All those decisions he’d not been allowed to make . . .

He wondered if he would have done a better job with them himself.

Probably not.

Off at the bow, he could see Grace and Amelia, sitting together on a built-in bench. They were sharing a cabin with the dowager, and since she had barricaded herself inside, they had elected to remain out. Lord Crowland had been given the other cabin. He and Jack would bunk below, with the crew.

Amelia didn’t seem to notice that he was watching her, probably because the sun would have been in her eyes if she had looked his way. She’d taken off her bonnet and was holding it in her hands, the long rib-bons flapping in the wind.

She was smiling.

He’d been missing that, he realized. He hadn’t seen her smile on the journey to Liverpool. He supposed she had little reason to. None of them did. Even Jack, who had so much to gain, was growing ever more anxious as they drew closer to Irish soil.

He had his own demons waiting at the shore, Thomas suspected. There had to be a reason he’d never gone back.

He turned and looked west. Liverpool had long since disappeared over the horizon, and indeed, there was nothing to see but water, rippling below, a kaleidoscope of blue and green and gray. Strange how a lifetime of looking at maps did not prepare a man for the endless expanse of the sea.

So much water. It was difficult to fathom.

This was the longest sea voyage he’d ever taken.

Strange, that. He’d never been to the Continent. The grand tours of his father’s generation had been brought to a halt by war, and so any last educational flourishes he had made were on British soil. The army had been out of the question; ducal heirs were not permitted to risk their lives on foreign soil, no matter how patriotic or brave.

Another item that would have been different, had that other ship not gone down: he’d have been off fighting Napoleon; Jack would have been held at home.

His world was measured in degrees from Belgrave.

He did not travel far from his center. And suddenly it felt so limited. So limiting.

When he turned back, Amelia was sitting alone, shading her eyes with her hand. Thomas looked about, but Grace was nowhere in sight. No one was about, save for Amelia and a young boy who was tying knots in ropes at the bow.

He had not spoken to her since that afternoon at Belgrave. No, that was not true. He was fairly certain they had exchanged a few excuse me’s and perhaps a good morning or two.

But he had seen her. He’d watched her from afar.

From near, too, when she was not looking.

What surprised him—what he had not expected—

was how much it hurt, just to look at her. To see her so acutely unhappy. To know that he was, at least in part, the cause.

But what else could he have done? Stood up and said,

Er, actually I think I would like to marry her, after all, now that my future is completely uncertain? Oh yes, that would have met with a round of applause.

He had to do what was best. What was right.

Amelia would understand. She was a smart girl.

Hadn’t he spent the last week coming to the realization that she was far more intelligent than he’d thought? She was practical, too. Capable of getting things done.

He liked that about her.

Surely she saw that it was in her best interest to marry the Duke of Wyndham, whoever he might be. It was what had been planned. For her and for the dukedom.

And it wasn’t as if she loved him.

Someone gave a shout—it sounded like the captain—

and the young boy dropped his knots and scrambled away, leaving himself and Amelia quite alone on deck.

He waited a moment, giving her the chance to leave, if she did not wish to risk being trapped into conversation with him. But she did not move, and so he walked toward her, offering her a deferential nod when he reached her side.

“Lady Amelia.”

She looked up, and then down. “Your grace.”

“May I join you?”

“Of course.” She moved to the side, as far as she could while still remaining on the bench. “Grace had to go below.”

“The dowager?”

Amelia nodded. “She wished for Grace to fan her.”

Thomas could not imagine that the thick, heavy air belowdeck would be improved by pushing it about with a fan, but then again, he doubted his grandmother cared.

She was most likely looking for someone to complain to. Or complain about.

“I should have accompanied her,” Amelia said, not quite ruefully. “It would have been the kind thing to do, but . . . ” She exhaled and shook her head. “I just couldn’t.”

Thomas waited for a moment, in case she wished to say anything more. She did not, which meant that he had no further excuse for his own silence.

“I came to apologize,” he said. The words felt stiff on his tongue. He was not used to apologizing. He was not used to behaving in a manner that required apology.

She turned, her eyes finding his with startling direct-ness. “For what?”

What a question. He had not expected her to force him to lay it out. “For what happened back at Belgrave,” he said, hoping he would not have to go into more detail.

There were certain memories one did not wish to keep in clarity. “It was not my intention to cause you distress.”

She looked out over the length of the ship. He saw her swallow, and there was something melancholy in the motion. Something pensive, but not quite wistful.

She looked too resigned to be wistful. And he hated that he’d had any part in doing that to her.

“I . . . am sorry,” he said, the words coming to him slowly. “I think that you might have been made to feel unwanted. It was not my intention. I would never wish you to feel that way.”