Free Bride of a Distant Isle by Sandra Byrd Page A

appeared.
    â€œI’ve had a letter from Captain Dell’Acqua,” he said, holding it in his hand. “Oliver delivered it just now. He said that his second line of enquiry had proved unsatisfactory, and although he has a few more to consider, he’s leaning toward joining with Morgan and me. He set out to help the Maltese.” He glanced at the letter. “And perhaps, he thinks, that may mean you, too. Or your family, anyway, meaning me. Nicely done, Annabel! He’ll return shortly and be with us, on and off, throughout the summer.”
    I smiled. “I’m here to help in any manner.”
    He smiled warmly. “I knew you would be.”
    I turned to go but he gently took my arm. “Annabel. I don’t know why you need to remain in the small room Clementine insisted you be placed in.”
    â€œI did not . . .” Clementine started, but Edward silenced her with a look.
    â€œYour stay will be a bit longer than anticipated. Perhaps you’d like to take the rooms that belonged to your mother? I could ask Mrs. Watts to prepare them for you.”
    â€œEdward! Yes, thank you. What a lovely idea.”
    â€œI’ll ask Mrs. Watts to do so. You may find them more comfortable . . . and perhaps comforting, at least for a time.”
    â€œThank you again, Edward. It means so much to me.” The fog surrounding me lightened, if only a little.
    â€œVery happy to help,” he said, and then returned to the letter, and as I headed to the door to ring for Mrs. Watts, Clementine picked up her conversation again even as Edward steadily ignored her.
    â€œShe came when we were out. And she herself came; she did not send a servant.”
    He spoke up then. “How do you know? And why ever would she be calling on us now, after all these years? We’re rarely here, and she’s not bothered to stop by when we are.”
    â€œI cannot say. They’re most often at their lands in the north, I believe. But she left her card with the corner turned, so I know her visit was in person. We can’t afford to snub the Somerfords, Edward. She said she’ll return tomorrow.”

    I moved into the rooms that had been my mother’s. The staff seemed to have done as much as they could to warm the empty space again, adding pillows and counterpanes, waxing the wardrobe, and bringing the porcelain pitcher in from my other room. I sat in the chairs, which had been covered in sea foam–colored velvet with pineapple designs stamped into it. On the mantel was a clock. I reached up and touched it; it was made of lacquered wood and Chinese symbols marked the hours. Had she touched it, wound it, too?
    These rooms overlooked the front of the house, which I rather enjoyed, as I could see who was approaching when I was by the window, as well as the fat geese waddling their way across the lawns. My breath caught when I recognized the fine carriage that pulled up the drive the next morning.
    It was the one I had seen just outside of the yacht club the first day I’d visited Lymington! I pulled back from the window, just a little, so I could see who alighted from the carriage.
    It was the older woman who had caught my attention in the street. Oh dear!
    I dropped the faded drape and sat down at my mother’s writing desk. I was thankful I did not have to receive callers. What if she recognized me and mentioned seeing me in Lymington?
    A short while later, a knock sounded upon my door.
    â€œYes?” I called out. Maud entered the room and shut the door again before speaking.
    â€œIt’s Mrs. Everedge, miss,” she said. “She wants you to come down and greet her visitor, the Countess of Somerford.”
    I glanced at my dress, which, while serviceable, was hardly the kind of thing I’d want to wear to be introduced to someone from the aristocracy. “Can you offer regrets?”
    Maud shook her head. “No, miss. She insisted.” She