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her, tickled her, joked with her the way he
once did with Eleanor. He'd never thought of anything more.
    Yet as they'd grown older, it had seemed natural for
Ian to accompany her to the occasional musicale or supper. Only now
could he see how those pleasant evenings together might be
misconstrued.
    Isobel caught his gaze and smiled at him, her own
eyes seeming to shimmer with some kind of hope... and promise. She
was a lovely girl, Ian thought. Perhaps he could grow to love her.
Surely it was not impossible.
    He glanced at Stephen, and saw him
nodding approvingly at his wife. Whatever else, Ian knew, he would
have to make his intentions clear quite soon. Only first, he needed
to decide what they were.
     

CHAPTER THREE

    “This ship is dreadful!”
    Eleanor listened to the complaining
squeal of her companion on board ship and grimaced. She’d not
exchanged more than a few words with Miss Caroline Reid in these
first six days of their voyage, but she could already tell the girl
was thoroughly spoiled.
    Their cabins were adjacent, and she
could clearly hear the little madam complaining about everything in
sight... the food, the linens, the company.
    Her chaperone, Florence Cabot, was a rather vague
woman in her fifties, seemingly more attached to her smelling salts
than to people. She never took the girl to task, as Eleanor ached
to do. Instead she murmured placatory remarks, which made Miss Reid
only more disagreeable.
    Eleanor rose from her bed, where
she’d been reading. Her cabin was small but comfortable, and yet
for Eleanor it felt like paradise. Ian’s letter had come a
fortnight ago, with passage on Henry Moore’s ship, The Endeavour . It felt
like a lifeline had been thrown to her, rescuing her from drowning
in the gloomy boredom of Glasgow.
    The McCardells had been nonplussed by Eleanor’s
abrupt plans to depart not only their home, but the entire
country.
    “Really, I don’t think you should travel across the
ocean by yourself,” Henrietta had said in tones stiff with
disapproval. “I accept I have little control over your actions, but
I hope you are able to remember your position as my son’s
widow.”
    “Of course, Mamma-in-law,” Eleanor
replied soothingly. She was almost free, she could afford to
placate the older woman. “I assure you, I will conduct myself
accordingly. And, as you know, the ship is owned by a relative of
mine, so really it is all in perfect order.” This was stretching
the truth a bit, as Henry Moore would not actually be on the ship,
but Eleanor did not care. She only longed to leave the stuffy
confines of the McCardell home and begin anew.
    The ship lurched uncomfortably, and
Eleanor grabbed the door frame. The captain had warned them of the
weather turning rough, and it appeared to be doing so.
    She heard another squeal of dismay from her
neighbor, and closed her eyes. Her stomach turned over with queasy
indignation.
    The weather worsened over the next few hours, so by
the time Eleanor prepared for dinner, she was barely able to
perform the necessary functions without stumbling or falling. She
opened her cabin door, grateful for what little fresh air the space
provided.
    There were only five passengers on
board The Endeavour , Eleanor, Caroline and her chaperone, and an elderly widow
with her middle aged spinster daughter, both rather sullen and
silent.
    At the table this evening, however, Eleanor saw
there was only Caroline and herself. She sighed inwardly. Caroline
was closest in age to her, and by all accounts they should have
become friends. Yet Eleanor could not think of a less likely
companion.
    “You ladies seem to be the only
ones free from the sea sickness,” the captain, James Barker,
remarked as they sat down to their meal.
    “Hopefully this storm will abate soon?” Eleanor
asked questioningly, and Mr. Barker shook his head.
    “I’m afraid it’s only likely to get worse. I hope
the other ladies are not too put out?”
    Caroline made a pretend pout.