“And Callum…” Mari delivered the words with delicacy, as though she was measuring their impact. “Is he—”
“Going to Panama,” she bit out, forgetting to censor the asperity from her tone.
“I think you made the right choice.”
Violet stopped, turned to face her sister. Mari had always been the good sister, the one her mother encouraged the younger girls to emulate, the one who never broke rules, accepted the will of authority without question. Violet had wondered if Mari ever had original thoughts or desires, or if she existed for the exclusive purpose of making the lives of others easier. But now she could see the faint lines bracketing her sister’s mouth, burrowed between her brows, as though she’d spent the better part of their decade apart frowning. “What do you mean?” Violet asked.
“For what it’s worth, and it may not be much,” Mari said, “I think you were correct in not marrying Callum or Sir Phineas. It’s better to be alone than not be loved the way you deserve to be.”
Violet scoffed, dug the toe of her riding boot in the dirt. “That’s easy for you to say. Look at your life, a gorgeous estate, two children, a titled husband—”
“Yes, look at it.” Violet started at the intensity in her sister’s voice. “I love my children, but everything else—” Mari shook her head with a bitter laugh. “I envy you. I envy the freedom you have now.”
“Mari…” She reached out, held her sister’s hand for the first time since they were children. “Are you all right?”
Her nostrils flared as she huffed out a breath. “I’m asking Roger for a divorce.”
Roger, that’s his name—
“Wait—you’re doingwhat?”
A faint smile pulled at the corner of her mouth before disappearing. “I-I can’t continue living as I am. Roger hasn’t been faithful, or even present. The boys don’t know their own father, and I—” She lifted her chin, and Violet saw a flash of her own stubborn self in her sister. “I’m divorcing him.” A nervous laugh escaped as Violet gaped at her. “If you know of a decent solicitor, will you let me know?”
“Mari,” Violet breathed. “I’m stunned, I—god, I’mproudof you!”
Marigold laughed, a fleeting moment of mirth, before she sobered again. “I’m terrified, honestly. Even if I’m successful in freeing myself from him, the process will be a nightmare, and I have no idea what I’ll do after.”
“It’s dreadfully unfair. Why should your life be upturned when you’ve been nothing but an exemplary mother and wife to that lout?”
Mari hummed as she started walking again, and Violet was struck by the wisdom her sister now carried around her like a veil. “Sometimes horrible things happen and there is no justice. Women shoulder that burden more than most, but we can’t let it drag us into being immobile with regret.”
The path broke into a meadow lush with wildflowers, the bright Yorkshire sun bathing the countryside with an approving glow. “I don’t know what to do next, Mari.”
“You take another step forward,” she said, “then another. Eventually, you will end up where you need to be.”
Chapter 38
Arogue ray ofsunlight broke through the heavy clouds shielding Edinburgh and struck the bow of a passing schooner, reflecting directly into Callum’s eye. He winced, turned away and rubbed the sockets with the heels of his palms. Every part of his body hurt these days, from his itchy, red-rimmed eyes to the incessant ache in his lower back. He’d even stubbed his toe on his steamer trunk the night before and discovered the nail had turned black overnight.
Clearly, he was prepared and eager for a weeks-long trip to Central America.
Any outside observer would say he was more than prepared to leave tomorrow; he’d packed that infernal steamer trunk, secured enough funding from Valebrook and Trembly to pay workers as soon as they arrived on site to prepare for the American, and his design was finished.
Finally. He’d locked himself in his office for the three weeks since he left Yorkshire, blaming his lack of appetite and sleep on stress,pouring every ounce of effort and attention he possessed into finding where he’d gone wrong, experimenting with prototypes until he found the right balance of weight and power to make the trench digger effective.
He’d waited for the rush of triumph, the thrill of conquering yet another challenge. But it never came. He hadn’t even bothered telling James of his success, knowing there was only one person he wanted to know.
Even if Violet wanted him to contact her—and she’d been very clear, she did not want to hear from him—he did not know where she was. Oxford? Hampshire? In truth, it didn’t matter when he was soon to be an entire ocean away.
Callum didn’t have time to react to the knock at his door—no one at Taggart Maritime had possessed the bravery to interrupt him during the past three weeks—when the door burst open to allow James to thunder through.
He landed on the leather chair and leveled Callum with a glare. “Were you planning on saying goodbye before you left?”
Callum huffed as he sat at his desk, his back to the window. “I assumed ye’d come by at some point to see me off.”
James’s glare intensified, reminding Callum of that piercing ray of sunlight. “And Mam? Were ye going to see her?”
There was no sense in lying when James already knew the answer. “I thought it would only worry her.”
