Prologue
February 7, 1856
Coast of Cornwall, England
"Regina, you must come away. It's of no use." The elegantly dressed gentleman wore his sorrow and concern in the deep lines etched on his face. He couldn't bear to see his dear friend tormenting herself, hoping against hope as she continued staring out across the ominous sea with stricken eyes. Stoically, she shook her head, pulling the heavy folds of her voluminous cloak more securely around her shoulders.
"I can't give up," she whispered brokenly. "As long as there's even the barest chance one of them may have survived." Lady Regina Winslow turned to her companion in desperation. "Please, Cedric," she implored, "can't you understand? They're all I have left in the world."
Grief hung heavy in her voice, as she turned her gaze back to the churning sea.
Sir Cedric Chatsworth nodded grimly. He knew she'd never cease her vigils on that bluff high above the crashing sea until something was found—something or someone.
An icy wind assaulted the bluff, its cold blasts stealing through their heavy clothing. Behind them waited a stately black coach bearing the Winslow family coronet, and four perfectly matched bays. Heads down, tails and manes blowing in the frigid wind, their dark coats seeming almost black, the horses stood eerily still. The coachman, dressed in the finest burgundy livery, huddled against the cold as the storm-filled sky threatened to burst upon them. He sat rigid, collar turned up almost to the brim of his black silk hat, his eyes nothing more than two narrow slits. And he watched and waited as they'd all done for two days.
"At least come and wait in the coach, out of the wind. What good will it do if you catch your death out here?" Sir Chatsworth implored. His question was met with silence, for Regina continued to gaze over the edge of the bluff which dropped away to the seawall below. One hand reaching to steady his hat, Chatsworth turned and walked toward the coach. The coachman stirred and jumped down stiffly as he approached.
Sir Chatsworth took from the vehicle the thick fur lap robe.
Then he returned to Regina's side and laid it gently about her shoulders. Her trance was momentarily broken as his hand lingered lovingly on her back. "Thank you, Cedric," Regina whispered so softly her words were almost lost on the wind, which seemed to hesitate, then swirl about them with renewed urgency. Her large blue eyes were weary, and lines were etched in the softness of her face. For a moment, she gazed at him searchingly, as if silently begging him for something; then she turned wistfully back to the angry sea that pounded the rocks below with relentless fury.
The villagers of Land's End said it was the worst storm in memory. For two days the sea had seemed to curse and scream, hurling its rage against the coastline, destroying anything that dared venture forth. Days earlier, the waves had roiled and built like avenging demons, and the sky had turned so gray and ominous it seemed that day was night. A howling wind pelted the village with stinging, icy shards of rain, and at noon it was as bleak as night, clouds churning overhead, the ocean heaving and spewing until it and the clouds met and seemed inseparable.
Then, two days ago, a feeble light was seen in the darkness. A ship, struggling against sea and wind and rain, plunged through the teeming waters, sails rigged taut, trying desperately to turn away from the breakwater. Over the roar of the ocean and the howling of the wind, the villagers cringed and offered fervent prayers as they heard the ominous sounds of the wooden hull splintering and cracking on the rock-strewn barrier.
Hearty fishermen braved the night, and crawled, lanterns in hand, to the bluff high above the breakwater. The light they'd seen earlier, bobbing in the storm, hung momentarily suspended like a lone star in the heavens. Then, as the villagers watched helplessly, knowing none dare venture into the stormy sea at night, cries were heard, or was it only the wind?
A few of the strongest men crept down the rocky ledge to the breakwater below. The distant light lingered, flickered, and then vanished, so that none were certain they'd seen it at all. At dawn, the villagers returned to the bluff above the sea.
Out on the breakwater, the crumpled hulk of a brigantine clung lifelessly to the rocks. Splintered pieces of her hull and cargo floated in clouded tide pools. The storm seemed to lessen with the dawn and several men attempted to reach the battered ship. As they drew near, a wave crested and forced them back; but they could hear the ship groaning as she shifted and sank more deeply, until only a portion of her deck and two broken masts remained above water. Her sails hung like a maid's sodden skirts, her stern was completely submerged.
