The Heiress of Winterwood

This sensation of urgency was a familiar one. Before every battle it pushed Graham to be braver. Stronger. Faster. But today he was not fighting an enemy ship. Today the battle engaging him was much more personal, the risk far greater.

He rolled his neck and arched his back to loosen the knotted kinks that had formed. The noon hour had not yet arrived, and already his body felt weary. With a slight tug of the reins he guided Starboard around the curve to the shortcut through Sterling Wood. Ahead, at the forest’s edge, the trees parted to a clearing. He paused at the hill’s crest to survey the Winterwood estate below him. Clouds cast a patchwork pattern on the shadowed landscape and dimmed the south gardens. Soon he’d be master of everything as far as he could see. But none of that mattered—not without Lucy.

Poised on Winterwood’s main drive was a black coach with two pairs of matching bays in harness. He urged his horse forward, his eyes fixed on the carriage. As he drew closer, he saw Amelia, cloaked in a scarlet cape, talking to a coachman. The coach dog circled the horses, barking and wagging his tail.

Graham didn’t stop the horse until he was next to Amelia. She pushed back her fur-lined hood and looked up at him. “Oh, thank goodness. You’ve arrived.”

He slid from the horse and nodded toward the carriage. “What’s this doing here?”

Her gaze flicked from him, to the carriage, and back again. “The carriage? For our journey, of course.”

“Our journey?” Had she heard nothing he said earlier? “No, Amelia.” He stepped toward her, eyed the coachman, and lowered his voice. “You cannot go with me.”

“I must.”

“I told you earlier, it’s too dangerous.”

“And I told you earlier that I do not mind. I am going.”

Determination stained her cheeks with a vibrant flush made even more intense by the bright hue of her cape. Did he really expect her to act any differently? Her actions had already proved her a resolved, headstrong woman. But this teetered on the edge of recklessness. If she wouldn’t regard her physical safety, then he would.

“Where do you want this, miss?” A maid approached with a bag.

Amelia pointed. “Give it to the coachman.”

Graham nodded toward the bag. “What’s that for?”

“For the inn, of course.”

“The inn?”

“We’ll have to sleep somewhere tonight.”

This had gone on long enough. He leaned in and lowered his voice. If he couldn’t reason with her, he’d appeal to her sense of morality. “We are not yet married. We can hardly go on a trip alone.”

“Ah, but we won’t be alone. Mrs. Hammond has kindly consented to accompany us. And of course we’ll have the footmen and the coachmen.”

Graham opened his mouth, but before he could protest, she added, “Oh, I almost forgot.”

She fished around in the fold of her cloak and produced a green velvet drawstring purse.

“What’s that?”

Her eyes were innocent. “Uncle George was reluctant, but Mr. Carrington was able to get him to come around. After all, how would it look if he did not agree to pay for the ransom when the kidnapping took place here at Winterwood?”

“Am I to understand that you have two thousand in there?”

“Well, not entirely, but Mr. Carrington should be back directly with the balance.”

He took the money from her, surprised—yet grateful—that they had such a sum on hand. Then he placed a hand on her shoulder and bent down to look her square in the eye. “Listen to me, Amelia. I understand your desire to accompany me, but you must stay here. The journey is long, and I’ll not risk another life that I—” He hesitated, choosing his words. “I cannot risk anything else happening.”

He turned to walk away, but Amelia grabbed his sleeve and stopped him. He drew a deep breath and turned, preparing to repeat himself, but the fear in her eyes halted him.

“Captain Sterling, Lucy may not be my natural daughter, but I love her as if she were. Like you, I will not rest until I hold her in my arms and she once again sleeps in her own bed here. I don’t know why this happened. All I know is that I will do anything, go anywhere, to have her back with me, and I simply cannot stay here and wait when there is the slightest chance that I could help. I’m telling you, I will go. The only question is whether I will go with you or make the journey on my own.”

Graham swallowed and stared into her blue eyes. What spell did this woman cast over him? He wanted to let her have her way. But could he allow her to risk her own safety? Before he left, he’d sent a letter to Stephen Sulter to inform him that he was coming to Liverpool. Sulter had a wife and grown children. Perhaps Amelia could stay with them while he searched for his daughter.

A movement over Amelia’s shoulder caught his eye, and he glanced to the drawing room window. Framed in the paned glass, Edward Littleton looked out, watching them.

Graham nodded toward Littleton. “How long does he intend to stay?”

