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luck. Until now.
    Jack had been on board the
Amorata
since he was sixteen, a Royal Naval College cadet coming to serve as a midshipman. It was 1814 when he first stepped onto her deck, his eyes wide with wonder.
    He’d been in love with this little ship since that moment. The
Amorata
had been in Portsmouth to make some small repairs before going back out to sea, with intentions to join the blockade against the Americans in the North Atlantic. And he was assigned to it as his post.
    It was a heady year. There had been battles, and prize money, and
adventure
. The exact thing he had been dreaming of for three years while learning to chart ship movements from a book. And for the two before that he had spent convincing his vicar father to let him join the Royal Navy.
    But then … the battles, and the adventure, stopped.
    “At least, we won’t let her go without a fight,” Jack concluded.
    “True, Mr. Fletcher.” Whigby smiled. “But then again, it may be the only fight left for us.”
    “Yes. I’ve sadly come to the same conclusion, Mr. Whigby.” Jackson finally said, turning his eyes from the horizon.
    Whigby looked at him quizzically. “What conclusion?”
    “That peace is the worst thing for a navy man.” He stroked the rail again. “And their ladies.”
    For the past few years, the
Amorata
had somehow escaped a dire, reducing fate, and rolled along with the waves once peace settled over the seas, its size making it useful for playing protective escort or scout for merchant vessels in the East Indies. In 1817, when Jack earned his lieutenancy, he knew he was lucky to do so. There were plenty of midshipman whowould be forced to endure at that level because there were simply too many officers and, since the wars ended, not enough ships.
    While other larger, faster, and stronger vessels were being decommissioned, the
Amorata
slipped through the cracks, due in no small part to Captain Healy’s established friendship with the Board of the Admiralty. Now, several years had passed since the war ended, years regulated by bells and boredom, years during which several of Captain Healy’s friends retired, and Jack had begun to question. Just how long could they slip past the eyes of the navy and remain at sea, free from the fate of so many of their friends?
    Then, the answer came, as they ran up against Mother Nature around the Cape of Good Hope.
    Where years before, cannonballs had missed the little ship due to its speed and size, now, in older age, it could not outrun a storm.
    After that, they had no choice but to send word home of their plight, and for home to send for them to come back.
    And so, now, they limped into London for assessment.
    “Assessment.” What a terribly unkind word for such a beautiful old girl.
    And Jack could only fear that the assessment would be unkind.
    The storm had whipped their sails practically to shreds, but they were patched as best they could be. (Never say a navy man had no practical training. Every single one of them could sew like the wind.) But the boom of the foresail cracked—it was currently being held together by the grace of God and some very strong rope knots.
    Luckily their trip up the coast of Africa had been uneventful and blessedly quick.
    Jack knew, intellectually, that Whigby’s declaration of the old girl’s fate was probably correct. The navy didn’t require an excuse to decommission the
Amorata
, but one look at her current condition, and they would most certainly have one.
    But he had to have hope. He had to. As long as there was a chance…
    The
Amorata
was his home, after all. He had spent his entire life in pursuit of a career at sea. The alternative was…
    Unthinkable.
    What am I going to do now?
    Even if the
Amorata
were to go down, it would be a different matter entirely if Captain Healy were to use his connections to seek command of another ship—he would be able to pick his men and no doubt would take Jack, as his right hand, with him. But ever since