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again. Sara increased the pressure on her hand.
    â€œLady Beecham has not received official word of her husband’s death. Has Lord Beecham’s solicitor been contacted?”
    â€œI just delivered letters to Mr. Bell from my employer and from the overseer at Trade Winds. I was due home leave and my superiors tasked me with delivering this sad news. When I heard that Lady Beecham was in London, I wanted to give her the news in person.” He swallowed hard. “Lord Beecham was always very kind to me.”
    â€œThank you,” Abby managed. “It was good of you to think of me.”
    â€œLord Beecham always spoke of you with immense respect and admiration, my lady.”
    Abby nodded. “He was a worthy man.”
    Sara rose from the couch, and Mr. Carter stood, too. “Are you staying at this hotel, Mr. Carter?”
    â€œNo, my lady. I have family in Mayfair. I haven’t seen them for almost a year.” His eagerness to be gone was almost palpable.
    â€œWell, we appreciate your attention to this sad matter and regret that we have kept you from your family.”
    â€œIt was nothing, my lady,” Mr. Carter said hastily. “I wanted to do this, and it was scarcely out of my way.” He reached into his pocket and took out a card and then something else, wrapped in a handkerchief. “If Lady Beecham wishes to speak to me further, she can contact me at this address.”
    â€œThat is very kind of you.”
    As Mr. Carter made a swift exit, Abby reached forward to touch the knotted handkerchief and brought it across to her lap. The linen smelled of smoke and a burned sweetness that caught in her throat.
    â€œOh God,” she whispered as the last fold of linen fell away to reveal the battered remains of James’s watch and the blackened gold of his signet ring. “Oh dear God . . .”
    â€œAbby.” Sara knelt in front of her, her gaze direct. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve already sent Valentin a message and told him I am bringing you back to stay with us. Your maid is packing your belongings, and my carriage will be ready to take us whenever you are recovered.”
    She managed a deep breath. “Yes, I will come. But what about Peter? Is he still with you? Will he object?”
    Despite everything, she wanted to be with him, to be held in his arms so that they could mourn the person they had both loved together.
    Sara squeezed her fingers. “Abby, Peter isn’t with us.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œHe left from Southampton four days ago on one of the company’s ships.”
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    Somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean
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    The ship’s captain was staring up at him, his hands cupped around his mouth as his lips moved with some kind of message that the shrieking of the wind made unintelligible. With a sigh, Peter shut his eyeglass, heaved one leg carefully over the side of the crow’s nest and contemplated the long and vertical descent to the deck of the ship.
    In their twenties, he and Val had thought nothing of shimmying up and down the masts like a pair of monkeys. Since joining the ship two weeks ago, he’d learned that he was no longer quite so nimble, and rather less willing to risk his life. He still loved being at sea, though. It gave him a sense of freedom he’d never found anywhere else.
    Avoiding a sudden gust of wind that made the sails billow out, he made his way down to the bottom of the mast, where the captain, Jason Ford, awaited him.
    â€œLand ahoy,” Peter said, grinning.
    â€œWe noticed that a while ago.”
    Peter shrugged. “I didn’t want to come down.”
    â€œI wish I had that freedom.” The captain walked toward the steps leading down to his cabin. “I intend to call in at the port. We’ll only stay one night.”
    â€œI’m totally in your hands and have nowhere I have to be. It’s quite exhilarating.”
    â€œI should