As Sinclair tried to address each one the best he could, he acknowledged another truth Astrid had said. The children had sorely needed him. About a year before Britain had entered the Great War, his mother had passed away giving birth to Alexander. The shock and pain of her death had triggered his stepfather’s apoplectic stroke, rendering him still bedridden in 1914. Eleven-year-old Freya couldn’t have managed the care of Sigurd and her siblings, let alone the running of the croft. And their neighbors, although always ready to help, were severely shorthanded themselves with the young men gone to the trenches or to the sea.
Aye, his siblings wouldn’t have survived the war without him, at least not as a family unit. And Sinclair would do anything, sacrifice anything, for his sisters and younger brother—even if it meant giving up his honor.
“Do you also have the feeling that we have traveled through the pages of a bucolic seaside fairy tale only to end up in a sensational gothic novel worthy of the Brontë sisters?” Rose shouted over the wind as she and Myrtle stared up at the towering sixteenth-century mansion. The stepped gables looked like massive gravestones against the darkening sky. It did not help matters that the entire structure had been plastered with a rough aggregate of pebbles and shells and then coated with a lifeless gray lime.
“I do, but I can’t figure out whether it is Heathcliff, Rochester, or Edgar Linton who lives inside,” Myrtle replied as she tilted her neck backward to study the tops of the opposing structure.
“Probably an unholy mix of all three,” Rose added darkly. “The Earl of Mar seems like a typical handsome middle-aged gentleman in search of a new wife and heir, but there is just something unpleasant about his undercurrents that he just can’t seem to dam up.”
“As unsettling as this monstrosity?” Myrtle asked, eyeing a particularly nasty gash in the ancient harling. Clearly the building had not been properly maintained for years.
“I thought you liked tumbledown old structures,” Rose said as she started to climb the weathered stone-slab stairs.
“To study, not to live in, especially when the owner may or may not have had a role in his own son’s death.” Myrtle climbed up the first step and then stopped to point in the direction of a ruin at the opposite end of the craggy headlands. It looked as if it had once been a round, almost chubby tower. “Besides, I’d much rather explore the even more ancientedifices, like that Iron Age broch. Maybe the earl will let me study it and poke around some of those mounds that we passed on Frest. They might hold caches of Viking grave goods or perhaps something older!”
Rose glanced over at Myrtle, feeling another sharp stab of guilt for dragging her best friend along on this seemingly fruitless venture. Myrtle should be preparing to spend the summer at a real dig, not playing nursemaid to a woman playing spymaster. “You don’t have to accompany me, Myrtle. I’m much stronger physically than I was in November.”
“Do you think I’m going to let you face Mar and a spy ring all by yourself? Besides, you have just led me to an untouched archaeological gold mine that no man is jockeying for. Perhaps I will finally have a chance to lead my own excavation. Of course, I am sure competitors will come crawling out of the woodwork once I show any interest.” Her friend quickly finished climbing the steps to join Rose by the thick, elaborately carved door full of fantastical creatures. Between its sturdiness and the wild wind buffeting them, no one inside could even hope of hearing their conversation.
“At least there is some definite benefit to our visit, then. After all, I still might have dreamed up the foreign agents in Daytona last November,” Rose pointed out. “We could not find anything about what Viscount Barbury did in London after his escape from German territory early in the war other than attend Society events. Even my friend Percy couldn’t tell us anything of use, and he’s a Royal Air Force pilot and a duke.”
“Like you’ve said, perhaps that is because the viscount was working for the Home Office and everything was hushed up,” Myrtle reminded Rose.
“Or it is due to the fact that there is nothing to find.” Rose had been in higher spirits a half hour earlier as she’d connedThe Briarthrough the vibrant turquoise water and skimmed close to the reddish-gold beaches of Frest. But it seemed her mood had blackened with the sky,her uncertainties whipping up their own gale. Strong doubts had never consistently plagued Rose before the war, but it seemed they were another legacy of her time on the Western Front.
“You found out whathammermeant, didn’t you?” Myrtle pointed out. “Have a little faith in yourself, Rose. Pretend this is like the start of one of your races. What’s your strategy?”
Rose straightened her shoulders under her practical, naturally waterproof duster coat. “Three pronged. I will search for the mysterioushim, Tamsin Morris, and Lord Barbury’s papers. The first two will involve talking to residents of Frest and Hamarray, not that they currently seem inclined to converse. The last approach involves finding the likely lock for the viscount’s key.”
“Which could well be secreted in the very house we’re about to enter.” Myrtle nodded her chin toward the imposing entrance.
