Whatever had failed in Rosamond wouldn’t fail again. He would make sure of it. This child would be different. She would take his name. She would be his own. The woman who gave birth to her would mean nothing. The girl would be a Sinclair, through and through. It would take time, but she would outlive him, she would carry on his legacy and see that his name—their name—lived on. No one would remember a dead governor. They would remember the Sinclairs. This was how dynasties began.