Amelia shrugged. “Until my aunt and uncle depart for London.”

“When will that be?”

She looked down at the ground. “Their plans were to leave after I wed, but now, with the changes, I—”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. He understood her meaning.

He looked down at Amelia, and something inside him began to soften. He quickly checked himself. Romantic whims only led to weakness and heartache, and he could afford neither at this time. But the blond tendrils blowing in the wind, the pink curve of her lips, and the determination in her expression all contributed to his growing desire to keep her close.

It wasn’t just that she was hard to refuse, though she was. The reality was that someone was willing to do almost anything for money—even kidnap a baby—and that person could easily be in this house. Right now everyone was a suspect: George Barrett, Edward Littleton, even his own brother. With that in mind, how could he possibly leave Amelia here alone?

Blast it all. What other choice did he have?





Amelia awoke to the sounds of shouts outside the carriage. The vehicle jerked and started to slow, but she didn’t open her eyes until the carriage stopped and its wheels settled in the ruts. Amelia sat up, straightened, and rubbed her hand over her face. She reached over to Jane and shook her arm. “Jane, Jane, wake up. We’ve arrived.”

After indulging in a yawn and a catlike stretch, Amelia tightened the traveling blanket around her shoulders and leaned to look out the window. A two-story, U-shaped building stretched to the night sky. Freestanding torches flanked the main entrance, and cheery lights flickered in the numerous windows, spilling their yellow glow onto the freshly fallen snow.

She felt Jane lean over her shoulder. “Is this where we are staying, or are we just changing the horses?”

“It’s too dark to go any farther. Not a bit of moonlight.” Amelia squinted to read the words carved into an aged, rectangular sign. “Eagledale Inn.”

The outlines of horses and men passed in front of her view, painting shadows against sides of the building. Muted music and laughter floated on the night air. The sound seemed to be coming from outside and to the left. She craned her neck to see if she could find the source, but none was visible.

The carriage door unlatched and swung open, and an icy blast swirled through the opening. After hours in the jerky carriage, the wind’s wintry bite invigorated her. A ripple of excitement tickled her stomach. The inn marked the halfway mark on their journey to Liverpool. They were that much closer to Lucy.

Captain Sterling removed his hat to duck inside the coach. He had decided to ride his horse alongside the carriage. When his hand rested on hers, Amelia jumped.

He clasped her fingers. “I’m going to go check on rooms. Don’t move or talk to anyone. The coachmen will stay with you.” Captain Sterling closed the door behind him, and she heard the click of the latch. She watched his form turn to a silhouette against the window light and then disappear through the door.

Amelia leaned back against the seat. Her eyes burned from crying, her muscles ached from several hours of jerky travel, and her body cried out for sleep. She thought of Lucy and Mrs. Dunne. Were they cold? Hungry? Uncomfortable? The very thought made her stomach turn. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tufted brocade. Now not only was Lucy heaven knows where, but she herself was hours away from home.

Jane and Amelia sat in silence until Captain Sterling opened the carriage door again.

“The inn is pretty full, but I was able to get us two rooms. You ladies will share one on the second floor. One of the coachmen is already taking your things up. Come, I’ll escort you.”

He extended his arm, and Amelia took it. Her legs were unsteady and stiff after hours of sleep and travel, and she almost stumbled on the narrow carriage steps. With her free hand she looped her cape hood over her head and then clung to his arm with both hands. The air carried pungent scents of horses, manure, and straw, causing her nose to wrinkle. The icy snow crunched under her half boots as they walked to the door. For once she was grateful that her feet were practically frozen; otherwise she might protest the pain of the sharp gravel beneath her thin soles.

Some of the inn’s male guests exited the building as they walked to the front door. Feeling their stares, Amelia cast a quick glance back at Jane and tightened her grip on Captain Sterling’s arm. He walked as if unconcerned, his breath fogging the cold night air. Amelia swallowed a lump of trepidation and tried to ignore the questionable-looking people they passed. She was far from Winterwood Manor indeed.

Once inside, Amelia was grateful for the heat, but the smell was not much improved. The scent of burnt meat and stale straw met her nose. The sounds of voices and music were louder.

She leaned toward her escort. “Where is all the noise coming from?”

He finally looked down at her. Dark circles underlined his tired eyes, and the start of a beard shadowed his cheeks and chin. “There’s a dining hall through that door, but it is no place for you. I’ve ordered something for you and Mrs. Hammond to eat. It should be brought up shortly.”

