“I don’t know what to trust, lass. I can never think properly in this bloody house.”
And then he turned and left. Quietly.
Rose stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the door that Thorfinn had so carefully shut behind him. She felt as hollow and empty as the spartan corridor surrounding her. Then she turned, and like a floating phantom, she slowly retreated to the library. It occurred to her as she pushed on the camouflaged panel door that she’d entered the servants’ area only once before to search for the formerly elusive keyhole. If it hadn’t been for her pursuit of the spy ring, she never would have entered the passage that Thorfinn had automatically chosen for his escape.
When Rose reentered the library, Percy was standing in the middle of the room, his distinguished nose buried in a book—anupside-downbook. Surreptitiously, he edged toward the proper exit. Despite being a decorated RAF pilot known for his almost suicidal attacks on German observation balloons, he was clearly looking for a quick retreat.
Rose swept her gaze around the room one more time and made her choice. The choice she always made in the end. Oh, she’d tried her darndest to find a purpose, to fill the nothingness, but her “mission” here on Hamarray had left her only more hollowed out than before—fornow she truly knew what a shell she was. It was time to stop fighting and accept she would always feel adrift. Oh, she would see this spying mission through. It was too important to the world. But she was going to stop regarding it as some shining goal that would magically transform her into something she was not and never would be.
Tomorrow she would relentlessly begin compiling the viscount’s codebook into a usable format. But tonight ... tonight she was going to fill the abyss with champagne and dancing and bright laughter. The ephemeral bliss would fade away by morning, but it was time for her to embrace the illusion while it lasted instead of searching for something solid always beyond her reach.
“Percy!”
The book bobbled in his hands. He made an attempt to catch it but missed. As it clattered on the wooden floor near his feet, Percy glanced warily in her direction. “Yes, Rose Petal?”
“Does your offer to take me to a party tonight in Edinburgh still stand? If we leave now, we can make it in time, and I suddenly find myself in the mood for a little bit of high society.”
“I can have my seaplane ready in an hour or so.” Percy grinned, his relief apparent.
“Perfect. That gives me ample time to prepare.” And without another word, she walked from the room, ready to don her flashiest ensemble. If she was destined to be a female Dionysus, she was going to be the best bloody Bacchus of the bunch.
“How is a connection between souls formed?” Rose tipped her champagne flute toward her audience of one. “Is it this grand metaphysical experience or just an opportunistic relationship that we wrap in layers of sentimentality?”
Rose hiccuped a bit, but thankfully her listener didn’t appear to mind. “I’ve always considered love—all forms of it—hogwash. It’s just some pretty lie to make the world less harsh. Even friendship is based on getting something in return ... or on fulfilling some need.”
Her companion remained silent.
“And belonging. What is that? Can any of us truly fit anywhere, or do we just reshape ourselves until we think we do? And what do we get in return? Is there really any escape from emptiness, or do we just fool ourselves into thinking there is meaning? Are we just guarding a grave, hoping someone or something will arise from it despite them being long dead—or perhaps they never even existed at all?”
Her confidant regarded her with kind but penetrating eyes. Rose sipped from the glass again, trying to gather her thoroughly sodden thoughts.
“And purpose? How does one findthatwhen one has every material comfort? Is anything truly meaningful? Our bodies all turn to worm food in the end. Is that our true calling—to be fodder for the earth? Is that any less silly than some of the things that we attach significance to? Are we just sentries over our own ultimate demise?”
“Rose, darling?” Percy’s hesitant voice broke into Rose’s monologue, causing her to jump. Sighing, she swiveled in his direction as he crossed the street and walked toward her. Some of her champagne splashed to the ground, and she regarded the splotch on the pavement with a pout. She really did not want to return to the stuffy benefit inside the Royal Museum of Scotland to retrieve another refreshment.
“Rose Petal.” Percy called her name again, his voice gentle, patient.
She lifted her chin to regard him.
“Why are you outside in the dark streets and talking to a dog instead of enjoying the party and human company?” Percy asked. “I promised Myrtle that I would keep an eye on you when she begged off tonight’s festivities in favor of reading another dull book.”
Myrtle and Thorfinn—no, scratch that—Myrtlewould scold Rose for endangering herself by being alone, especially at night, with spies after her, but Rose didn’t care.
She hiccuped again. “Technically, I am addressing the statue of a Skye terrier.”
“I don’t think that improves matters, darling.”
“Greyfriars Bobby is an excellent listener,” Rose protested defensively as she swung her glass toward the effigy.
“It is a bronze likeness of a dog mounted on a drinking fountain near a rather scurrilous section of Edinburgh. Don’t you think speaking to a sentient creature might be a bit more beneficial?”
“Are you volunteering?” Rose teetered toward him. She really should have worn lower heels. “What advice do you have to spare about devotion and loyalty and belonging and finding a home?”
Ahome? Thunderation, where had that ridiculous notion sprouted from? She wasn’t some poor but cheerful waif looking for a place to belong like the inexorably optimistic heroines that haunted the pages of children’s literature today. She’d been looking for a purpose, not Green Gables or Sunnybrook Farm.
I thought ... fighting ... was ... for glory ... but it’s for ... them ... those ... those ... we let ... into our hearts ... loved ... ones.The viscount’s—no,Reggie’swords popped into her mind, taunting ... no,challengingher.
As she tried to concentrate on them, she hiccuped quite loudly. The sound caused her barely formed thoughts to flutter away like butterflies ... or, given her dark mood, like bloodsucking vampire bats.
