The Heiress of Winterwood

The carriage door yanked open, the force of which jostled the entire carriage, and Amelia pressed back against the seat. Edward filled the opening, but behind him, the moonlight shimmered on waves, and a great ship settled on the water. The gull’s cry met her ears. Edward grabbed her and lifted her down. She swung her head around, desperately searching. Surely Graham would rescue them. This couldn’t be the hour it would end. The feel of Edward against her sickened her, and as soon as she found her footing she pulled away. She searched hungrily, slightly relieved when she saw Lucy in Mrs. Dunne’s arms . . . until she saw them boarding a great wooden ship.

Edward lifted Helena down and then took Helena’s arm in one hand, Amelia’s in the other. Two other men swarmed around them. Amelia searched the landscape for Graham, hoping, praying he had figured out where they were. But only the sight of crates, rope, and smoke met her. As Edward yanked her toward the ship, she was overcome with a new fear: neither she nor Helena had ever been on a ship. She stared down at the churning water as she stepped across the wooden walkway to the frigate’s upper deck. In front of them, Lucy and Mrs. Dunne disappeared through a companionway.

Amelia imagined she heard a breath of relief before Edward spoke. “Welcome to the Perseverance, ladies.”




As night deepened, clouds rolled in, thickening the sky and obscuring the moon’s glow. Graham paused only long enough to fill his lungs with air.

He was close to them. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.

Above him, the clouds hung thick and low, and at his ankles, a night’s mist swirled at his feet. He stood in the shadows, watching the ship rock. The choppy water pulled it, testing the tether of the ropes. Through a tiny window an unsteady light wavered.

Even in the black of night, the docks were never quiet. A man ran past. Two others came from the opposite direction, their voices no louder than whispers.

Graham felt William approach. “What are we going to do?”

“We are going to wait.”

“Wait?”

“Patience, brother.”

Graham was as eager—if not more so—and checked his timepiece, though he already knew the time. The moon’s location in its path across the night sky gave him all the information he needed. Dawn would arrive soon and shed its cool light on the docks and sleeping ships, rousing all from their slumber.

To Graham’s best guess, Littleton had left the warehouse with five men. The odds of being able to board the ship were unfavorable. After all, the entire crew could be aboard. He spotted one sailor. Then another. But his options were waning. A hired crew would likely offer little loyalty and protection to Littleton, and he’d already missed one opportunity to free the women and Lucy. He’d not miss another.

Minutes slipped by at a sluggish pace, and the moon crawled along its path in the night sky, illuminating the low-hanging clouds. With every passing moment, his senses heightened just as they had in an impending battle. The hair on his neck stood straight. He was on constant alert. But never before had a battle been so critical—never had so much been at stake.

Sulter’s past and long-forgotten words of God rushed to the forefront of his mind. Suddenly they seemed clear. His own strength was not sufficient. Even though he did not know what awaited him in the wooden confines of the Perseverance, God did. Graham knew well the dangers of boarding an enemy ship, docked or not. But tonight he would not board the ship of his own strength. He would not cower in fear at the unknown. Tonight he would pray. He would put his faith in the God who had offered him forgiveness. Offered patience. Offered him a future.

A cloud covered the moon, shadowing the docks still further. But just then, a lantern’s light appeared on deck. Then another. Two darkened forms accompanied the lights. Graham’s jaw twitched. Now was the time.

Sulter leaned close, his gravelly voice low. “Thou, O Lord, art just and powerful: O defend our cause against the face of the enemy.”

Graham recognized the prayer. It was from the Book of Common Prayer, often spoken at sea when facing an imminent battle. The words had been long memorized and often quoted. But tonight they took on new meaning and infused him with humble confidence.

He finished the prayer. “O God, thou art a strong tower of defense to all that flee unto thee: O save us from the violence of the enemy. O Lord of hosts, fight for us, that we may glorify thee. O suffer us not to sink under the weight of our sins, or the violence of the enemy.” His voice shook with the final words. “O Lord, arise, help us, and deliver us for thy Name’s sake.”

