Miss Lawrence tugged at a strand of her red hair as if the color explained her singleness. “While I was destined to be a spinster, my sister is the pretty one in our family. Though there aren’t many eligible gentlemen left in London, my father made a good match for her.”

Over the past few days, Miss Lawrence had shared only the barest of details regarding her family, mentioning her servant, Hayward, who had been special to her, along with her sister and her babe. Mercy was still curious about the stripes and bruises that covered the woman’s body so carefully confined to areas where no one would notice them when she was fully dressed. But whenever Mercy asked Miss Lawrence about her past, she always quickly changed the subject.

Mercy wanted to ask more now, yet she knew her place well enough. For as sweet as the gentlewoman was, Mercy was more like a servant to her than a friend.

“Lord Colville will make some lucky woman a fine husband someday,” Miss Lawrence said, reclining against her pillows. “For as much as I or any of the other women may dream about him, Joseph Colville will have his eyes set much higher—on a woman of noble birth, someone with both title and wealth.”

Joseph Colville.

Mercy hadn’t known his given name, had never heard it spoken. Now she allowed the name to play in her mind like a single low melody. Joseph, Joseph, Joseph . . .

Even if it was entirely improper for her to think his name, much less speak it aloud, the sweet tune played regardless.

fifteen

The candle holder on the heavy oaken table slid with the swaying of the ship. Joseph grabbed it and did likewise with his plate of food.

Around him in the salon, the passengers chatted amiably, although the two long tables were decidedly sparser for the evening meal. The ship had finally crossed the line, sailed out of the doldrums, and was now in the choppier waters of the South Atlantic, causing a new bout of seasickness among those with weaker stomachs.

Across from him, Mr. Scott carried on a conversation with another gentleman, a Mr. Whymper. “We would be most delighted to have the pleasure of your presence again this eve, Mr. Whymper. Miss Scott will be reading from The Vision of Judgment by Lord Byron. She reads with such emotion. I have no doubt you will be completely enamored by her rendition.”

Joseph took another bite of the tough pork, which rivaled the biscuit in its staleness. The semblance of gravy was thick and pasty and floated with dried peas. Nevertheless, he ate every bite, having increased his appetite from the hard work and heavy lifting in the boiler room. The noise of the engines was deafening, the heat unbearable, and the soot a nightmare.