Still clinging to his arm, eyes wide, she allowed him to lead her up a narrow staircase and down a dimly lit hallway. The smell of stale straw was worse here, and she held a handkerchief up to her nose. Six doors lined the dark corridor, and he led her to the one on the right at the end. He stuck a key in the lock, turned it, and gave it a good shake. The lock popped, and the door swung open.

She stared at her sparse surroundings. The room, barely large enough for the three of them to stand in together, felt dank and dark.

Captain Sterling knelt at the fireplace and poked at the kindling with the poker. “I had them start you a fire—if you want to call this a fire.” He added more kindling and blew on it. “But at least you have a little light and warmth, which is more than I can say for the other patrons.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “You mean some of the rooms don’t even have a fireplace?”

He shook his head. “I told you this would be different from what you are accustomed to.”

She watched silently as he coerced the sputtering fire to a healthy flame. Once the fire allowed for a better look at the room, she removed her hood and surveyed her surroundings. One bed with a lumpy mattress butted up against the far wall. A single wardrobe chest stood next to a skinny window. Two wooden chairs and a rickety table edged close to the fireplace, and beneath her feet stretched a minuscule, well-worn rug. Nothing hung on the walls, with the exception of two wooden hooks next to the door.

Minutes later a kitchen maid appeared with a tray of food and tea. She set the tray on the table, bobbed a curtsy, and left. Amelia removed her damp cape from her shoulders and hung it on a hook to dry. Every part of her was cold.

She moved next to Captain Sterling at the fire. He poked the coals again and looked up at her. “I know this is not ideal, but there isn’t another inn within an hour’s travel.”

“Thank you. I’m sure Mrs. Hammond and I will be quite comfortable here.” Amelia hesitated, chewing her lip. The candlelight highlighted the strength in his jaw. The muscles in his neck twitched as he tended the fire. She wanted to grab his arm again, just as she had when he escorted her to the room. Being near him made her feel safe. Protected.

He stood and dusted his hands together to shake off the ashes from the fire. “The coachman set your things over by that chair, and if you are all settled, I will leave you ladies to rest.” He walked toward the door. “Make sure you lock the door. Don’t let anyone in, for any reason.”

Amelia almost reached out to keep him in the room. “Where are you going?”

“To finish tending the horses. I’ll be staying in the room directly above this one. If you need anything, stand on the chair and tap on the ceiling. I’ll be sure to hear you.”

“But surely you will eat something and get some rest too?”

He nodded. “I will knock on your door tomorrow morning. We’ll leave at dawn. I want to arrive in Liverpool as early as possible.”

He gave a short bow, and the smile he offered sent a flutter through her heart. But she was tired. Emotional. She needed to keep those two things in mind and not let her thoughts turn to fantasies.

Jane closed the door behind Captain Sterling, and Amelia strained to hear their retreating footsteps over the fire’s hiss and the shouts from the courtyard below.

Jane hung her cape on the hook next to Amelia’s and turned to survey the tiny room. “Your Captain Sterling is a very kind man. He seems quite concerned for your welfare.”

Amelia ignored the subtle tease in her friend’s voice. She moved to the small table and sat down. “You’d better eat this, er, stew before it gets cold.”

She eyed the dubious dinner, recognizing carrots and potatoes but not much else. She picked up a loaf of bread, but it was so hard she could barely tear it in two. Sighing, she dropped the loaf back onto the pewter plate and reached for the tea.

It would have to suffice.




Graham exited the stable and crossed the courtyard. With the horses secure and bedded down for the night, Amelia and Mrs. Hammond settled, and arrangements made for tomorrow’s journey, he could try to get some sleep. He would need to be rested for his search for Lucy once he arrived in Liverpool. One of the coachmen had offered to tend to Starboard, but Graham had been unable to rest until he’d checked on the animal himself. He found himself wondering at that. As a captain, he gave orders daily, if not hourly. Why could he not release such a minor chore?

The noise from the pub was louder now than it had been when he walked the ladies in. Laughter and shouts peppered the night air. He shoved his fists in his pockets and forced his gaze on the door. How easy it would be to indulge in a drink or two to take the edge off of his fears over Lucy. What did he have to lose? They couldn’t travel until light broke anyway.

But he knew exactly what he had to lose. It had been a long time since he’d used drink as a means to escape, and his exhausted, susceptible state made it especially important to steer clear of the temptation. But a temptation it remained. He glanced up toward Amelia’s window. Indeed, it was not the only temptation.

