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Mother looked at her girls with a reproving look, then faced August with a wary eye. “It may be just rumors.”
“What?” he asked, looking between the three of them as his patience thinned. “What be ye not sayin’?”
Mother looked to Ophelia, who peered up at August with hesitance—the first hesitance she’d ever exhibited while sharing gossip.
“I ’eard that Miss May be leavin’ the Mount,” his sister said with a wince.
His heart dropped, the blood rushing in his ears as he took a step back. “Whom did ye ’ear such a thing from? Surely ye be mistaken.”
But Portia shook her head next. “She ain’t. We ’eard it from Mrs. Otter’am, who ’eard it from Miss May ’erself.”
No. Surely they’d all heard wrong. Surely Miss May wouldn’t leave the Mount, her home, her favorite place to be. Otherwise, how had Mr. May convinced her to do such a thing so swiftly? Or had it been August’s cruelty that finally pushed her over the edge?
The truth of the matter nearly crushed him under the weight of his guilt.
“Where?” he asked.
“Where is she to go, ye mean?” Mother asked.
He nodded.
She looked at her daughters, then responded. “Mr. May ’as a cousin who lives on the mainland. Somewhere near Bodmin. She’s to depart in a fortnight.”
An ache occurred in his chest, one that could not be subdued, one that prevented any breath drawn. She couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t allow it.
Swiftly, he stepped from the room.
“What are ye to do, August?” Mother asked, rising at once, her teacup clattering against the plate as she set it down.
“Nothin’.” He reached for his jacket and cap that hung near the front door. “I’ll be back ’fore dinner.”
Then he stepped into the cold rain and closed the door before he could hear another word.
Livvy, not live on St. Michael’s Mount? It could not be so.
Without thinking through his decision, he charged toward the Mays’ house, knocking on the door with a pounding heart.
Mr. May would be at the gardens still, which was fortunate. August wasn’t certain he’d be able to control his rage if he saw the man now.
After another knock from August, the maid opened the door with a pleasant smile. “What can I do for ye, sir?”
“I must speak with Miss May. I—”
His words failed as Livvy herself stepped in the background, appearing with wide eyes in his direction. “August?”
The maid looked between them.
“Ye may leave us, Sarah,” Livvy said, then she faced August with a wary look, waiting for her maid to depart before speaking again. “What ye be doin’ ’ere?” she asked softly.
August faced her, still standing in the rain. “Be it true?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again before sighing. “Ye ’eard.”
“That ye be leavin’ the Mount?” he asked, his chest swirling with emotion—anger, sorrow, regret. “Yes, I ’eard.”
She looked away. “It be time.”
“Why?” he breathed. “After all this time, why?”