Rose knocked crisply on the door. “Let’s hope the earl is an inattentive host who prefers to leave his guests to their own devices. Otherwise, it might be awfully difficult to explain why I keep poking my nose into every nook and cranny.”
Unfortunately, Mar turned out to be a suffocating presence. He absolutely refused to leave Rose’s side until well past dinner, which was why she found herself slinking out of her room, carrying Myrtle’s electric lantern. Even if she wanted to turn on a light, it appeared that the generator in the basement had broken some time ago, and the earl had not ordered it fixed. Here on Hamarray, the precarious state of his finances was much more evident than in London. The draperies were practically moldering on their rods, and the curtains were brittle with dry rot. The whole building was understaffed, and Rose had spied more than one room with its furniture entirely covered with drop cloths before Mar had whisked her in another direction.
Beneath Rose’s feet, a floorboard groaned in a rather dramatically loud fashion. She froze and flicked off the handheld light. The earl had given her a room scandalously close to his, especially given that the house had several wings. Rose wouldn’t be surprised, though, if the other sections were in even worse repair or void of furniture. Perhaps the arrangement was solely from necessity, but Rose did not trust Mar. He was definitely scheming, but whether it was just to seduce and wed her, or whether he was keeping her close to hide treasonous activity, she did not know.
Fortunately, the loud sound did not appear to disrupt Mar’s sleep. After turning on the lantern again, she concentrated the light on the old hand-knotted rug beneath her feet. Tufts of it had gone missing over the years, interrupting what must have once been a bold floral pattern. The rich colors had faded, too, and more than one place had become threadbare, exposing the coconut-husk matting below. It did little to muffle Rose’s footsteps, so she proceeded more cautiously than before.
Finally, she reached the end of the long passage and made a sharp turn into the central structure of the great hall. Although the boards were no less squeaky, she no longer had to fear that her nocturnal investigation would wake Mar. Sighing, she loosened her tightened muscles and lifted the lantern ... only to come face to face with a set of glowing eyes. Rose took an involuntary step backward, energy spiking through her. The wood beneath her slippers emitted an eerily humanlike moan, and Rose gripped the handle of her light even tighter.
Lifting her source of illumination, she released a self-effacing laugh as she realized that she’d been startled by the glass eyes of a stuffed hare perched on a wall sconce. The taxidermist hadn’t even done that grand a job, and the poor creature looked a bit lumpy and not the least bit lifelike. Tarnation, Rose had indeed become the jumpy sort.
Walking a little more confidently now, Rose strolled through the rather ghastly hallway. An array of red stag heads stared disapprovingly down at her, their antlers casting shifting shadows against the peelingwallpaper. On a piece of wood high on the wall, a fox stalked a cluster of partridges, while pheasants seemed to roost everywhere, their bodies permanently frozen in positions with varying degrees of veracity.
The select pieces of artwork were either violent, overtly sensual, or disturbingly both. They all depicted scenes from ancient Greek and Roman mythology. Mar seemed particularly fond of portrayals of Zeus, especially those involving Europa, Leda, and Ganymede. There were several depictions of Persephone being dragged into the underworld by Hades and of a scantily clad Artemis at the hunt.
The uneasy feeling in Rose grew. This was not a home where a nobleman would bring a prospective bride ... unless he meant to force her into marriage by creating a scandal. It seemed that the earl was setting a trap for her.
Irritation boiled inside Rose—an emotion separate and distinct from her now-familiar fidgetiness. She didnotappreciate being maneuvered, especially by a smug, self-satisfied man. She’d grown up making her own decisions, and she’d always chafed when her parents had sporadically tried to create rules and restrictions. Her mother had been notorious for going through spells when she thought Rose needed “polish” before her entrance into the Marriage Mart. Fortunately, her mother had normally given up very quickly and returned her focus to her own social calendar.
A scurrying sound to Rose’s left brought her back to the present. Her heart pounding like an unbalanced engine, she stiffened. Rose swung her lantern in the direction of the noise, only to find a scullery maid trying to shrink behind a rather bloodthirsty statue of Hercules wrestling the Nemean lion. The young miss’s eyes were wide with fright as she clutched a rag and a strong-smelling polish to her chest. All of the earl’s household staff appeared to be as jumpy as Rose, but this woman had literally begun to shake.
“I’m sorry,” Rose said in her best soothing voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The woman dipped her chin so low that it nearly touched the top of her sternum. She emitted a sound that was more squeak than word. Rose had no idea what the poor darling was trying to say.
“Why are you up so late?” Rose asked, just as a slightly older maid appeared from one of the parlors.
