She lost nerve. He’d never met Jack, didn’t even know he was her flight instructor. She looked to Beatrice for help.
For the first time since childhood, her friend abandoned her. “Speaking of which, I believe my new husband might be getting himself talked into subscribing to Mr. Hunter’s project. I had better see what he is agreeing to.” She scurried off, leaving Darcy alone with her father.
“Jack Hunter?” Papa’s brow furrowed. “The aviator who landed here in September? You are on a first-name basis with a man you’ve barely met?”
All the air left the room. Perhaps she should have mentioned earlier that Jack was her flight instructor, but it was too late now. She looked around for an escape. The snow had begun again, whirling like a blizzard in the light from the door. Snow. Of course. Papa loved expeditions.
“He’s going for the Daily Mail prize, Papa. You remember. For the first aviator to cross the Atlantic nonstop. It’s better than Peary reaching the North Pole. If we make it, our names will be immortalized.”
“We?” He donned his top hat. “How are we involved?”
“If we subscribe. Jack, uh, Mr. Hunter, needs sponsors.”
Papa’s frown deepened. “Sounds to me like throwing perfectly good money away.”
“But you’ve always wanted to be part of an expedition.”
“Expeditions are fraught with danger and risk. They are for younger men than I. Come along, Darcy.”
Darcy couldn’t give up. Not now. She had to make him understand. “But Papa, this is our big chance. We may never have an opportunity like this again. How often does an adventurer come to Pearlman? Never. At least not until now.”
“Darcy, the joy of an expedition is not in paying for it; it’s in participating, in experiencing the danger and the reward.”
“That’s what I want.”
“You? What role could you possibly play?”
Darcy’s heart pounded like a steam engine blasting through a tunnel. “I might fly. Ride as navigator. You see, Jack Hunter is my flight instructor.”
Papa went pale. Not a single muscle moved, beyond the twitching of the artery in his neck. “When were you going to tell me this?”
“I—I—” Darcy couldn’t find an answer.
The color flooded back into his face. “This is mad, daughter. Do you have any idea of the risk? I can’t believe Mr. Hunter would agree to this. I should tell him what I think of his plan.”
“No, Papa.” She grabbed her father’s arm. “Please don’t.”
He looked at her long and hard. “Mr. Hunter hasn’t agreed, has he?”
Tears rose, but she blinked them back. “He will.”
“Listen, Darcy. I went along with your flight lessons. I don’t understand, but I can accept it. But this flying across the Atlantic Ocean is too much. You have responsibilities to your family. Your mother needs you. Amelia needs you. Those children need you.”
“The flight wouldn’t take place until spring, after Amelia has delivered.”
“That is not the point, daughter. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“But Papa—”
“I hope you understand that your care is my responsibility. I love you and want only the best for you. It might not seem like it now, but trust me, you’ll thank me one day.”
Darcy couldn’t see how. “But I want to be part of this. I want to make history. That’s what’s best for me.”
Papa kissed her forehead. “Then if this foolishness transpires, wish Mr. Hunter well. Tell everyone you know that he was your flight instructor, but I need you to stay close to home and on the ground.”
Crushed. Ground to tiny bits and flung out in the snow. That’s how Darcy felt. For once, hope failed her.
Things progressed far too quickly as far as Jack was concerned. Blake Kensington had an adventurer’s soul and a wealthy man’s wallet. What he couldn’t provide financially, his father could—for a price. Like everything else in town, the Kensington name would be emblazoned across his plane.
Within minutes, Jack had enough support to begin preparing for the transatlantic attempt. The Kensingtons wanted the preparations done in Pearlman, which meant shipping the plane. It really needed two motors to make the crossing, requiring a lot of reengineering. He had to arrange an airfield in Newfoundland, file the paperwork and pay the fee. He needed to get permission to take off and land on foreign soil. Supplies had to be ordered and tests run on the modified plane.
And then there was Sissy. She’d support him, of course, and the Kensingtons paid enough to cover her hospital bills, but who would care for her if he didn’t survive?
“I’m not sure I can commit to this,” he told Blake the next day.
He stood in Branford Kensington’s mahogany-paneled study while Blake’s father shouted into the telephone.
“Turn the bloody shipment around and send it to Pearlman. How difficult can it be?”