After entering the inn’s main door, Graham climbed the stairs with his bag. The key weighed heavy in his pocket, and he fumbled in the dark to unlock the door. A stale stench assaulted him. He kicked the door closed with his foot and leaned against it to turn the lock. The room was identical to Amelia and Miss Hammond’s. Its simplicity did not bother him. He’d slept in much worse. But he couldn’t help but wonder how Amelia, a woman used to the finest surroundings, was faring.

Graham hung his coat and hat on the hook before moving to stoke the fire. It was a cold night, made colder by the dampness clinging to his coat, and he leaned in to let the flames warm his face and chest.

Amelia was so close. Just a floor below. Was she asleep? So much had transpired since their argument after the dinner party. With his concern for Lucy, he’d had little time to give it thought. But now, in complete solitude and relative quiet, he allowed himself to recount her words.

An arrangement, she had called it, reminding him that her interest was in Lucy, nothing more. He rubbed his arm as if to rub away the memory of what her touch had felt like when she had clung to him. He wasn’t sure he could believe her words, for her expression had told him something completely different.

Amelia was a strong woman. Indeed, he’d underestimated her again and again. At every turn they’d taken in these few short weeks, she’d proven loyal, resolute, and resourceful as well as beautiful. And she loved Lucy like the child was her own. Could a man hope for a better companion?

Tomorrow would have been their wedding day. In the days and nights since he’d agreed to marry Amelia, he’d come to believe it was a good idea. But something more had developed during the course of their interactions. His concern for her had deepened. His regard for her had broadened, his affection intensified. He no longer regarded her as a woman using him as a means to an end. She was a person he cared about, and she was slowly but surely becoming the woman he loved.

Amelia had awakened something in him. Denying that reality did not make it any less true. But was it right to love again so soon after Katherine’s death—or to marry another woman and promptly leave her as he had left Katherine? Guilt, swift and sure, swept its familiar pall over him. How long would he fight this battle between the past and his future?

He stood abruptly, realizing he could no longer afford the luxury of regret. Time was short. He had work to do. And a good captain always kept his priorities straight.

Priority one: Retrieve Lucy at any cost. Priority two: Make Amelia want to marry him, for more than just Lucy’s sake. Because the longer this intricate dance continued, the more certain he became: Amelia Barrett needed to become Amelia Sterling.

He removed his waistcoat and slung it over the back of the chair. In a bag next to the fireplace were the clean linens that Amelia insisted they bring. Looking down at the rumpled bed, he was grateful for her insistence. He folded the fresh-smelling pillow under his head, stretched out on the smooth sheet, and covered himself with the wool blanket. He stared into the fire. It had been awhile since a prayer passed his lips, but he couldn’t help the one that came upon him instinctively.

Dear Father, I don’t deserve Lucy, and I don’t deserve Amelia. But if it be your will, deliver them both to me.





Amelia had no idea if twenty minutes or two hours had passed. She lay on the lumpy bed, trying to ignore the straw poking through the rough canvas, and curled close against Jane in an attempt to keep warm. The tattered curtains hanging at the window blocked light from the lanterns in the courtyard below, but they did little to suppress the raucous sounds coming from the pub next door. Somehow she’d managed to sleep in the carriage despite the rough roads and wild winds. Now, when sleep should arrive, it refused to come.

She looked over at Jane, whose slender form sank into the mattress. The fire illuminated the rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders under their brought-from-home blankets. As softly as she could, Amelia pushed herself from the bed and stood.

The pitiful fire did little to fight the chill in the room. Shivering, she reached for her cape, pulled it from the hook, and drew it tightly around her shoulders. With soft steps she inched close to the fire grate and poked futilely at the coals. Giving up, she sat on the rough wood floor, tucked her knees to her chest, and leaned her head on them, her mind, as ever, on Lucy.

Where was she tonight? What had happened to her? Possibility after possibility commandeered Amelia’s mind, each scenario more terrifying than the last. She reviewed everything she knew, trying to figure out who could be responsible.

William Sterling had been angry with the captain, and he was known as a drinker and a gambler. According to what she overheard at the Hammonds’, he was in debt and short of funds. But surely the man would not kidnap his own niece.

Would he?

Then there was Edward. Could he be guilty of such a cruel, devious act? Until recently, she would not have thought it possible. Now she was not so sure. But Edward had been present for the entire episode, even assisting with the search efforts.