Graham’s heart pounded as erratically as the waves lapping the side of the Perseverance. After instructing William to stay behind and keep watch, he and Sulter turned toward the ship. Even though the ship itself was unfamiliar, his confidence surged. They were on his turf now, and with God’s help, they would persevere.




Sure-footed, with weapon brandished, he boarded the frigate with Sulter close behind.

But then he heard her. Lucy.

The babe’s sharp cry punctuated the night’s sounds, followed by an angry voice that could only be Littleton’s. Graham adjusted his grip on his pistol and with his other hand reached down to make sure his blade was still tucked in his boot.

The vessel creaked and rolled beneath them. With his feet firmly on the deck, he looked up. The mainmast stretched into the starless sky, and coupled with the vessel’s gentle movement, a myriad of memories flooded him. But it was the sounds of voices Graham listened for. They could be anywhere in the dark maze of lower decks. When a cry pierced the night, he looked at Sulter. They followed the cry down a ladder. A dangerous decision, really, for once below deck, they would be trapped if they were not successful.

The sound led them to the wardroom. How many times had he entered a wardroom? In times of relaxation, to dine with officers. In times of battle, when it served as a makeshift surgery room. But never would he have thought he would be entering one to rescue his daughter.

Time was limited. The crew would be on to them soon, and what match would two men have against a crew? Sputtering light flashed from behind a drawn door. Graham looked back at Sulter, pressed his finger to his lips, and leaned closer, desperate to hear anything above the thudding in his brain.

From within the wooden walls he heard a woman’s voice, soothing, soft, and low. He heard a harsh whisper. A baby’s whimper. Graham held up one finger, then another to indicate the distinct male voices that met his ear. Their best hope was to catch the men off guard.

He waited through the silence until the murmur of men’s voices once again sounded from within. Good. The men were distracted. He signaled Sulter, and then with all of his weight, he rammed the door with his shoulder and slammed it against the wall. Women screamed. He saw one man. Two men. And then his eyes narrowed on Littleton.

Pistol pointed straight at Littleton’s chest, he pushed him and one other man past a table and against the paneled wall.

Littleton’s struggle for composure played on his dark features. Flickering light from one of the hanging lanterns glimmered off of the perspiration trickling down the sides of his face. His voice rang with imperious bravado. “Ah, the mighty Captain Sterling, come to claim his bride. I’d wager this is not what you expected to find, is it?”

Graham fought the urge to look back at Amelia and Lucy and kept his eyes focused on Littleton. He pressed the pistol against Littleton’s chest.

A sinister smirk curved Littleton’s lips. “You’d best kill me, Sterling,” taunted Littleton. “Because mark my words, if you are fool enough to let me live, I’ll have my revenge yet.”

Graham gritted his teeth. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but unfortunately it isn’t up to me when your miserable life will come to an end.”

“Then you’re a greater fool than I thought.” Littleton’s squeaky laugh dripped with the desperation of a caught man. He licked his lips and shifted his eyes to the man Sulter was tying to the table leg. “You may think that you will have your way by simply barging onto this vessel, but you are sorely mistaken.”

Graham narrowed his eyes on the man, his chest tightening at the pure evil lurking in Littleton’s expression. But suddenly, a woman’s scream pierced the air. He glanced back toward the sound, and in that split second, the man who’d been standing at Littleton’s right lunged, pushing Graham backward against the long table situated in the middle of the room.

Graham gulped for air as the man struggled to pin him down. But the smaller man was no physical match. After taking a few blows to his side, Graham adjusted his grip on his pistol, righted his opponent, and landed a solid blow to the man’s jaw, sending him staggering against a sideboard. Candlesticks and decanters crashed to the ground at the impact, and Graham whirled back to face Littleton. To his surprise, Littleton had locked his arm around a woman’s waist and held a knife to her throat. At second glance, he saw it was not Amelia or even Mrs. Dunne whose eyes were wide with terror. It was none other than Helena Barrett.

Graham did not have time to figure out how this woman had found her way into this mess. He raised his pistol. At the movement, Littleton tightened his grip on Helena, and she squeaked in fear.

