“And I you,” Sarah replied in a soft voice. “Please try not to murder anyone before you get your happily-ever-after.”

Della stepped back, laughing. “I will do what I can.”

“Never?” his boatswain’s mate said after Griffith had spoken.

Clark and Hyland had done good work assembling as much of the crew as they could find—they were in the pub where Griffith had first seen her. When his life had changed so dramatically, even though he hadn’t known it at the time.

The ale was still mediocre, but his crew didn’t seem to care, especially since Griffith was paying.

“Never,” Griffith confirmed. “You’ll have to sail on without me, lads.” He took a sip from his glass. “I’ll supply references for anybody who wants one. And if you decide you don’t wish to return to sea after all—if you want to follow my example—there’s work to be had with the Duke of Northam.”

“Huh,” his master-at-arms said. “I wonder what life would be like on steady land.”

“It’s not half-bad, men,” Hyland said. He held his mostly drunk ale in his hand, which he pointed toward Griffith. “The captain here is settling down. Mebbe it’s time some of us do the same.”

Griffith grinned at Hyland, who could always be counted on to support his captain, no matter what. Even if—and especially if—it meant arguing with Clark.

“Three cheers for the captain!” the coxswain said.

“Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!”

Griffith glanced around the room, at the men holding their glasses up to him, at Clark and Hyland, both of whom had smug looks on their faces.

It was time to come home. It was time to settle down. He wasn’t the boy who’d run off to sea twelve years ago, nor was he the man who’d ended up the captain of his own ship.

He was ready to share his life with an equal partner. His Della. His love.

Mr. Baxter—she refused to even think of him by his given name—opened the door to his room, then tried to slam it on her just as quickly, but she shoved her foot in so he couldn’t.

He glared at her foot, then at her face, then opened the door wider. “I suppose you’ll have to come in.”

“I suppose so,” she replied, walking into the room.

It was untidy, his possessions scattered around like they’d been tossed by an unruly wind. He’d been that way when they’d been together as well—she was always scurrying after him, picking things up. Until she’d decided he could pick his own things up, she wasn’t going to bother anymore.

“Why are you here, Della?” he asked. “I was expecting your father, or that large gentleman who came to see me.”