Young as he was, William had already seen a great deal. He had been in the Mediterranean; in the West Indies; had been often taken on shore by the favour of his captain, and in the course of seven years had known every variety of danger which sea and war together could offer. With such means in his power he had a right to be listened to. And though Mrs. Norris could fidget about the room, yapping and growling under her breath, and disturb everybody in the midst of her nephew’s account of a shipwreck or an engagement, everybody else was attentive.

Even Lady Bertram could not hear of such horrors unmoved, or without sometimes lifting her eyes from her hieroglyphics to say, “Dear me! how disagreeable! I wonder anybody can ever go to sea. The Nile is so much more pleasant to float upon, I dare say.” She then would turn to Lord Eastwind and make some vague remark.

In all of this, it must be said, Lord Eastwind observed Fanny and William together with as much—if not more—avid interest than Mr. Crawford. And apparently he took in just as much, for he addressed William directly once, breaking his unwritten rule of talking to no one but Lady Bertram and Fanny.

“Now that you are here, Mr. Price, joined in happy reunion with your sister, what do you find of greater value in your travels? What one thing would you impart as wisdom?”

William was startled for a moment to hear himself addressed by this person whom he had for some reason never previously noticed, nor remembered being introduced to. Honestly flustered by the possibility of such a rudeness on his own part (as he thought), William could only mumble, “I am sorry, sir, you must forgive me if I do not recall your name, but yes, in answer to your interesting question—the one thing in my travels I would put above the rest would be—the moment of coming home. And then again—the moment of embarking on a new journey, when the fresh sea wind calls. Yes, those two moments are of utmost import, it seems, despite all the interim wonder, all the adventures in-between.”

“Well said,” replied Lord Eastwind. “Such a moment of homecoming and embarkation is also felt when one encounters a person—nay, a dear, most beloved one—of one’s lifetime.” And speaking thus, he turned to glance at Fanny.

Their gazes met. His eyes—ebony burning intensity, hers, pale gentle skies.

Fanny felt something cut through her, strike her, enter through her breast like needles of hot scalding rain, like wind from a furnace bellows. And she blushed furiously, and looked away. Heaven, where was Edmund?