“But age doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.”

“But lying does.” I cut him a dark look. “Sir Roane Robson.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, pained. When he opened them, remorse filled them. “Not yet. My father is the baronet . . .” He took a step toward me and stopped when I glared. “The twelfth baronet. It’s not like it sounds. I don’t know how much you know about British aristocracy, but that’s not what a baronetcy is. We’re not peerage. It comes somewhere between a baron and a knighthood. It’s—”

“Is it a title? Is it a historical rank? Does everyone in Northumberland know who you are? Do you come from money?”

“Evie . . .”

“Well?”

He nodded slowly. “Aye. But my mum doesn’t come from money, Evie. She grew up here in Alnster, the daughter of a fisherman. I didn’t want to go to Harrow, so my mum convinced Dad not to send me, and when I started talking like Mum instead of Dad, he never corrected it. My parents wanted me to be who I am, not shape me into something else because of some legacy I would inherit. And I love the farm. I work hard, not because I have to, but because I want to, and they don’t expect or want anything from me. What you’ve seen of me is the truth. This is my life. Nothing about me or what you know about me has changed.”

Confused, I thought of the small farmhouse. “Your home . . .”

He flinched. “Evie . . . the farmhouse once belonged to the estate manager. That’s Bobby now and he didn’t want it. So I took it over. My parents’ home is significantly larger. It’s on the land where we do our arable farming. And our farm is larger than I let on. We’re quite a substantial commercial farm with many employees.”

Realization dawned. That’s why he didn’t take me to that part of the estate.

“Is there anything else I should know?” I asked, my bitterness clear.

“The maintenance on the holiday homes . . . it’s a much larger company than I let on. We cover all of Northumberland. Thousands of holiday home owners pay us to maintain their properties, and the revenue for that accounts for a good portion of our income. Moreover, we own properties we let out, as well.”

All the business conversations he’d had on the phone, the ones he disappeared downstairs to take, came back to me. I’d thought he was being considerate. He wasn’t. He just didn’t want me to guess there was more to his business than I’d thought.

Then there was the guy whom Roane had pulled us away from at the Alnwick Garden. Not because he was chatty, no. It was probably because he wasn’t a villager in on the deception, and Roane was afraid he’d mention something about the truth.