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furlough, and the rest seem anxious to do likewise.”
    â€œDon’t you worry that another major conflict will take the lives of our young men?”
    â€œOf course I do. My own brother is now old enough to fight,” Jordana said, frowning at the idea of Brenton going to war. She would have to do whatever was in her power to convince him that their mother and father would never approve of him joining up. President Lincoln had already called for seventy-five thousand state militia troops, and the last thing she wanted to see was Brenton obeying some patriotic conscience and following them into war.
    The ferry docked and Meggie was the first to greet G.W. “I see Papa sent you to bring us home. How are you?” She reached out to embrace him and kiss his cheek.
    Jordana watched their reunion, shocked at the amount of weight G.W. had lost. He was dreadfully pale and appeared as though he might even collapse. He released Meg, then opened his arms to Jordana. But her mind was on Meg’s words of G.W.’s love, and she quickly waved him off. “Be gone with you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You aren’t my uncle.”
    â€œIndeed I am not,” he said, grinning mischievously. “And glad I am of that fact.”
    G.W. stood at least six feet tall and had once maintained the physique of an athlete. Of all the sons of Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt, G.W. alone was the one considered the hope for the family line. The commodore found Margaret’s father, Billy, to be a blatherskite and a sucker, two of the older man’s favorite terms. But in spite of the commodore’s having exiled Billy to remain on Staten Island while he himself lived in luxury on Washington Place in the heart of New York City, Billy had made a good showing on the farm. He had turned the ground into productive land and had, in fact, increased his holdings many times over. For all his father’s lack of interest and confidence in his son, Billy seemed to do quite well at moving his family forward. Billy’s younger brother, and the commodore’s namesake, Cornelius, or Corneel as he was more often called, had been the commodore’s second hope, but this had been quickly dashed when it was learned that the boy had epilepsy—something the commodore blamed himself for in light of having married his cousin. Not only had this been a conflict, but as Corneel grew older, he also spent more and more of his father’s money and had no interest whatsoever in making more of his own.
    Therefore, G.W. was the hope of the Vanderbilt patriarch. He was dashing and spirited, bold and brazen, and above all else, healthy, at least until the war had rendered him otherwise. But most important, he was willing to do his father’s bidding. None of these things mattered to Jordana, however. She simply thought G.W. a wonderful conversationalist and loyal friend.
    â€œYou look more beautiful than ever,” G.W. told her, then turned to cough fiercely into a handkerchief.
    â€œAre you all right?” Jordana and Meg questioned in unison.
    He tried to hide his weakness. “I’m fit as a fiddle, and don’t ever think otherwise.” Then before either girl could reply, he swept Jordana into his arms and deposited her in the open carriage. The action so took Jordana by surprise that she could only stare openmouthed at the man while he reached back to do the same with Meg.
    â€œDon’t you dare hoist me up there like a sack of grain,” Meg told him. “There is no reason for you to be handling either one of us. You’re sick and need to regain your health. Father would never hear the end of it from Grandfather if you somehow set your recovery back while on a visit to us.”
    â€œI can hardly injure myself by assisting a lady into a carriage.” Then, helping Meg into the carriage in a more genteel fashion, he added, “I’ll have you know, I’m well remembered for my