Bronwyn wanted to make her mark. A mark…any mark that would deem her worthy, that would be a reminder that she had been here on earth at this time. It was perhaps what had pushed her to agree to this whole scheme. Using the nom de guerre “the Kestrel,” at first she had done small tasks in London. A delivery here, a word there, all with the goal of helping the oppressed to lift the yoke of subjugation. She had started out fighting for women’s rights with the suffragettes, but the world was so much bigger and broader than England.

Her brother, Courtland, and his wife lived in Antigua.

His duchess’s best friend hailed from India.

There was more she could do…a better way she could make a difference with her time and her efforts. Despite the stringent rules impressed upon her as a woman in England, Bronwyn was acutely aware of her own privilege and the fact that she held power that others might not have. While she could not own property or vote, she still had some self-governance. Little actions, no matter how small, could have big ripples. And so, here she was, en route to Philadelphia with sensitive documents.

Bronwyn had known what she was getting into when she had agreed to ferry the packet across the Atlantic. She did not know what was in the letter, only that it would aid in the cause of the Northern states during the American Civil War. Seeing some of the opposition her brother had endured as a man of mixed heritage in England, despite his status as a peer, a fire had been lit beneath her to do something.

But unlike her brother who was the Duke of Ashvale, Bronwyn did not have a seat in the Lords. She wasn’t a man. She might not have the power he had at his fingertips to effect change, but she wasn’t incapable, and so she had agreed to hand-deliver the package, despite the personal risk to her person, her reputation, and her family name. Though right now, the thought of being caught and imprisoned by a man rumored to be the greatest spy in London left her cold.

Should her mission be compromised or the documents fall into the wrong hands, lives would be endangered and innumerable losses encountered. The packet was safe in her stateroom, thank God, hidden where no one would find it, but she felt the weight of her choices with every breath. Bronwyn swallowed, resting her fingers on the metal railing.

You’re doing the right thing.

She hoped.

“Lady Bronwyn, I thought that was you,” a low voice said.