Mercy quickly set to work. When Dr. Colville asked her to help hold the arm in place while he sutured and then wrapped it, her queasiness was soon replaced by her fascination and admiration of his deftness. His long fingers worked with a skill and precision that made her forget about everything else but assisting in whatever he needed.

When finally the arm was set, the flesh sewn together, and the wound wrapped, Dr. Colville wiped his bloody fingers on the remains of the sheet. “My deepest gratitude, Miss Wilkins. I wouldn’t have been able to set the break as cleanly if not for your assistance.”

“You deserve better help than me, sir.” She added a curtsy. He was, after all, a lord, a member of the highest level of society, one far above hers and even above Mrs. Robb’s. She’d never met a lord before, had only seen such fine gentlemen from a distance.

Even so, she suspected most weren’t like Dr. Colville. Very few of his class would take the time to speak with her, much less thank her. Even fewer would subject themselves to the lowly conditions of a place like steerage.

“Your assistance is more than sufficient, Miss Wilkins,” he said wearily. “Out here we are all subjects of the same taskmaster, the sea. He has a way of bringing us to our knees and making us equals, does he not?”

Mercy couldn’t understand the doctor’s poetic language. Instead, she nodded her acquiescence and kept her face hidden from him lest he see her admiration, which only seemed to grow with each encounter.

Joseph sagged into the armchair he’d dragged out of his cabin onto the deck. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Though the gray clouds were racing faster than the sun and hiding it from view, every now and then warm rays broke through and caressed his face.

They’d finally sailed out of the Channel, leaving the storms behind, and were now well on their way southward toward the Bay of Biscay and the Azores. The water was still choppy, but the wind was gentling, which meant the worst of the seasickness was over. Most of the passengers would be out of their beds by tonight, if not by the following morning.

“Doctor.”

At Mercy’s voice, he opened his eyes and sat forward.

She stood in front of him and held out a steaming mug of coffee. The aroma of the brew awakened his senses, and his stomach gurgled. He hadn’t eaten since the storm had started over twenty-four hours ago.

“I thought you could use a strong cup, to be sure.”

Rather than taking the tin mug, he stared up at her. Though her hair was damp and unkempt, face smudged and weary, her garments soggy and splattered with all manner of filth, for a reason he couldn’t explain, she had grown more beautiful and not less.