And then, she had to acknowledge, there was an entire world she knew little about. Graham’s world. A mysterious world of ships and warfare. Could he have enemies? Could there be others wishing to do the Sterlings harm?

Footsteps from the room above them drew Amelia’s attention. Graham’s room. Heavy boots paced from one end of the room to the other and back again. She’d been so engrossed in her own pain, concerned with her own plans, that she had not stopped to consider how he must feel. Her own pain at losing Katherine was great, and her fear of losing Lucy was intense. But he was Katherine’s husband, Lucy’s father. Back and forth he paced. He was so close, only a few wooden planks above her.

A rustling from the bed drew Amelia from her reverie. “What are you doing?”

Amelia sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to wake you. I was cold.”

Jane sat up and swung her legs over the side of the low bed. “This has to be the draftiest room I ever set foot in. Thank heavens we shall only be here one night.” She reached down to pull on her slippers.

“I hope Lucy and Mrs. Dunne are in a better place than this. I cannot bear the thought of—”

As the footsteps passed directly overhead, Amelia stopped talking, and Jane looked up at the ceiling. “Sounds as if sleep is eluding someone else of our acquaintance.” She fetched her own cloak from the peg and joined Amelia at the fire. “I must say, I believe I have misjudged Captain Sterling.”

Amelia started at the abrupt change of conversation. “Why would you say that?”

“His behavior has been selfless. The manner in which he has handled this entire situation has impressed me.” Jane settled down next to Amelia, a mischievous smile on her lips. “He appears to be quite taken with you, my dear.”

Amelia tried the poker again. “We both care for Lucy, but you must not think there is anything else to the relationship between myself and Captain Sterling. We simply have an arrangement.”

“Oh, I am not so sure about that.”

“It is true that I have a very large fortune—or I will once I marry. No doubt the captain finds that attractive as well.”

“Most men would, yes. But I believe that the captain may need you as much as you need him. For reasons other than money.”

Amelia looked away from Jane to hide her quivering lip. “I do not need Captain Sterling. I need his name.”

Jane hesitated and reached for Amelia’s hand. “What is it, my dear, that frightens you so?”

Amelia pulled back her hand. She had no answer. Or rather, she had too many answers. Too many fears. She feared never having a family of her own. Needing someone and not being needed in return. Being taken advantage of because of her wealth. Loving intensely, only to have that person snatched away . . . again. Having to live her whole life as she had lived so many early years—with a broken, empty heart.

She couldn’t tell Jane all that. She could barely admit it to herself. So she said, “The only thing that frightens me is losing Lucy. I cannot lose another person I love, Jane.”

Jane’s nod was thoughtful. “Fear takes so many forms. I remember back when I was still a new wife—new in Darbury too. I was so lonely in those days. I’d only known Mr. Hammond a few weeks prior to our marriage, and our new parish was far from my family in Bristol. I was eager to become a mother, thinking a baby would help me be less lonely. I prayed daily for a child. Fervently, like Hannah in the Bible.”

Amelia pulled her cape closer around her. “But you never had children, did you?”

“No. And eventually I would come to terms with that. But in those early years, the fear that I would never have a child consumed me. I pulled away from Mr. Hammond and others who loved me. I could think of nothing but my own sorrow and my fear that my life would not turn out as I had imagined. It was a dark time, Amelia. I wasted so much of my youth wishing for things to be different, unable to accept the role God had given me to fulfill.”

“So how did you find peace with it?” Amelia’s voice did not sound like her own.

“When I finally was able to accept that God had a plan for my life, that his way is best, I began to see the world in a different light.” A smile transformed Jane’s face. “And then he gave me you. You became the daughter I never had. The Lord has blessed me in so many other ways as well. But I lost so many blessings while confined in the prison of my fear.”

Amelia stared into the fire as the full meaning of Jane’s words pressed upon her. Something within her recognized the truth in them. But a stubborn streak deep in her heart wouldn’t accept it.

Jane laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “There are seasons to every life, Amelia. God gives each of us a great capacity to love, if we will only open our minds to it. I am not a woman given to romantic flights of fancy, but even I can tell the captain has developed feelings for you. The way he fusses over you. The great lengths he is going to protect you—”

“He’s protecting Lucy.”

“No, Amelia, he is protecting you as well. You will have a very lonely life if you refuse to let others in because you are afraid.”

Those final words stung. Amelia pushed to her feet. She didn’t want Jane to see the tears gathering. Jane stood too and returned to the bed.

