Page 10 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

They’d had a conversation with each other that she had clearly been meant to overhear, in which they had talked about what a shame it was when those given the overseeing of an estate chose to blame its problems on others rather than take responsibility.

The message had been clear. She was meant to fix everything that others had done wrong here before her arrival, and she had six months of forced isolation in which to do it.

Formulating a plan for addressing those repairs was proving difficult.

She had the funds with which to do it—that much had been accounted for by the solicitor.

But her staff was so small that sending any one of them into the village to try to find workers would create too much of a burden.

To be without their housekeeper or butler or Jane would put them behind on the absolutely necessary tasks of each day.

They could have sent Mick, the little boy who wandered about the island, but he was so young.

The Iverses couldn’t leave the lighthouse unattended, except to see to their own needs in the village.

She was in a difficult spot and wasn’t certain what to do about it.

But she currently had an able-bodied man in the house whose time was not already claimed elsewhere. For at least a few more days, he couldn’t take the sea road off the island. As of the night before, he didn’t seem to have any pressing business pulling him elsewhere.

On the heels of those thoughts, the now-clothed man arrived at the door of the book room. He offered a well-executed bow before stepping inside.

“I would like to formally request a cancellation of my wakeup service,” he said.

What in heaven’s name did that mean? “I beg your pardon?”

“We’re doing this ‘in character,’ are we?”

“I beg—”

He held his hand up to dismiss the question as unnecessary.

“My apologies, Miss Archibald, for the upheaval of this morning. I had not expected anyone to come into my bedchamber unannounced and, thus, was ill-prepared to soften the shock of both my state of undress and my now-infamous tattoo.” There was something almost like sarcasm in his tone.

He was so very confusing. And distractedly handsome, blasted man. If she was to keep her wits about her, she was going to have to either not look at him or ... or something.

“Your name is Kipling Summerfield. Did I remember that correctly?” That much needed to be cleared up before anything else.

“Yes, indeed.” He offered another quick smile. His teeth were perfect. Quite literally perfect. One didn’t often see such a thing.

“And you are searching for Tennyson Lamont?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.” It was almost a question.

“You asked for him.”

“I was curious if you knew him, but you have indicated that you don’t.”

“I also do not know Thomas Pink, whom you said you were looking for as well.”

“No, I said my shirt was from Thomas Pink.”

“You stole Mr. Pink’s shirt?”

He looked at her like she was the one talking nonsense. “He made the shirt.”

“Your tailor is Thomas Pink?”

“Not anymore,” he grumbled.

This level of confusion was quickly growing exhausting. “And you are not expecting Mr. Tennyson Lamont to come here looking for you?”

“For copyright purposes, I don’t think Tennyson Lamont will make any appearances this summer.”

“ Copyright ?” What was he talking about?

“Unless you want to go nose-to-nose with a team of network lawyers.”

“Lawyers?”

“Solicitors.”

Was he in trouble with the law? That would explain having multiple names. It could also explain his tattoo. And yet the explanation didn’t feel right.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I suspect the full story was not laid out last night.”

He looked almost relieved. “I didn’t think so either.”

“What does that mean?”

Mr. Summerfield smiled, even gave the hint of a laugh. “How about we approach this in a far easier manner: you tell me what it is I am to do while we wait for the sea road to emerge from the water, and I will nod in agreement and do it.”

He truly wanted her to simply tell him what she needed him to do?

He appeared to be in earnest, and he didn’t seem upset about needing to remain on the island for a time.

She was not ever deferred to in this way.

Mrs. Jagger and Mr. Marsh had treated her with incredulity at first, though they had warmed to her.

Jane acknowledged her as the mistress of the house but had a tendency toward a bit of cheek. Little Mick simply did as he pleased.

Dare she take advantage of the rare bit of luck in finding this man who was proving so amenable, even if he remained mysterious?

She didn’t know him well. She didn’t know him at all. Yet without help, she was going to fail.

“This house has endured neglect in recent years,” she said hesitantly. “When I first arrived here a few weeks ago, I was not expecting to be assigned the running and upkeep of it, but that is my role now.”

“The role of mistress of the house.” He nodded his understanding. “That is a significant one.”

Significant and overwhelming but, she hoped, fruitful in the end.

“Have you skills as a laborer of any kind?” she asked.

That she asked didn’t offend him, which she was grateful for. He did, however, seem confused. “I have done some work in carpentry.”

Here was another spot of luck. At last, it seemed fate was going to be kind.

“That is tremendously fortuitous,” she said. “Guilford is in particular need of repairs.”

“That is to be my role? Laborer and carpenter?” He seemed a little disappointed but still not offended.

He gave every indication of being a gentleman yet also had carpentry skills. Who knew Americans could be so useful.

“You are also a gentleman.” She didn’t need to phrase it as a question, as she was certain she already knew the answer. “In the evenings, you could certainly dedicate yourself to that role.”

“In the evenings? You mean after hours?”

She wasn’t at all certain what that meant, though she could guess at the definition.

Not knowing how things were done in America and not wanting to lose the help that she needed, she felt she could be accommodating.

“Afternoons and evenings,” she amended her offer of a moment earlier.

“Though I will need you to spend the mornings undertaking carpentry and repair work.”

“Do you have the appropriate tools and materials?” he asked.

She nodded. “There is an outbuilding on the island, not far from the house.”

“This was planned for, then.”

She supposed so. Most homes had to have access to such things. “The sea road might remain covered for days yet,” she said. “If you would help while waiting for it to be passable, that would be tremendously appreciated.”

“I’m just glad to know what my role is going to be,” he said, “even if it didn’t prove to be quite what I anticipated.”

The sea had brought him here by accident; anticipation could not have played any role in it at all.

Kipling Summerfield merited watching. And she would watch him while he helped her secure her inheritance, while doing her best not to remember that she’d watched him rather longer than she ought to have that very morning.

“None of my belongings seem to have arrived here with me,” he said.

“And the lighthouse keeper’s very generously supplied wardrobe doesn’t fit particularly well.

” He motioned to the trousers that ended short and his shirtsleeves that seemed ready to burst across the shoulders.

If they did that, his unsettling and intriguing tattoo would be obvious again.

She wasn’t certain she was ready for a repeat appearance.

“I had an opportunity upon first arriving to look through the attic,” she said. “There is a trunk there with men’s clothing inside. They will be partially outmoded and might not fit you perfectly, but there’s a chance you’ll find something in there that might suit your needs.”

“Outmoded?” he repeated. “Great word. I wonder why it was never used on set.”

On set . An Americanism, no doubt.

“I’ll go rummage through the attic and see if I can find that very convenient trunk. Then I’ll go explore this outbuilding and see what kind of ancient tools I might have to learn how to use.” He offered another bow.

His eyes met hers again as he straightened once more.

There was a genuine joy in his expression.

Joy. It was so wholly unexpected that she didn’t know at all what to think.

He’d been washed here by the sea, was in many ways trapped on the island like she was, and was hiding something.

Yet he seemed truly and genuinely happy.

Perhaps among his other tasks, he could teach her the trick of that.