Mr.Flett grunted, obviously pleased by her compliments but not wanting to be happy with anything she said.
“Miss Van Etten will be joining us for dinner.” Mr.Sinclair’s tone was even, as if he expected an argument.
Mr.Flett made another abbreviated sound. His facial muscles tightened, making him appear even more rawboned than before. He cast aspeaking glance at Mr.Sinclair that somehow managed to appear both disappointed and morosely self-satisfied. Having seen the look on her parents’, nannies’, and instructors’ faces, she easily recognized it. Rose had always enjoyed living down to expectations or even far below them.
“I am the one who invited the new Lady of Muckle Skaill,” Freya piped up, her eager grin a little too bright.
When Mr.Flett glanced at his eldest daughter, his entire visage softened, and Rose could see how he still made for a handsome man. Although he had none of his stepson’s stunning golden beauty, his craggy face was fascinating in its own way, especially when tempered with a smile.
“Always kindhearted like your mother, even to the English.”
“I’m an American actually,” Miss Van Etten said, although she was rather certain the man knew that already.
Mr.Fleet’s pale-blue eyes flicked back to hers, and he said rather sardonically, “Ahhh.”
His jaw so tight it looked ready to snap, he glanced at Mr.Sinclair and said, “I take it nothing is resolved with his Lordship. He willnotbe happy with us entertaining Miss Van Etten.”
For some reason, Rose felt the need to defend Mr.Sinclair—although she was quite sure he was more than capable of doing so himself. But she wouldn’t stay silent when this earnest man’s own stepfather clearly expected him to fail. “If you are speaking of the Sheep Problem, Mar is no longer your landlord. I am. Mr.Sinclair and I are well on our way to ironing out a more permanent solution that will benefit everyone. He is quite persuasive.”
That might have been a bit of an overstatement, as Rose did not fully comprehend exactlywhatthe people of Frest needed. But since all she desired from Hamarray was to complete Viscount Barbury’s mission and to give Myrtle the chance to lead her own excavation, she had no concern that she could easily give the islanders what they wanted—at least when it came to allowing sheep to peacefully munch grass. The more Rose ingratiated herself in their lives, the more secrets she could pry apart.
The two men jerked in her direction. Despite both having piercing blue eyes, the hues couldn’t have been more different. Mr.Flett’s were a cold blue, as monotone as a cloudless, frigid winter morning sky in New England. Mr.Sinclair’s, on the other hand, had both warmth and depth, like the waters in the Florida Keys or the French Riviera. Each fellow, however, studied her in varying degrees of surprise. Mr.Flett’s disbelief was tinged with cynical interest, while a hint of embarrassment mixed with Mr.Sinclair’s astonishment.
Rose was accustomed to making herself the center of attention during the rare times her parents actually ate dinner with her. A shocking disruption from her had invariably seemed like the only way to break the stilted silence that pervaded family affairs. But she didn’t want to be the source of discord for the Fletts, so she whirled toward Freya in hopes of easing the rising tension. “I simply cannot wait to eat your meal. I’m absolutely famished.”
“Of course.” Freya immediately bustled over to the table. “Please have a seat. You can sit at the head opposite Da.”
“Everything looks absolutely delicious!” Rose exclaimed.
“It is just a simple luncheon.” Freya’s pale skin flushed a rosy pink.
“But Freya and the younger girls made all the cheese themselves.” Mr.Sinclair cast a proud look at his half sister as he pulled out a chair between her and Rose.
“We assisted with the bannocks too!” one of the twins chimed in. “And Hannah mixed the butter.”
“A mechanized churn would be more efficient,” Hannah commented with a deep sigh.
“I made the pickle.” Margaret pointed to a dark-brown chutney filled with unidentifiable clumps of vegetables instead of the cucumbers that Rose had been expecting.
“I helped Thorfinn milk the cow,” little Alexander chimed in. “And picked the turnips. I was too little to really help scythe the barley last year, but maybe I can do it next season.”
“We all worked on smoking and salting the fish,” Freya added.
“Sometimes I even get to go on the boat with Thorfinn!” Alexander added, his thin little chest sticking out again.
Rose gazed at the spread before her with renewed interest. During her youth, she had rarely thought about the food that appeared before her. She had little to do with the kitchens and ate most of her meals in the nursery, except, of course, for those occasional etiquette-filled and decidedly tiresome affairs with her parents. Rations during her time on the Western Front had merely been sustenance to scarf down between long shifts and little sleep.
A trickle of guilt slid through Rose as she thought about how much she had simply taken for granted before the war. She had lived a disconnected existence, as if she’d simply floated in a golden champagne bubble from one sumptuous party to another.
“That is all very remarkable. You are quite the industrious family.”
“You will find us to be very self-sufficient here on Frest,” Mr.Flett intoned. “We islanders have never had a need of any assistance.”
The man meant the comment as a thinly veiled barb, but he was going to find that Rose’s skin was a lot less tender than he expected. After all, he wasn’t saying anything that she hadn’t thought herself. She just smiled jauntily and said, without a trace of irony, “That is very obvious.”
“Hmph.”Mr.Flett clearly hadn’t expected her capitulation to his statement. Taking advantage of his sudden lack of words, Rose decided to try to steer the conversation to the benefit of her investigation. Perhaps she would even discover the identity of the mysterioushim.But the easiest place to start was with the one name that she had: Tamsin Morris.
“What are some of the names of the families living on the island? I thought I heard one of the household staff mention the Morrises?”