Above them the pacing continued. Thud. Thud. Thud. Amelia waited until she was certain Jane had fallen asleep before she climbed back into bed. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, and she squeezed them shut. Oh, God, if you really care for me, where are you?

And in the quiet of the room, a response, subtle and low, balanced in the quiet places between sleep and a dream.

“My child, I am with you wherever you go.”




Amelia tossed. She turned. Someone was chasing her.

She bolted down a darkened corridor in her nightdress, her bare feet slapping against cold stone. The footsteps were gaining on her.

Faster and faster she ran. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and her lungs burned with lack of oxygen. How much longer could she keep this pace?

A menacing, angry voice kept calling her name.

“Amelia. Amelia!”

From the narrow window in the stone wall, a flash of blinding lightning pierced the darkness. A simultaneous clap of thunder boomed with such intensity the ground beneath her trembled. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. Again and again she tried, but no sound, not even a whimper, passed her dry, cracked lips.

Lightning flashed again, and this time her lungs filled with air. She released a bloodcurdling scream before falling to the ground.

The footsteps drew closer. They came faster. Pulse racing, she glanced over her shoulder. By the light of a subsequent lightning bolt she could see it. A dark shadow, a mass, crept closer. Closer.

She tried to get up, but her nightdress caught on something. Desperate, she felt around in the darkness to free it but felt nothing besides limp fabric. She scrambled to her feet and attempted to rip the nightdress free, but whatever gripped it was pulling back, just as hard, just as determined. The shadow drew closer, closer . . .

“Amelia.”

The mass was upon her. Its unbearable heat engulfed her.

Unable to free her dress, she succumbed to the instinct to fight. She swung at the mass. She kicked her legs. She writhed and twisted. It would not overcome her.

“Amelia, wake up.”

The mass grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. Again she screamed. Pain pressed her head, and fear squeezed her heart.

The voice grew louder. Her kicks grew stronger.

“Amelia, wake up! You are dreaming!”

A solid shake snapped her eyes open, and she bolted upright. Perspiration trickled down her neck and back. She gulped for air and dug her nails into the wool blanket.

When something touched her back, she jumped and cried out, then blinked as she looked around.

She was not in a dark corridor, but a room at the Eagledale Inn.

A black mass had not grabbed her. It was Jane touching her arm.

Nobody had chased her. The footsteps were not footsteps at all, but a knock at her door.

And Lucy was still missing.

“For mercy’s sake, child, are you awake?” Jane’s voice rose, and Amelia, still lost in the haze between reason and dream, jerked away from her friend’s touch.

The knocking at the door grew more insistent. The knob jiggled. “Are you all right?”

Captain Sterling. Her Captain Sterling. He’d protect her, keep her safe.

She jumped to her feet and ran to the door. “Yes, yes.” She fiddled with the lock. Still bewildered with sleep, she struggled with sluggish fingers to pull back the metal bolt. When it finally gave way, she flung the door open.

His startling gray eyes met hers. His gaze fell to her nightdress. “What on earth is going on in here?”

Suddenly conscious of her thin attire, she pushed the door closed, leaving only a crack to peer out through. “It was a frightening dream, Graham. Nothing more.”

She did not realize she had addressed him by his Christian name until she saw the surprise on his face. He cleared his throat. “I heard you from my room. I thought something was wrong.” He tugged unconsciously at his untucked shirt. “Last night I instructed the coachman to return to Darbury and hired a post chaise for the rest of the journey to Liverpool. I was concerned for your horses, and the post chaise will get us there faster.”

Her mind slowly cleared, and Amelia nodded. With each nod the pounding in her head intensified, though the black mass slowly shrunk to the background of her mind. She stared at the broad expanse of his chest. How would it feel to be in the protection of his embrace? She caught the scent of sandalwood, he was so close.

Her Captain Sterling. Her Graham.





Liverpool. They’d arrived.

The sea breeze lured Graham like a siren’s call, drawing him closer to the water. The familiar seaport sounds—men shouting, hammers pounding, gulls crying—helped him breathe easier . . . until he recollected why he was here.

All along the wide River Mersey, ship masts, dressed in canvas sails and draped with ropes, reached skeletal fingers into the sky. Frigates lined the docks, crammed tightly in a sea of rope and sails.

His heart beat a steady cadence in his chest. He was that much closer to Lucy.

