‘I wanted to see the cottage before we move in,’ she said quickly. ‘My father will be down in the next week or so and I wanted to check it would be ready.’

The horse picked up its hooves and took two paces back. ‘And does it pass muster?’ he asked, the reins slack in his hands.

‘It’s wonderf—’

‘Felton, how much remains to do on it?’

‘Another day of work, sir, that’s all.’

‘Right. Good. Well, that’s something.’ Sholto’s manner was abrupt and decidedly distant; if she had thought their reunion in the library cold, this felt distinctly arctic. For the first time, Effie saw him as a lord, a landlord, an employer, her superior. He felt not just far away from the bright-eyed, easy-smiling visitor of May, but an entirely different man altogether. Why was he being so stony towards her? It felt almost ludicrous that what had happened between them, could have happened. Had she dreamt it? Kissing on a rope, holding each other in the sea, hungry eyes and pink lips . . .?

She realized she was staring at him. ‘Did you need to see me . . . sir?’ she asked, composing her voice. There was no sign of Sibyl that she could see. Had he wanted to see her alone? Did he want to talk without Lady Sibyl listening in?

‘Yes.’ The horse was still frisky from the gallop and he walked it around, away from her. He pulled on the reins, leading it round in another circle to face front again. ‘I’m afraid my mother would like you to join us for dinner tonight.’

Effie was horrified. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. I know it will be dull for you but she wants to hear all about St Kilda. My father’s bored her rigid with it for the past few months and she’d like to hear about it from a native’s perspective—’

Native? There was a short silence and she wondered if he realized how polarizing the word was, how ‘different’ it made her feel.

He patted the horse on its neck. ‘—He’s thinking of buying the archipelago from Sir John, you see.’

‘What?’ The word escaped her as a bark, startling the gamekeeper. She was vaguely aware of a lack of deference on her part, but to hear St Kilda might be sold . . .?

‘Well, it’s not much use to Sir John now, with no rent coming in, and Father’s rather keen on the idea of turning it into some sort of protected bird sanctuary. I don’t quite know all the ins and outs but I expect he’ll spare no detail telling us over dinner.’ His horse took itself for another small circular walk. He looked back at her over his other shoulder. ‘So can I tell her you’ll come?’

Effie stared at him. Did she even have a choice? She nodded wanly.