The pitch of Littleton’s voice increased. “I would not recommend that, Sterling.”

Graham’s was steady. “Let her go.”

Littleton sneered. “I want my money.”

Graham licked his lips. He was not dealing with a sane man. “And if I give you the money, will you let her go?”

He laughed. “You can take them when you leave.” Littleton nodded toward Amelia, Mrs. Dunne, and Lucy but tightened his grip on the horrified Helena. “But I’d be a fool to let this one go.”

Graham’s pistol itched in his hands. His coat might as well have been made of fire. Perspiration poured down his temples, burning his eyes. He was a man of swift decisions. And a swift, sure decision needed to be made. In addition to saving his daughter and Amelia, he needed to get Mrs. Dunne and now Helena Barrett to safety. The desire for justice bubbled up within him. If it took his last breath, he would not allow this man to terrorize another.

Graham glanced as Sulter, who nodded. With a swift motion, the older man kicked a chair across the floor, the commotion of which was enough to distract Littleton. Graham lunged forward and pushed the blade away from Helena. Graham shoved Helena away and grabbed Littleton by the coat, pulling him to the opposite corner of the narrow room away from the women huddled next to the scullery door. A fistfight, a pure battle for physical domination, ensued. Littleton still fisted the blade in his hand. Graham’s gun had fallen by the wayside. The men were unevenly matched. Graham tried to reach for his own blade tucked in his boot, but he was forced to call on every bit of energy to keep Littleton’s blade away from his body.

He thought he was gaining the upper hand when he pinned Littleton on the planked floor, but with a sudden jolt, Littleton broke from his grasp and dove away from him. Graham seized the opportunity to jump to his feet and ram Littleton into the wall. At the motion, Littleton’s blade dragged across Graham’s arm, slicing through his coat and penetrating skin. The shock was so strong that he wasn’t even sure if he’d been cut until a searing pain followed by a blinding heat radiated from the spot. Graham swung his other arm, pummeling Littleton’s shoulder, but Littleton answered with his own punch to Graham’s jaw.

Graham heaved for breath, but then, from a direction he did not know, a shot rang out. Only when Littleton’s eyes widened in stunned pain and he stumbled and fell to his knees did Graham realize what had happened. He whirled around. In the doorway stood William, pistol pointed, smoke curling up from the barrel.

Regaining his senses, Graham grabbed Littleton’s knife, threw it to the side, and patted him down for other weapons. Littleton cried out at the pressure, and Graham pushed his shoulder against the ground.

Graham thrust his own pistol, which was still loaded and had fallen to the ground, across the floor to his brother. He then pulled the fabric of Littleton’s trousers away from his leg to reveal a raw flesh wound. He looked closer. No bullet. “You’re a lucky man, Littleton. It grazed you. Count your blessings it was not I who took the shot.”

Littleton groaned, his teeth clenched, and spewed a smattering of curses before dropping his head back against the planked floor.

Graham called to William, whose face was as pale as a man who’d just witnessed a murder. “Come over here. Don’t let him move a muscle.” He straightened, glanced over at the group of women and screaming baby, and then down at his own arm. Blood seeped through the heavy fabric, darkening the wool to nearly black.

He wiped the hair sticking to his forehead away and assessed Littleton. Now he hardly looked a threat. Pale with a smearing of crimson blood across his nose and cheek. Sulter hurried forward to assess Graham’s wound.

Graham expelled his breath slowly.

Could this really be over?

He had to touch Lucy. Make sure she was real. And Amelia. His beloved Amelia.

Before he could even turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder and then caught a glimpse of blond hair from his peripheral vision. His muscles tensed until he heard a voice—more soothing and softer than his own mother’s.

“You’re hurt.”

Amelia.

Her hand traveled his back. The tenderness of her touch was a balm. He wanted to fall against her, let her comfort him, but he gathered his senses. Pushed the pain down. They were not safe yet. They all needed to depart the ship. With Littleton’s accomplices still near, they weren’t safe until their feet were safely on land.

He stood and took her hands in his. He wanted to grab hold of her. To pull her to him and feel her against him. To let her very presence heal his wounds and calm his weary soul. But now was not the time. “You must get Lucy off this ship.” His voice was little more than a growl.