Behind him, the post chaise transporting Amelia and Mrs. Hammond jostled over the cobbled streets. He turned in Starboard’s saddle to see if he could catch a glimpse of Amelia. The thrill of hearing her address him with the intimacy of his Christian name had been the bright spot of his dark morning.

Graham consulted the directions he’d received from a nearby merchant and raised his hand to alert the driver that their destination was near. Across the bustling street, a tiny stone church nestled beneath ancient elms. To its left, a crooked fence encased a tidy graveyard, and just behind that sat the vicarage. Stephen Sulter’s house.

Graham drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the salty air. Stephen Sulter. Their paths had been destined to cross again. He waited for a cart and donkey to clear the way before urging Starboard forward. What would it be like to see the man he’d revered as a midshipman and later as a lieutenant? The man who’d taught him how to lead others, to judge fairly, and to develop discipline . . . the very man who had led him to God?

His stomach tightened. God had used Sulter as an instrument to open his eyes to the wonders of what a personal relationship with him could bring.

And what had he done with that relationship?

Graham pushed the question to the back of his mind as the door to Sulter’s house opened. A tall, thin man stepped outside, a grin spread across his face. Time’s paintbrush had turned Sulter’s dark hair gray and etched wrinkles into his leathery skin, but his long-toothed smile was unmistakable. Memories rushed Graham in chaotic disarray. Stephen Sulter knew him better than any other person, living or dead.

Sulter reached for the bridle and steadied the animal as Graham slid to the ground. Then he reached for Graham and embraced him as tightly as any father would. “Can it be? Graham Sterling!”

It was not discomfort but regret that caused Graham to stiffen a little at the affectionate greeting. “Did you receive my letter, sir?”

The other man sobered. “Just an hour or so ago. I regret our reunion must be on such difficult terms, but still, it is good to see you, my boy.”

The carriage pulled up to the house just as a round little woman burst out of the house and flung her arms around Graham. “Graham Sterling!”

She squeezed him in an awkward embrace and then stepped back, face flushed and arms akimbo. “As I live and breathe, there now, let’s have a look at ye.” She eyed him from the top of his hat to the tips of his dusty boots. “Well, there now, see, Captain Sulter!” She turned her beaming face to her husband and flung her hand in Graham’s general direction. “He’s not a thing like the boy we saw last. So tall. And handsome, at that.”

A smile cracked Graham’s face. Mary Sulter was the closest person to a mother he’d had since he left Eastmore. How she used to fuss over him. Cook his favorite meals. Mend his clothes. Give him advice. Words didn’t seem enough to express his feelings upon seeing her again. “Mrs. Sulter. I hope this visit is not an imposition.”

“Imposition? Glory be!” She waved her hand in the air, her ruddy face beaming with pleasure. “You are always a welcome guest in this house, Graham Sterling, and don’t you forget it. As soon as Captain Sulter said you’d be arriving today, I set about making your favorite pound cake. See, I haven’t forgotten.”

Graham felt his dusty sense of humor slowly returning. A sense of comfort spread from his chest to his limbs. He was home. Why had he waited so long to return?

“I knew you, of all people, would not forget.”

She leaned in closer, pushing past her tall, narrow husband. “I am very sorry to hear about your young wife. And your daughter! Oh my, I haven’t ceased praying since my Stephen told me the news.”

Graham shifted his gaze from Mrs. Sulter to her husband.

“Don’t worry, Graham.” Stephen stepped forward. “This isn’t the first pickle you and I have found ourselves in. We’ll figure this out. Together.”




Amelia ducked her head out of the carriage in front of the Sulter home.

Today was to be my wedding day.

She looked behind her at the thoroughfare they had just departed. Carts darted to and fro, and seagulls swooped from the heavens. On the opposite side stood the docks, and beyond them, a broad river that just as well could be the sea. Men rushed about amid a tangle of ropes. The scents of salt and fish rode in on the nippy breeze, so different than the earthy moorland scents of Darbury.

And Lucy could be anywhere amidst the bustle.

Amelia drummed her fingertips on the leather seat. When will we begin searching? Graham stood talking to an older man and an animated, dark-haired woman. What were they talking about? Lucy? Her? She was in no mood for conversation.

Graham strode up to the post chaise. “We’ve arrived.”

Today was my wedding day, and Graham should be helping me out of the carriage and into our home with Lucy at Winterwood Manor, not a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar town.

