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should seize it. Go against everything you’ve always done. Why, you don’t have an impulsive bone in your body. You’re steadfast and reliable and not at all the type of man prone to adventure.”
    “Thank you?” Jack said.
    She waved off his words. “You know what I mean. You’re responsible and sensible. You don’t take risks. You don’t head off into the unknown—”
    “Good Lord, Lucinda, it’s only England,” Grandfather said. “He’s not going off to explore deepest, darkest Africa. England is quite civilized. And I am sorry, Elizabeth, but this is his decision. The bank will be here when he returns.” He met his grandson’s gaze. “No regrets, Jackson, but I do apologize, for whatever it’s worth.”
    Jack nodded. “Thank you.”
    “Well?” Mother’s eyes held a mixture of fear and hope. “Are you going with him or not?”
    Jack stared at his mother for a long moment. No matter what she had done, no matter how many poor choices she had made, she was still his mother. He didn’t doubt that she wanted what was best for him. He had never gone against her wishes before.
    If someone had asked Jack last week or yesterday or even an hour ago if he had so much as a single rebellious bone in his body, he would have laughed in a wry manner and said no. His gaze shifted from one expectant face to the next. He had known all but one of them for most of his life. In that moment Jackson Quincy Graham Channing realized while he had no particular desire to be an English lord, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to be a New York banker either. At that moment he realized what he really truly wanted in life . . .
    Was to escape.

Chapter Three
    Eight days later, October 1887,
Millworth Manor,
the country estate of the
Earl and Countess of Briston . . .
     
     
     
    Jack resisted the ridiculous urge to hide behind one of the potted palms clustered decoratively around the perimeter of the grand Millworth Manor ballroom.
    That he was ill at ease in a social setting was a new experience. He wasn’t used to feeling both somewhat invisible and altogether conspicuous. But then what hadn’t been a new experience in the last week?
    His gaze drifted over the wedding guests now enjoying the wedding ball and lingered on a lovely, tall, red-haired woman who seemed to be in charge. A friend of the family no doubt. One he would probably meet at some point. If his father ever returned.
    He sipped his champagne and considered the odd twist his life had taken since the moment he had stepped into his grandfather’s library and met his father. His father. He was still trying to get used to the idea although nearly a week onboard ship together helped. He had learned a great deal about Colonel Basil Channing, about his family and his years spent in the army and the adventurous life he had lived since. Jack suspected there were few spots on the globe his father hadn’t visited. He had been on safari in Africa, traveled down the Amazon, seen for himself China’s Great Wall and the ancient temples of Angkor. He had hunted for treasure in the West Indies and the deserts of Egypt and narrowly escaped headhunters on the islands of Polynesia.
    They had forged a rapport during their voyage that was part friendship, part father and son. With each day in his father’s company, Jack liked him more and more. Trusted him more and more. Onboard ship, his father had delighted in introducing Jack as his son and always with a note of pride in his voice. As odd as it was to now be someone’s son, there was something about publicly acknowledging their relationship that struck Jack as right, as it should be. As it always should have been. And if, when the conversation turned to family and home, there was a touch of wistfulness in the older man’s voice, Jack diplomatically ignored it. But that too served to strengthen the growing bond between them.
    And his father called him Jack, which was as natural, as right, as everything else.
    Once they