“Sulter!” Graham dropped her hands and wove through the throng of tossed chairs and ushered Mrs. Dunne and Helena Barrett forward. “Get them off the ship. Now.”

He looked back down at the other two accomplices. Sulter, who’d always been quick with a rope and stronger than his small frame would suggest, had the two men bound. Sulter nodded and took Mrs. Dunne’s hand. Graham and William leaned down and lifted Littleton from the ground, each taking an arm.

“Nice shot, Will.” Graham grunted as he lifted the man from the floor. “Remind me to thank you.”

William huffed under Littleton’s limp weight. “Do not thank me yet.” William cast a nervous glance at the man between them. “You do not think he will die, do you?”

Graham shook his head as he carefully angled himself to fit through the narrow door frame and passageway. He waited for the ladies to ascend the ladder. He winced at the cut on his arm and flexed his hand. He’d lived through worse pain. Much worse. With William’s help, he managed to get Littleton up the ladder and onto the upper deck.

At first Littleton squirmed, but within moments Graham and his brother had their hands on him. “It’s over, Littleton,” grunted Graham. “This time, for good.”





Graham stepped from the steamy confines of the ship. He could not recall a time when the brisk air of early dawn was so refreshing. Littleton’s body grew limper with each step. The man was not in danger of dying. The shot had but grazed him. But he was losing blood, and no doubt the pain was significant.

Graham scanned the gathering crowd for Amelia. His heart ached with renewed hope when he spotted her, waiting from a safe distance. How could he miss her? Her hair, made brilliant by the rising sun, spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes were locked onto him. Boldy. Expectantly. Now that her hands were untied, she held Lucy in her arms protectively. At the very sight of them, an overwhelming sense of protectiveness wove through the fibers of his being.

His task here was almost complete. And then he would take his daughter and his beloved home. Back to Darbury. Away from the fear and uncertainty that had met them in Liverpool.

All around him, everything seemed suddenly vibrant. The sounds of the sea. The call of the seabirds. It was all alive.

Littleton stumbled, his injured leg limp, unable to sustain his own weight. Graham left Littleton in the care of William and Sulter and jogged over to Amelia. He forgot the pain of his arm. The fury of the fight. That was behind him. And his future in front.

He could almost feel Amelia’s warmth. Feel the weight of his daughter in his arms. But as he drew closer, Amelia’s expression darkened. Her eyebrow raised, and she sucked in her breath. The sudden change in her demeanor slowed Graham’s steps. He pivoted to follow her gaze. Across the dock, the outline of a tall, burly man approached William and Sulter. Without warning, the stranger rushed up to Littleton, who was now sitting on the ground, and rammed his booted toe into Littleton’s ribs.

Graham stared in disbelief. More than anything he wanted to return to the Sulters’. To take Amelia and Lucy away from the nightmare of the past few days. But what he had seen stilled his legs. Sulter attempted to stop the man from repeating the assault, but was shoved out of the way.

That was all Graham needed to see. He took off like a shot toward the perpetrator, siezing the much larger man by the arm and whirling him around.

“What is the meaning of—” His words fell flat when the man turned.

Kingston.

A flash of recognition sparked on Kingston’s scraggly face. “Cap’n Sterling.”

Graham squared his shoulders, narrowing his eyes on Kingston, forgetting for the moment about Littleton. “Did you forget something?” Graham’s words were every bit as hard as he intended. “By my calculations you are several hours late for a task for which your services were engaged.”

A rough smile cracked the man’s leathery features. He shrugged. “Well now, that’s an unfortunate oversight. But see here, my business right now’s not w’ you. It’s w’ ’im.” He kicked at Littleton again.

Graham put his arms out to push the man back. He did not begrudge the man anger toward Littleton, nor was he surprised to learn Littleton had more enemies. But he was not about to watch Kingston beat a man who was too weak to stand.

