Chapter 1
December 28, 1909
* * *
Hell was entertaining one’s mother with a skull-splitting hangover.
Emil Anderson hoisted the last rattan picnic basket from the family carriage and set it on the rain-slick boardwalk beside its companions. A quick glance to assure himself his mother was occupied with the driver—good. He dragged a shaky hand across his bleary eyes.
One lunch. He could handle one lunch.
That’s all it would take to convince Beata Anderson her vacation home hadn’t been turned into his den of vice over the holidays. It had been, of course, but at least he’d had the wherewithal to send his late-night guests home not long after the timid winter sun crested Lake Washington. He’d even disposed of the evidence scattered around the living room before falling face-first into bed, and risen in time to bribe the community watchman into silence with a pint of gin. Who was to say he wasn’t the picture of respectability?
“You look horrid,” said a gleeful voice behind him. “Did a vengeful mule stomp on your head?”
Correction: hell was little sisters.
“And you—” The words scraped his bone-dry throat, and he paused to swallow. Shouldn’t have chased down those bottles of Rainier beer with hand-rolled cigarettes. He gave up any attempt at returning an insult and turned pleading eyes on Astrid. “Please tell me one of these baskets contains ginger syrup.”
“As if Mor would leave any of your favorites behind.” Astrid rolled her eyes as she tucked a flyaway curl beneath her wool tam hat. “Besides, you should be thanking me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m the reason we’re half an hour late. Thought you might need more time to send your fancy women on their way.”
“Fancy women? Who taught you that?”
At twenty years of age, Astrid shouldn’t know such things. But perhaps it was the fact that his youngest sibling was the only one in their family who’d been born on American soil after they’d emigrated from Sweden. From the moment she’d learned to string words together, she’d been on a relentless mission to prove how worldly she was—an objective she pursued with equal parts charm and audacity.
“It’s in a book Mrs. Langley lent me. I’ve taken to reading it aloud when no one’s listening. Improves my diction.”
How did his mother find time to worry about him with Astrid still under her roof? “Don’t let Mor hear you, or she’ll toss that book into the stove.”
“A thank you would be nice.”
“The half-hour reprieve is appreciated, though unnecessary. I slept alone.”
“Ah, yes.” Astrid clasped her hands behind her back and nodded sagely. “Rule number five.”
His humor died a quick, sputtering death. “What do you know about rule number five?”
“I hear things.”
“You eavesdrop.”
“The result is the same. I know Emil Anderson’s Bachelor Code by heart. Rule number one: mutual attraction. No coercion of body, heart, or mind allowed.”
“Jesus, Astrid.”
He craned his neck around the carriage to check Beata wasn’t listening. No mother needed to know about her son’s carnal pursuits. It wasn’t his fault he’d been blessed with a face that sent girls into fits of giggles and grown women into sighs of longing. He wasn’t so foolish as to waste nature’s gift, but he had also learned—the hard way—that rules needed to be put in place.
“Rule number two,” Astrid continued. “Give more than you receive. I’m not entirely certain what that refers to, but I’ll assume you’re proficient at gift-giving.”
A muffled snort sounded above Emil, and he whipped his head up to catch the driver’s bemused smirk before the man slunk into his blanket-lined seat. Where was his mother?
“Rule number three?—”
He smacked a hand over his sister’s mouth and listened. The brief lull allowed him to track Beata’s whereabouts. Luckily, she stood a good fifteen paces down the dirt lane by a cluster of mailboxes, conversing loudly with one of the community full-timers, Seán Meany, a retired Navy man in his fifties. Half deaf from cannon blast, he seemed content spending his days luring mallards to his dock with breadcrumbs and embracing each dawn with a nude swim. If he was half as good at monopolizing conversations as he was at scaring off prudish would-be tenants, Emil might have enough time to silence his sister.
