin gown.”
“Slayde?” Courtney blinked. “You’re home?”
“For hours.” He eased her forward, wrapping his coat about her shoulders. “Hours spent searching the manor for you. Everyone thought you were abed, which my visit to your chambers rapidly disproved. Everyone but Aurora, who wouldn’t divulge a bloody thing. I nearly bellowed her walls down before she finally told me your whereabouts. Evidently, you’ve been out here since midafternoon. Let’s get you inside before you become ill.”
“No.” Courtney shook her head, suddenly quite awake. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
“If it’s about what I learned in London, trust me, it can wait until morning.” He scooped her into his arms.
“Please,” she whispered, with another shake of her head. “It’s not. It’s about…something else.”
Slayde paused, searching her face. Whatever he saw there made him comply. “All right.” He lowered himself to the chair, enfolding her in his coat—and his arms.
Besieged by weariness, Courtney nestled against him. “I missed you,” she murmured, abandoning any notion of remaining aloof. “I’m glad you’re home.”
He swallowed, audibly. “I thought of you a great deal. And I worried. You and Aurora together…I half expected my staff to have resigned during my absence.”
Courtney smiled. “I was under the impression you considered me a good influence on Aurora.”
“A wonderful companion. A good friend. But a good influence? Hardly. Remember? You filled me in on your past antics.” He smoothed her hair from her face. “You’re troubled. What is it? According to Matilda, you’ve been a model patient: visiting with Elinore, strolling the grounds with Aurora, and—oh, yes—Cutterton mentioned today’s trip to the lighthouse.”
An exasperated sigh. “Is there anything Cutterton doesn’t know?”
“No. Now, tell me. Did Mr. Scollard upset you in some way? He’s harmless enough, if a bit eccentric.”
“He’s extraordinary. So is his tea, which I’m convinced has healing powers. And, no, he didn’t upset me. But he did cause me to think.” She inhaled sharply, meeting and holding Slayde’s gaze. “I want to borrow a ship—a small one—preferably with a crew of one or two. I’m a fairly good navigator when my head isn’t thrust in the chamber pot. Unfortunately, that’s not very often. So I can’t go alone. But go I must. At first light.” Her fingertips brushed Slayde’s jaw. “Please. Don’t say no.”
Slayde’s features had grown harsher with each passing word. “Armon is dead,” he answered roughly. “What is it you’re seeking?”
“The spot where he boarded the Isobel. I need to be there again, to see where Papa went down. I’m not sure why, but it’s the only way I can find peace. Perhaps, since I never actually saw Papa go overboard, it’s easier for me to deny the inevitability of his death. I don’t know. I only know I must go. I considered doing so before you returned, but something Mr. Scollard said…” She wet her lips. “In any case, I waited. Please don’t make me sorry I did.”