“I am a prince at sea! I am the proudest man upon the face of the earth. I am an Englishman, and were I to be born again, I would be born an Englishman. I am a cockney. . . .”

He could feel the tension in the air that whipped around him, feel the energy of his men as they laid hold of their ropes and ammunition and torches and aimed the twenty-one guns on the starboard side toward the enemy, who had spilled the wind in her sails to slow and meet him. He could feel his crew waiting for his final cry.

“And that’s my glory!”

1

5 JUNE 1906
PENZANCE, CORNWALL, ENGLAND

More beauty than Lady Elizabeth Sinclair had ever thought possible beckoned to her—a turquoise sea, blue sky wisped with soft white clouds, birds cartwheeling through the air, islands studding it all with the promise of life she’d never had the opportunity to examine up close. The only thing standing between it and her was a woman whose eyes were growing worryingly watery.

The last thing she ever wanted was to make her mother cry. Or at least, that had always been the case before. Just now, something else had stolen that “last thing she wanted to do” ranking.

The last thing she currently wanted to do was give in to her brother’s machinations to marry her off to his school chum. Which meant she might have to harden her heart to her mother’s distress. “Mama . . .” She sucked in a breath only to find it as shaky as her mother’s. Hardening her heart was easier decided than done. “It’s only a summer.”

“I know.” Her mother pasted a wobbly smile into place and gave Libby’s fingers a squeeze. She’d scarcely let go of them since they debarked the train and made their way to the ferry. “And it’ll do you good. I know that too. Even so.”

She didn’t need to voice her concerns. She’d done that already a dozen times since Libby came to her with this plan a week ago. They’d never been more than a few miles apart. Libby had never been on her own—and even though she technically wouldn’t be alone now either, a lady’s maid who was only two years Libby’s senior wasn’t exactly a full-fledged chaperone. She’d know no one on the islands. She’d be lonely. What if something happened to her? What if something happened at home? Or with her sister? Proper young ladies simply didn’t run off to the Isles of Scilly for the summer by themselves.