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lady wearing a big hat with feathers in it. “I remember you,” she whispered so Izzy couldn’t hear. “You look like my mother.”
    “I found him!” Izzy yelled over the railing. “And I’m going to get into bed with him.”
    There was no need to ask who “he” was.
    Alix ran up the stairs and looked for Izzy in the bedroom on her left. It was a pretty room, all chintz and gauzy muslin—but no Izzy.
    Across the hall was a truly beautiful room, quite large, and done all in blue, from a pale creamy shade to deep and dark. In the middle was a four-poster bed with damask hangings. To the left was a big fireplace and beside it was a portrait, but she couldn’t see all of the picture for the draperies on the bed.
    “Here,” Izzy said as she crawled to the end of the bed. “Get in and look at his royal highness, Jared Montgomery. Or Kingsley, as he’s known here in the country of Nantucket.”
    Alix climbed onto the bed, which was rather high off the floor, and looked where Izzy was pointing. There on the wall to the right of the fireplace was a life-sized portrait of what looked to be JaredMontgomery. Maybe the man was a few inches shorter and he was dressed like some sea captain in a period drama, but it was him—or more precisely, his ancestor. The face was clean shaven, the way Jared Montgomery’s had been when she and Izzy had seen him years ago at one of his rare lectures. The hair was shorter and curled a bit by his ears. The strong jaw and those eyes that seemed to look through a person were there.
    Alix turned onto her back and flung her arms out. “Dibs.”
    “Only because you live here,” Izzy said as she put her hands behind her head and looked up. The underside of the big canopy had pale blue silk pleated into a sunburst pattern with a rose in the middle. “Do you think Miss Kingsley lay here when she was in her nineties and drooled over that man’s picture?”
    “Wouldn’t you?”
    “If I wasn’t about to get married …” Izzy began but didn’t finish because she knew it wasn’t true. She wouldn’t trade Glenn for any man, famous or not.
    Izzy rolled off the bed and went to do more exploring, but Alix turned over to look at the portrait. The man in the picture intrigued her. When she was four had she snuggled on this bed and looked at that portrait while Aunt Addy—as she was beginning to call her in her mind—read her a story? Had she made up her own stories about him? Or did Aunt Addy tell her about this man?
    Whatever happened back then, Alix could almost imagine him moving about, almost hear him talking. And his laugh! Loud and deep, a roar, really. Like the sea.
    There was a little plaque at the bottom of the picture and she got off the bed to look at it. CAPTAIN CALEB JARED KINGSLEY 1776 TO 1809 , it said. Only thirty-three years old when he died.
    She straightened to look up at his face. Yes, it looked like the man she’d seen years ago and again today on the wharf, but something else about the picture stirred a memory deep within her. It was there but she couldn’t quite get hold of it.
    “I found your mother’s room,” Izzy shouted down the hall.
    Alix turned to leave but then stopped and looked back at the portrait. “You were a beautiful man, Caleb Kingsley,” she said, then on impulse, she kissed her fingertips and put them on his lips.
    For a second, less than a second, she thought she felt breath on her cheek, then a touch. Very soft, very quick, then gone.
    “Come on!” Izzy said from the doorway. “You have a whole year to lust after that man and the one in the guesthouse. Come see the room your mother’s done.”
    Alix thought about saying that maybe the man in the picture had kissed her, but she didn’t. She took her hand from her cheek and went to the door. “How can my mother have a room here? And how do you know for sure it’s hers?” she asked, following Izzy down the hall, past the stairs, to another bedroom.
    But the instant Alix saw it, she knew