He exhaled heavily. “Telegraph line?”
“A dinghy bringing mail comes by once a week,” Rose offered cheekily.
“Bah.” Her father slapped his paper downward in a dismissive motion. “I do not see how you intend to run a proper hotel without modern amenities.”
Sinclair’s hold on his tusker tightened. Despite his own misgivings about the hotel, it meant a great deal to Rose, and her father was dismissing it sight unseen.
“Daddy,” Rose said with fond exasperation untouched by hurt or anger, “if I even decide to open a hotel, it will be aretreat. People will come here to get away from the pressures of their lives. Those who want to stay connected wouldn’t travel here in the first place. We’re too remote.”
Guilt peppered Sinclair as he realized how wrongly his mind had twisted Rose’s similar statements to Percy two days before. She did not mean to take advantage of the island’s solitude to hide sordid behavior, but rather she intended to create a peaceful escape. Given her experiences in the war, it made sense, and Sinclair should have understood what she’d meant. He would’ve, too, if he had been thinking properly.
Rose’s father frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re right, kitten, but isolation does not suit me. I have pressing matters to attend to. I will stay in Kirkwall, but your mother can enjoy our room at your place. I’ll stop by in the afternoon.”
“I shall love to take in the sea air here,” her mother added as her husband returned to reading his paper. “I may, however, be joining your father on the main island on the day of this dreadful race. You know I cannot abide the sound of those wretched motors all firing up at the same time. And the smell! My nerves just cannot accept that my darling girl chooses to risk her precious life in those horrid contraptions. A proper touring car is one thing, but those machines you drive are positively nightmarish.”
Sinclair inwardly winced at Mrs.Van Etten’s almost cruel dismissal of her daughter’s passion. Worried, he glanced at Rose, but she looked only mildly exasperated.
“I’m sure you will find plenty in Kirkwall to distract you, Mother,” Rose said, her voice pitched to be soothing.
“Good.” Mrs.Van Etten fluffed her hair. “Now will you please change into proper, clean clothes before the duke espies you?”
“I can assure you that Percy will not set a foot near muddy work, especially if there is any chance that he might be commandeered into doing it,” Rose said.
“He is not the only noble who will be visiting Hamarray. Your father and I invited the earl we met in London. Didn’t we, Mr.Van Etten?”
“Yes, darling,” the man said absently as he flipped a page.
“Exactlywhichearl did you invite, Mother? You have a habit of collecting their friendships.” For the first time, Rose seemed actively annoyed.
Mrs.Van Etten’s lips pursed at Rose’s words. “Why, the Earl of Mar, of course.”
Even though this was what he and Rose had planned, Sinclair felt an old familiar panic rise within him. Anger came, too, hot and swift. But mostly he was filled with the need to defend as his grip instinctually tightened once again on his tusker, preparing to fend off an enemy not yet there.All around them the people of Frest stopped pretending that they weren’t listening to the conversation. Mrs.Van Etten, however, took no notice of the audience, probably viewing them as beneath her consideration.
Rose shot Sinclair a brief but pregnant glance before she returned her focus to her mother. “The Earl of Mar, you say. I can’t see why you’d invite him.”
“I know he’s a bit older, darling, but he still cuts a fine figure. He was very interested in hearing about the improvements you were making to his old home. He cannot wait to see it and you again. You must have madequitethe impression upon him earlier this spring.”
“Mother, if I had desired the Earl of Mar, I could have married him months ago rather than buying this island from him.”
“Nonsense, dear. He’s got a title. Of course you want him.” Mrs.Van Etten turned suddenly toward the chauffeur. “Harrold, I am feeling quite peckish. Proceed to the main house, please.”
The lumbering touring car ambled away, leaving utter silence in its wake. Sinclair could feel the stares boring into him. Everyone knew what the return of the Earl of Mar meant to him ... everybody but Rose. Now when Sinclair confessed the truth to her, he wouldn’t just be talking about specters from the past. She would bear witness to his current pain ... and fears. It was a deeper vulnerability than he’d intended to reveal but one that he now had no choice but to fully expose.
And that left him even more shaken than Mrs.Van Etten’s announcement of Mar’s imminent return.
Rose fiddled with a cigarette as she waited in the library for Thorfinn to arrive. She had just finished organizing the words in the codebook into an alphabetical list.
It wasn’t just the knowledge that soon she might know the answers that had been eluding her for half a year now that made Rose edgier thannormal. Thorfinn had promised to apologize to her yesterday, but they hadn’t had a private moment between her finalizing the organization of Reggie’s codebook and Thorfinn overseeing the spring planting. As if the friction between Thorfinn and Rose weren’t ample enough, she was also dealing with her parents’ unexpected visit and Mar’s impending return.
Leave it to her mother to personally invite a creature like the earl. All Verity Van Etten ever saw was the outside packaging, never the inside, while her father always paid attention to the details and not the whole. Although Rose supposed that her mother’s attempt to see her daughter married into a title was benefiting the investigation by bringing Mar back, Rose would rather not have to deal with the man who tried to force his attentions on her and who’d treated his own son like a mere servant. The entire situation made Rose want to scream, but then again, her parents often had that effect on her. They had an inglorious knack of making her feel like a specimen simultaneously splayed open on the dissecting table and also shoved into a jar of formaldehyde and forgotten.
Rose shifted, trying to get comfortable. It didn’t work. She had worn her most sinfully comfy clothes—loose silk, balloon-like trousers and blouse created by none other than Paul Poiret, but even the pajama-like creation did not inspire relaxation. She wanted to jump up and prowl. Or race. Or shoot through the sea.
“You didn’t need to wait until Young Thomas fetched me to start translating the letter.” Thorfinn burst into the room, each word coming out in a huff. It took quite a bit to get Thorfinn Sinclair out of breath. Clearly he’d not only rowed across the water using his full strength, but he’d likely barged straight up the hill as well.
“The letter is addressed to you,” Rose said pragmatically as she forced her conflicting emotions toward Thorfinn aside. “Your brother wanted you to be the recipient, and a few minutes’ delay didn’t matter. Besides, it shall be faster with the two of us working together.”
Thorfinn nodded. When he stepped over to the chair next to Rose, he paused, as if not sure of his reception.
