With privilege came responsibility. How true that was.

Amelia inched back, trying to get as far away from the center of the room as she could. She didn’t want anyone to see her. Not like this, with eyes that threatened tears, hands that shook.

She wanted to fly away, to leave this room and—

And then she felt it. A hand in her own.

She looked down first, at the two hands entwined. And then she looked up, even though she knew it was Grace.

Amelia said nothing. She didn’t trust her voice, didn’t even trust her lips to mouth the words she wanted to say. But as her eyes met Grace’s, she knew that the other woman saw what was in her heart.

She gripped Grace’s hand and squeezed.

Never in her life had she needed a friend as much as she did in that moment.

Grace squeezed back.

And for the first time that afternoon, Amelia did not feel completely alone.

Chapter 15

Four days later, at sea

It was an uncommonly peaceful crossing, or so the captain told Thomas as dusk began to fall. Thomas was grateful for that; he’d not quite been made physically ill by the rise and fall of the Irish Sea, but it had been a close thing. A bit more wind or tide or whatever it was that made the small ship go up and down and his stomach would surely have protested, and in a most unpleasant manner.

He’d found that it was easier to remain on deck. Below, the air was thick, the quarters tight. Above, he could attempt to enjoy the tang of the salt air, the crisp sting of it on his skin. He could breathe.

Farther down the railing he could see Jack, leaning against the wood, gazing out at the sea. It could not have escaped him that this was the site of his father’s death. Closer to the Irish coast, Thomas supposed, if his mother had managed to make it ashore.

What must it have been like, not to know one’s father? Thomas rather thought that he’d prefer to have not known his, but by all accounts John Cavendish had been a much more amiable fellow than his younger brother Reginald.

Was Jack wondering what his life might have been, if not for a storm? He’d have been raised at Belgrave, certainly. Ireland would have been nothing but a familiar land—the spot where his mother was raised. He might have had the opportunity to visit from time to time, but it would not have been home.