Before Graham could speak, Kingston leaned forward and hissed in Littleton’s direction. “I think you owe me something, Littleton. I don’t want to tear your limbs off in front of your friends here—”

“Be on your way, Kingston,” demanded Graham, pushing his own body between the two men.

Kingston ignored Graham. “This man’s comin’ w’ me. He’s got some blokes what wants to see ’im.”

Kingston reached down as if to grab Littleton, and both Graham and William blocked his path.

“I do not know what your business is with this man, but he is guilty of kidnapping. I’m taking him to the magistrate.”

Kingston sneered. “Magistrate, you say? I got my own brand of authorities. Get outta my way.” The man lurched forward and shoved against Graham with his forearm.

Graham couldn’t care less what happened to Littleton. He wanted to nurse his own wound, return to the comfort of Amelia’s arms, and hold his daughter. But whatever had transpired between Littleton and Kingston, Littleton was not fit for a fight. Graham had come to Liverpool with the intent to save his daughter and bring about justice. Justice was not handing the pitiful Littleton over to the likes of Kingston.

With every muscle still tense and alert from the previous skirmish, fresh fire surged through his veins. Within moments, fists were once again flying. But as corrupted as Littleton was, Kingston’s fight was more savage. More vicious.

And then Graham saw his opportunity. He took a punch that pushed him back several feet, which gave him just enough room. He lifted himself from the ground, kept him body low, and thrust all of his momentum into the middle of Kingston’s body. Kingston flailed back, tripped on the coils of rope behind him, and fell off the dock into the frigid sea.

With near expert timing, William threw his pistol to his brother, who peered off the dock to the man treading water.

“Get out!” Graham shouted as Sulter secured a rope to the dock so Kingston could climb up. Graham stared down at Kingston with steely reserve. It was over. There was no way he could fight. Nowhere he could go. When the man floundered, Graham fired a shot into the water. “Get out!”

Kingston, wet and shivering, climbed the rope. Once he was on the dock, Graham whirled around, half expecting another attack. But aside from the gathering crowd watching the incident, all was quiet. His arm throbbed. His head pounded. But he would continue to fight, if need be—for justice. And, more importantly, for his family.

Littleton lay on the dock, pale and unconscious as Sulter made quick work of tying up Kingston. Graham leaned over their new enemy.

“Wait. Before you do that—” He reached in the man’s coat and felt the lumpy contents of his pockets until he found what he sought. The act of retreiving the waterlogged money, for what it was worth, brought little satisfaction. “Hmm. I do not believe you held up your end of the bargain, did you, mate?”

Sutler tsked. “And after all the trouble I went through recommeding you.”

Kingston’s chest heaved, his scraggly hair plastered to his face.

Graham straightened. “Sulter, see that the women are taken care of. William and I can take it from here.”

But before the words were even out of his mouth, Amelia was at his side. Brave, impulsive Amelia. The very sight of her both weakened him and infused him with a strength—and dedication—he’d never imagined before now.

By the dawn’s light he saw the dark shadows gathered beneath her eyes. The straw in her tangled hair. He reached out to smooth a smudge of dirt on her cheek, relishing the sensation of the petal-soft skin beneath his rough hand.

Motion caught his eye, and he glanced up to see a constable walking in their direction. No doubt the gathering crowd piquing his interest. He felt a tremor of relief at the sight. It was almost done. The end was in sight. He’d deliver Littleton and Kingston and then be free of them both. He looked back down at Amelia. Her eyes held questions, but the strength he saw in them renewed him.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, noting how she trembled beneath his touch. “This is the end. I promise. I will take care of this, but I need to know you and Lucy are safe.” He leaned close, his lips touching her ear, and whispered, “I love you, Amelia Barrett. You are a part of me. No one will keep you from my side. No one.”




In the stillness of her room at the Sulters’ house, Amelia lay propped on her side, watching her cousin sleep. With Helena’s hysteria finally coming to an end, exhaustion had set in.

Amelia lay her head on the pillow and tucked her hands underneath it. The sheets felt cool against her cheek.

The events of the last few days haunted her, and she did not doubt they would do so in the days—nay, years—to come.

