He had to admit that Gwen had been right about coming here. After a few bumpy days, her grandfather had seen beyond Patrick’s Irish accent and humble roots and had begun to treat him well. Perhaps not as an equal, but as a man of consequence, and it was enough. Hope surged. There might be a future for him and Gwen after all. For years he’d been struggling to figure out what God wanted of him. He’d rushed toward the church to prove himself, but the priesthood had never been a natural fit. His calling was to serve others through the law, and hopefully through building a large, boisterous, and happy family of his own. He was ready to imagine such a family with Gwen.

“We could live in my house,” she said as she snuggled within his arms. “Your mother could have the corner bedroom on the second floor. It has a window overlooking the garden.”

“You won’t mind having my mother live with us?”

As if reading his mind, Gwen immediately solved the problem of a lack of privacy. “We can build a fire escape on the side of the house where we can be alone.”

He smiled against her hair. If he lived to be a hundred, the memories of their stolen hours on his fire escape would remain carved on his soul. Gwen rotated in his arms to kiss him, her arms snaking up high on his shoulders to draw him closer. Temptation for more clawed at him, so he lifted his head to gaze out at the sea. A few lights winked far off on the horizon, catching his interest.

“Is that the ferry coming back?”

Gwen turned to look, then shook her head. “That’s the Black Rose, my uncle’s yacht.”

He eyed the yacht looming in the distance. Gwen explained that the Black Rose was too big to dock in the boathouse, so Oscar’s family would spend the night on the yacht and come ashore tomorrow morning in a small tender boat once there was enough light to navigate.

They both watched the Black Rose looming on the horizon, and something deep in Patrick rebelled. Members of Gwen’s family would soon descend on the island, and the real test would begin. He doubted the rest of Gwen’s family would be as open-minded as Frederick.

“It used to be mine,” Gwen said softly, still staring out to sea.

“What used to be yours?”

“The Black Rose.”

He pulled away, dumbfounded. “You owned that yacht?”

“I inherited it from my father. I held on to it for a while, but Oscar had always wanted it, so I gave it to him.”

“Gave? Or sold?” What Gwen did with her fortune wasn’t any of his business, but she shrugged and confirmed that she simply gave the yacht to her uncle.