Murder at Beechwood by Alyssa Maxwell Page B

her rubbing her shoulders and patting her hair. Unlike Judith Kingsley, whatever hostilities Daphne had harbored the night before seemed forgotten in her anxiousness over the fate of family members. Mrs. Monroe at times dashed away tears of her own with the backs of her knuckles, but otherwise maintained a brave face for her ward. I wondered how she managed it. Her husband, two sons, and brother-in-law were all on that boat.
    For the moment, Grace and Cousin Gertrude seemed to have forgotten their differences. I saw no disparaging looks pass between them. Unable to keep still, I went to the window that looked out at the ocean. The rain had tapered to a light drizzle. Earlier, the remaining men on Virgil Monroe’s sloop had been rescued by one of the Life-Saving cutters. Then, using pulleys and winch, the cutter had towed the damaged sloop away. The other cutter remained in the vicinity and several other vessels joined it, a mix of pleasure craft and fishing vessels. Apparently word had spread through Newport. The boats fanned out over the water in what looked to be about a mile in each direction and were methodically sailing in an almost gridlike formation.
    â€œSome of those boats look like volunteers from the Yacht Club,” Grace murmured. I jumped at her voice; I hadn’t heard her approach. “How splendid of Neily’s sailing comrades to join the search. I do hope—” She broke off, swallowing.
    â€œYou mustn’t worry,” I said firmly. “It’s certain Neily is safe in town by now. Whoever they’re searching for fell from the Monroes’ sloop, not my uncle William’s ketch.”
    â€œEmma is right, Miss Wilson.” Gertrude had come to stand at my other side. The dark slash of her brows pulled inward. “You needn’t worry about Neily. My brother is my concern, and my family’s.”
    Had I believed them to have reached a temporary truce? How wrong I was. My cousin’s rudeness sent me whirling to face her. “Gertrude . . .”
    â€œIt’s all right, Emma,” Grace whispered.
    â€œI’ve already telephoned over to The Breakers and told them what little I know.” Gertrude went on as if she hadn’t committed an unpardonable slight against Grace and, by association, me. “The very moment there is any further news I’ll rush home to tell them. They’re worried, of course, but I reassured them the ketch appeared sound as it sailed off with all crew members aboard.”
    Grace ignored her and stared out at the activity on the water. “Whom do you suppose they’re searching for?”
    I shook my head, my teeth clamping the insides of my cheeks. Though I wished ill fate on none of the men aboard the sloop, I refused to consider that it could be Derrick lost to the waves. He and I had last parted on such uncertain terms, and I couldn’t help but blame myself for that. For the better part of last year I had sent him mixed messages, offering my regard one moment only to withdraw it the next. Why? Because I feared where that regard might lead me. Because I wasn’t yet ready to commit to him or any man. Because . . .
    Because in truth I doubted that he or any man could form an attachment as swiftly as he had . . . to me.
    Me—plain, ordinary, unexciting Emma Cross. Surely what had aroused Derrick’s interest had been the danger we had shared in facing death on more than one occasion. Oh, I’d cited my desire to remain independent, to achieve success in my life and my career on my own terms and in ways that would be considered unseemly for a society wife. I’d pointed out the differences in our backgrounds and how I’d never fit in with his upper-class family.
    But I’d had plenty of time in the interim to examine my motives and admit the truth, at least to myself. I had feared that once the excitement had worn off, so, too, would our infatuation with each other. It seemed sometime