Next to her, Helena stirred. She did not even want to think how close she had come to losing her. When Edward held the blade to her cousin’s throat, the depth of her affection became clear. How it must hurt Helena to know the father of her child could treat her in such a way. The thought of Helena as a mother seemed surreal. But perhaps knowing what it was like to love another more than herself—just as Amelia loved Lucy—would help Helena, in time, understand why Amelia made the choices she did.

She smoothed Helena’s nut-brown hair against the pillow. It no longer mattered what had caused the rift between them. All that mattered now was repairing what had been broken.

Helena’s eyelashes fluttered open, and Amelia sat up, waiting for her to speak. Helena’s words were barely more than a mumble. “Lucy and Mrs. Dunne. They’re all right?”

Amelia grabbed Helena’s hand. “Yes, dearest, they are well. Mrs. Hammond is preparing a bath for Lucy now.”

“I’m sorry . . . so sorry.” Helena’s eyelids almost drooped closed and her words slurred. “This is all my fault.”

Amelia shook her head. “This is all on Edward’s shoulders. He took advantage of you, me, Aunt and Uncle—and to put a child through this . . .” She shivered. “But it’s all over now, and the captain will see that Edward pays for what he has done.”

“Captain Sterling is a good man.”

The words echoed in Amelia’s heart. A flush rushed to her cheeks at the memory of his hand caressing her cheek. “He is a good man. He is indeed.”

Helena’s head rolled to the side and slumber replaced consciousness. When Amelia was certain Helena was asleep, she sat up from the bed, her muscles protesting the movements. She rubbed her raw wrists as she walked down the hall and headed toward the modest kitchen where Jane was bathing Lucy.

Tears pooled in Amelia’s eyes at the sight of the baby. Fewer than two hours had passed since Graham freed them and Sulter returned them to the safety of his home. Even though they were now out of danger, her heart still seemed to rattle in her chest. How close she had come to losing her darling Lucy! The child appeared happy and content, as if the kidnapping had never happened. But the recollection of her in that warehouse, dirty and scared, still lingered in Amelia’s memory. She suspected it would haunt her dreams for years to come.

Lucy dunked a chubby fist into the water and giggled with delight at the resulting splash. Pleased, she turned her round face to Amelia and smiled, revealing three tiny teeth. The baby’s laugh was sweeter than any sound, her smile more beautiful than any painting.

Amelia picked up the linen cloth, dipped it in the warm, sudsy water, and brushed it against Lucy’s soft cheek. Jane stepped aside so Amelia could care for Lucy. Three days’ worth of filth rolled off with the water. Amelia drew a slow breath to combat the tightening in her chest. Tenderly, she rubbed soap in the child’s hair and poured water to rinse it clean. Desperate to be free from the memory, she washed the child’s hair again. It could not be clean enough.

Jane’s voice was soft. “I’ll tell Mrs. Sulter we’ll need more warm water.”

Amelia swiveled to face her. “No need, Lucy is almost clean.”

A smile eased across the older woman’s face. “Not for Lucy. For you, dear. You need a bath just as badly, if not worse.”

Amelia lifted her hand to wipe the hair from her face, and for the first time noticed the layer of dirt covering her forearms.

Jane’s face scrunched as she picked something out of Amelia’s hair. “What is that? Straw?”

“Most likely.”

“Well, Captain Sterling will be home soon. You must wash the dirt away.”

Captain Sterling. Graham. Her heart beat an erratic cadence as she turned back to lift Lucy from the tub.

“Amelia, you’re trembling.” Jane stepped forward. “Here, let me help you.”

Frustrated at her own vulnerability, Amelia shook her head. “I don’t need help, really. I—I . . .”

Ignoring Amelia’s protest, Jane reached for the child, wrapped her wriggling wet body in a blanket, and snuggled her close. Amelia’s shoulders sagged as she watched Lucy play with Jane’s necklace. She wanted to be the one to care for Lucy, to hold her and never let her go. But her strength was gone. A sob caught in her throat, and her words spilled forth in uncontrollable fervor.

“I came so close to losing her.”

