Page 27

August paused. Take her…What? What in Heaven’s name was the man on about? “Forgive me, Mr. May, but I be afeared I don’t understand.”

Mr. May took a step closer to August, glancing around them at the empty gardens before continuing. “I wish for ye to show me daugh’er what good can come from socializin’. Teach ’er ’ow nice it can be to speak o’ somethin’ other ’an books. Show ’er ’ow to become a respectable member o’ society so she don’t ’ave to deal with ’em rumors no more.” He leaned ever closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “’Elp ’er become a fine woman worthy o’ findin’ an ’usband.”

August’s lips parted in shock. The man could not be serious. August, teach Mr. May’s daughter how to catch a husband?

He would have laughed had he not been so shocked. “Surely your daugh’er be more than capable o’ findin’ a spouse ’erself.”

“Ye would think that,” Mr. May mumbled. “Unfortunately, most men on the Mount know ’ow difficult she be. They’ve given up e’en tryin’, just like everyone else ’as.” He looked up at August. “Everyone but ye.”

Heavens. He wasn’t suggesting… “Ye mean, ye want Miss May and I to…”

Mr. May pulled back with a fierce scowl. “No, Mr. Moon,” he said firmly. “I ain’t suggestin’ such a thing. In fact, I be suggestin’ the opposite. I need ye to make ’er appealin’ to men off the Mount.”

“Off the Mount, sir?” August’s mind was reeling. He could hardly make sense of what Mr. May was requesting of him, let alone why. Nor could he understand the strange and sudden slither of disappointment that snuck up behind him when he discovered that Mr. May did not intend August to wed his daughter after all.

He pushed the annoying feeling away. He hardly knew the woman. How could he be disappointed by such a fact? At any rate, this was better for everyone. Now his secret plan with Emma and Nicholas would be able to continue without a hitch.

“Yes, off the Mount.” Mr. May’s jaw twitched as he repeated August’s words. “She must learn to see that livin’ off the Mount’ll bring ’er more ’appiness than stayin’ ’ere e’er would.”

August paused. So he was supposed to show her how living off the Mount would be better for her? He blew out a disbelieving breath. “I be sorry, sir, but I don’t think I be the one to convince ’er to move off the Mount. I love livin’ ’ere more ’an anythin’. To convince someone to leave a place I couldn’t imagine leavin’ meself again…”

But Mr. May shook his head. “Ye don’t ’ave to convince ’er to leave. She’ll want to leave. Eventually.” He averted his gaze for a moment before facing August head-on once again. “All me daugh’er needs be someone she can trust, someone she be comfortable with”—he motioned to August—“to show ’er ’ow to be normal. When she sees that socializin’ can be a joy, she’ll be ready to marry. Since no one on the Mount would wish to marry ’er, she must find an ’usband on the mainland, where she’ll realize she’ll be ’appiest.”

August didn’t say a word. He couldn’t say a word. How on earth could he make sense of all of this? Befriend Miss May, encourage her to socialize, then convince her to leave the Mount? In all honesty, a small part of him knew great joy to hear that Miss May had spoken more comfortably around him than anyone else her father had ever seen. And while August wished to know why that was exactly, he couldn’t afford to pursue such knowledge.

From what everyone on the Mount was saying, Livvy didn’t like talking to others—and from what her father was saying, she didn’t sound like she wished to leave the Mount at all. So how could August even begin to approach such a task? And why, why did Mr. May think August was the best man for the job?

“Surely there be someone better to ’elp, sir,” he said. “A woman, per’aps. Miss Pengelly or e’en me mother.”

Again, Mr. May shook his head. “No. I’ve watched Livvy interact with everyone. I can feel it in me bones. ’Tain’t no one to convince ’er o’ these things ’cept someone she be comfortable with.”

“But it be one night, sir,” August said. “We spoke for only an evenin’. Surely she’d be more comfortable with others, given the chance. Or with ye, ’er own father.”

Mr. May looked back to the bushes. “I’ve tried for years. ’Tain’t I who can ’elp ’er. ’Tis ye.”

August blew out a breath, still scrambling for some ounce of logic to throw at the man, though he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Mr. May seemed bound and determined to have his way, as illogical as it was.

But when his eyes met August’s again, Mr. May seemed to have aged years in a matter of moments. His eyes were sunken, the half-circles beneath them deep and grey. “I be desperate, Moon,” he whispered. “I need me daugh’er to be ’appy, and this be the only way. I was at a loss for years ’til I saw the both of ye last evenin’. I know ye be attached to Miss Pengelly, but I swear, this won’t ’urt your relationship with ’er.”

August’s concern was alleviated for just a moment at the words. So Mr. May had fallen for August and Emma’s ruse. That had to count for something.

“Please, August,” Mr. May continued. “I need your ’elp. Me daugh’er…She do need a friend.”

His voice broke at his final word, and so did August’s fortitude.

Stifling another sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck with his wet glove, allowing the moisture to cool his tensed muscles. This was asinine. Ludicrous. Absolutely ridiculous. And yet, he nodded.

“Very well,” he murmured. “Very well. I’ll ’elp if I can.”

Help being the keyword. If it shifted to something where he was no longer helping Miss May, he would end the charade in a moment’s notice.

The relief in Mr. May’s eyes at August’s acceptance did very little to quell his steadily rising nerves. “Thank ye. I couldn’t ’ave done it without ye. Thank ye.” He reached forward, clasping a hand to August’s shoulder before stepping back. “Oh, and I know I don’t need to say, but this needs to be done in secret. Should me daugh’er discover…”

“I shan’t speak a word, sir.”

And he meant it. The last thing he wanted was for Miss May to discover what was happening behind her back.

Mr. May left to the other side of the garden then, and August continued pushing his wheelbarrow toward the gate and his next task, his mind as unkempt and wild as the overgrown bilberry bushes themselves.