There was no sign of life. It took all their strength and skill to return to the small inlet without capsizing. As they pulled their small craft from the water, one man whispered the name of the ill-fated ship, and the men turned as one to watch solemnly as the brigantineVenturerslowly gave up her struggle with the sea.
Lady Regina shuddered and grabbed at her fur robe with gloved hands. The wind, penetrating her heavy clothing, felt like the chill of death stealing over her. She'd waited in Plymouth for news of theVenturer; then had made the hazardous journey to Land's End when word had come of the wreck. Her eyes, the deep-dark blue of heather upon the moors, were glazed with unshed tears. Even when she and Cedric had arrived at the inn and she'd heard the ship's name whispered in hushed tones, she'd refused to believe.
James, her dear son, she thought, a sob escaping her. Why had he insisted on returning with his family from the Colonies at this time of year? What was so urgent that it couldn't have waited until later, when the voyage would've been safer?
Her gaze wandered over the deserted bluff which men from the village had descended hours earlier to reach the seawall below. For two days, they'd searched the shoals and tide pools, braving a relentless sea and an equally unyielding wind, searching for survivors. And each time they'd trudged wearily back up the ledge, their heavy woolen coats clinging to their weary bodies like shrouds, the answer had been the same—no survivors.
The sky had turned to slate. If only Richard was with me, she thought, then caught herself. No, it would be no different if her husband were alive and here with her and Cedric. Richard had always been stoic, proud, and faintly overbearing. She smiled faintly at the memory of the friendship between her husband and Sir Cedric Chatsworth, one that had endured since they'd been at Eton together. They were a study of contrasts, always falling into some argument or another over some matter of government or foreign policy. Ceddy, as her husband called his dearest friend, was simply far too practical.
Dear Ceddy, she thought, you've been such a friend to me, so dear all these years I've been alone, especially after James left for the Colonies. Her husband always insisted the United States be called the Colonies. She realized old resentments died hard, even though the matter of the Colonies had been settled decades ago.
Regina's gaze fastened on all that remained of theVenturer. Broken masts poked up through swelling waves. James... so dear to her and Richard after their firstborn son had succumbed to the fever. James had held such promise, and he'd so eagerly sailed off to visit the United States, taking it upon himself to personally oversee property Sir Richard Winslow had quietly and unobtrusively acquired over the years. James had met Anne in New York, and they'd fallen deeply in love. Regina's one voyage to the Colonies had been made to attend their wedding.
Family obligations had demanded her quick return, so she'd not been there for the arrival of her first grandchild. But James and Anne had assured her they would make the voyage to England as soon as the baby was old enough. However, Anne quickly conceived again, and that birthing had not gone well. She'd lost the second child at birth and had been confined to bed for weeks afterward. So, the voyage to England had been delayed for almost two years. Tears welled in her eyes. She'd wanted so to see them again, had mentioned it in every letter.
Now, for all she knew, her son was lost, along with his wife and child. Lady Regina caught herself. No! She refused to accept it! Dear Father in heaven, she'd never even seen her granddaughter, Elyse.
Cedric's hand tightened around her arm, steadying her as the first dark figure crested the bluff, followed by several others. Regina looked from one man to the next, her eyes searching their wind-chapped faces, as they trudged past her, shaking their heads wearily, mumbling some vaguely sympathetic words as they rubbed aching hands together. All refused to meet her eyes directly.
The answer was the same as it had been for the last two days. At first, she'd stoically refused to believe the wreck was the ship James and Anne were returning on. But when she'd reached the village of Land's End on the coast of Cornwall, her stoicism had ended.
As the brig broke up on the rocks beyond the breakwater, bits and pieces of her were washed ashore, among them the captain's manifest and a list of passengers. James’ name was still decipherable, indicating he'd come aboard theVenturerin New York with his wife and child. Upon seeing it, something inside Lady Regina Winslow seemed to die.
As long hours had become one day, and then two, her hope that James and Anne might have survived rapidly faded. Their deaths, along with those of the crew and the other passengers, seemed cruel, but the loss of a child, her granddaughter, was incomprehensible to Regina.
"Reggie, please." Using the nickname he'd given her when they were young, Cedric urged her away. "It's no use, my dear," he gently begged.