Amelia forced a smile and looked over at Jane before placing her hand in his. Her feet touched the ground, and cool air swirled her skirts around her wool stockings and half boots. An unexpected thrill shot through her as Graham took her hand and looped it around the crook of his arm. The protective act of familiarity warmed her heart, but the emotion was quickly dampened at the memory of why they were here.

The timbre of Graham’s voice was rich and confident as they approached the tall man and his wife. “Mrs. Sulter, Captain, I would like for you to meet my betrothed, Miss Amelia Barrett of Winterwood Manor in Darbury.”

Captain Sulter bowed. “Welcome to our home, Miss Barrett.”

Mary Sulter clasped her hands in front of her. “Welcome to our home, indeed! What a beauty you have found, Captain Sterling.” She stepped forward and gathered Amelia’s hands in her own. “Captain Sterling is dear to our family, dear, indeed. What a pleasure it is to have you here with us.”

The hearty welcome nearly overwhelmed Amelia. Mrs. Sulter chattered on, and Amelia smiled, nodded, and stepped closer to Graham to make room for Jane to step forward and be introduced. As she did, she glanced up at Graham . . . and couldn’t help staring. His expression was softer than she had seen it since the party at the Hammonds’.

Why now, in the middle of a strange street, in front of strangers, and in tragic circumstances, should she be struck by Graham’s smile? The firm set of his square jaw had slacked and the hint of a smile curved his lips. Something was different about it—about him—today. Is this Graham’s demeanor in the presence of friends?

He’d shown her a hint of this unguarded freedom, this easiness of spirit, in the fleeting moments when she imagined a romance between the two of them. But here, in this company, he seemed to share it freely, even in the midst of fear and uncertainty.

A group of young adults gathered at the home’s modest threshold. They had to be the Sulters’ children. The two taller young men stepped forward to help with the luggage. Two young women, one of whom could not be much younger than Amelia, scrambled out of the way as their mother ushered the group inside.

Graham put his hand on the small of Amelia’s back. Optimism flicked in his steel-gray eyes, and his warm whisper tickled her ear. “We’re close, Amelia. We’ll find her shortly, mark my words.”




Graham watched as Mary Sulter escorted Amelia and Mrs. Hammond down a narrow corridor to the bedchamber they would share. Then he turned his attention back to Stephen Sulter, who was dropping a seasoned log on the fire.

Sulter watched his two oldest boys leave the room and shook his head. “Rowdy bunch, they are. Too much like me and not enough like their mother, to be sure.” He turned to Graham, his smile fading from amusement to genuine concern. “Don’t worry, Graham. We’ll find your daughter.” He sat in a worn chair and leaned forward. “Tell me everything you know.”

Graham moved over to the window and glanced at the busy street below before turning back to face Stephen. Where to start this nightmare of a story? Should he start at the beginning, with what had transpired since he arrived in Darbury? Or should he go back further and admit that these occurrences were punishment for past actions?

He pulled the ransom letter from his pocket and handed it to Sulter, who unfolded the wrinkled paper and held it up to the window’s light. Graham stood silent, waiting as the man read.

Sulter finished examining the note and lowered it to his lap. “All right now. Start from the beginning.”

Graham drew a long breath and began. The events of the past three weeks spilled from him with unguarded honesty. At times the tightening in his chest and the shortness of breath threatened to prevent his words, but he pressed on, omitting no detail. Sulter was safe and unbiased, just as he had always been.

When Graham finished, Sulter stood, leaned his elbow against the mantel, and rubbed his chin. “So, there are three possibilities.”

Graham raised his eyebrow, curious if Sulter’s assessment matched his own.

“The Edward Littleton fellow, Miss Barrett’s uncle, and—”

“My brother.” Graham winced as the words passed his lips. But his brother had been desperate and drunk—an ominous combination. “So now you know the situation. What’s your assessment?”

Sulter refolded the note and passed it back to him. “Liverpool’s a big city, a lot of people coming and going. But George’s Dock—that’s our key.”

The glimmer in Sulter’s eyes sparked a flicker of hope in Graham. “I remember that place. Used to be big in the slave trade, if I recall correctly.”

“Aye, you do. Now it receives ships coming from the West Indies.”

The West Indies. It wasn’t until Graham repeated Stephen’s words in his head that a thought formed. Weren’t Edward Littleton and George Barrett partners in a shipping business? Memories of the very first dinner at Winterwood Manor rushed his mind. Yes, Barrett had announced that Littleton was joining the family business.

Graham leaned in close to Sulter. “Have you heard of the Barrett Trading Company?”