Gray eventually nudged Caroline toward the bleachers. The race started a mile downriver, and two-man teams would row their narrow boats until they crossed the finish line here at the bleachers. Luke was rowing with a friend from the Naval Academy. Gray would have thought Luke would be embarrassed to maintain a friendship with Philip Ransom, who’d graduated at the top of his class seven years ago. Luke, on the other hand, had been kicked out of the Naval Academy a semester shy of graduation and never did earn a college degree. But the two men remained friends and crewed a shell each year at the annual regatta. Gray could only hope some of Philip’s sober good sense would eventually wear off on Luke.

The two men raced in Nicholas Delacroix’s prized racing shell, a memento from his father’s racing days at Harvard. After the war, his father never rowed again, but he’d lovingly waxed and maintained the racing boat for his sons to use someday. Gray never saw the point in recreational games, but it seemed to be the only thing at which Luke excelled.

“Here they come!” Caroline said, shooting to her feet and gazing through her miniature binoculars.

Luke and Philip were half a length ahead of their nearest competition. Both men used their whole bodies as they pulled their oars in a smooth, synchronized motion, their shell slicing through the water as the crowd cheered.

Luke’s face was tight with concentration as he rowed to a first-place finish. Both men released their oars and raised tired arms in victory. Gray couldn’t contain his pleased smile. Whatever else Luke’s failings—and there were many—his brother trained hard, and his victory was well earned.

“Let’s go congratulate them,” Caroline urged, squeezing Gray’s arm so hard it hurt.

They wended their way through the bleachers to the staging area where the shells were pulled ashore and the age-old traditions following a race were in full swing. Men from the losing teams stripped off their shirts and surrendered them to the victors. Luke and Philip grinned as they scooped up the sweaty shirts and draped them across their shoulders, proudly wearing their foul-smelling trophies.

“Don’t come any closer,” Caroline laughed in mock horror.

Luke grinned and spread his arms wide. “Darling sister, come give me a hug,” he roared as he chased Caroline. She didn’t have much choice as he dragged her into a sweaty embrace. She squealed in horrified delight until she managed to twist away.

Gray offered a gentlemanly handshake. “Congratulations, Luke. And to you, Philip.”