Jane placed Lucy down in the cradle and returned to Amelia’s side and drew her into a tight embrace. Days of pent-up frustration found release as Amelia sobbed against Jane’s shoulder.

“You were right about so many things, Jane.”

“Hush now, dearest. It’s all over.”

Amelia pulled away from Jane and wiped the back of her wet hand across her eyes. “God did just what you said he would. He was faithful.” Amelia sniffed and diverted her gaze. “And you were right about Captain Sterling. Graham.”

She searched for the words that would accurately describe a feeling she didn’t quite understand. “He told me loved me, Jane.” She could barely force her words above a whisper as the depth of their meaning took hold in her heart. “I hadn’t dared think it could be true, but at the dock, when he rescued us, there was something in his voice. In his eyes.” A warmth swelled within her at the memory.

Jane reached forward and wiped Amelia’s hair from her face. “And do you love him in return?”

Amelia pressed her hand to her cheek. A little surge of excitement ran through her as she realized the truth.

“I do, Jane. I love him with all my heart.”




Satisfied that Littleton and Kingston were secure, Graham fell in step next to his brother. A brief rain had rolled in and rolled on, and the clouds parted, allowing the sun to once again shine and reflect off the wet streets. Graham yawned and ran his hand through his hair and down his face. He was exhausted. His body ached. His arm throbbed. Despite the discomfort, anticipation soared within him, increasing his pace.

“Now that we’ve got Lucy, Mrs. Dunne, and Miss Barrett back, we can go home to Darbury and everything will be as it was before,” murmured William, stifling his own yawn. “Everything will be normal.”

Normal? Not a single thing had been normal since Graham had arrived in Darbury, and judging by the changes stretching before him, Graham wondered if he ever would know normality again.

Graham threw William a sideways glance. His older brother looked worse for the wear. Mud and soot darkened his cheek. Blood streaked across his coat. Surely he’d judged William too harshly. Yes, his brother had experienced a serious lapse in judgment—perhaps many lapses. But had not Graham done the same? If God could forgive him, could he not manage to forgive his brother in turn?

And not only that, but Graham had seriously underestimated William’s ability to rise to the occasion when duty called. If the man had failed to take the shot when he had the opportunity, the night before might have turned out quite differently. That relationship, too, had changed and was no longer what it had seemed. William had risked his life to help save another, and there was honor in that action. What kind of brother would he be if he did not respond in kind? “When we get back to Darbury, I’ll talk to Carrington to see what can be done to help with Eastmore’s debt.”

William released a shaky sigh. “I appreciate that.” William cocked his head and straightened his hat, which had, miraculously, managed to survive the night’s chaos.

Graham clapped his brother on the back. “Now that I know you’re such a marksman, I’ll depend upon you to watch over and protect Amelia and Lucy while I am at sea.”

William snorted. “Marksman indeed. It was a lucky shot. I think I’ll stick to dealing with horseflesh in the future.”

Graham laughed, and it felt good. Finally, after weeks of turmoil and uncertainty, after months of holding on to regret, he felt the weight lift from his shoulders. He could barely wait to hold Lucy in his arms, to see Amelia.

“And what of you?” William seemed to know his thoughts. “I trust you are to be a married man in but a day’s time.”

Graham nodded, the very thought sending waves of anticipation through him. “If she will still have me.”

“And your duties. When will you return?”

Graham almost stopped short. After all that had transpired, how could he leave Lucy? Amelia?

Even just a few short weeks ago, the sea had been his world. He breathed by the rise and fall of the tide. Its rules were his rules. But now, another reality was just as real. One of family. Of love.

He was honor-bound to return to his duties and did not have long before his responsibilities called him back to the sea. The thought of separation from Amelia and Lucy made his chest ache. Always before his love of the sea and his sense of duty had eventually pulled him back to his ship. Now the promise of a family secured him like a welcome anchor dropped at his final port, his destination.

But when fighting ceased, when war was done and battles won, could he leave the sea? The only thing he’d ever known? He thought of Amelia and Lucy and let the question linger in the air. The answer came with resounding clarity, for Amelia and Lucy were his future.

Yes, he could leave the sea. And he would give up much more.