Prologue
James
April 10, 1912
In Mayfair, London, James Thomas Morrow was stuffing the last of his belongings into a well-worn leather trunk as he mentally prepared to bid farewell to his fellow staff at the Fairleigh Estate. Sunlight was barely peeking over the horizon, and most Londoners were only just starting to wake. After packing his straight razor, boar bristle brush, and shave soap into a small wooden traveling box, James retrieved his favorite photograph of George from his nightstand, picking it up gently so as not to smudge it. His chest pinched, and the sharp sensation briefly stole the breath from his lungs. He hoped that he could keep the photograph safe.
James hovered it above the closed traveling box for a couple of seconds, thinking that maybe he ought to keep it pressed between the wood and his steward’s uniform, but then he reconsidered, worrying that he might lose it somehow or that it might wrinkle if the contents of his luggage shifted.
After admiring George’s sweet smirk for a moment more, he slipped the photograph into his wallet instead. When James moved to shut the trunk, a voice from behind him caused him to startle.
“I can hardly believe that you’ll be in the middle of the Atlantic this time tomorrow.”
He huffed a light laugh and pushed himself to his feet but then paused for an extra second before turning around as the sentiment behind his closest friend’s words finally reached his heart.
In only a few hours’ time, he’d be aboard what was purported to be the grandest ship in the world, beginning his life anew as an employee of the White Star Line. Who knew how long it might be before he’d see Maggie again.
Swallowing hard to try to push away the sudden swell of emotion, James turned to face his friend, only to regret it the moment he saw her misty eyes, the green in them shimmering like emeralds. He forced a smile.
“It might take abitlonger to reach theexactmiddle of it,” he replied cheekily.
With pursed lips, Maggie shook her head as though to silently scold him. The movement caused the couple of red curls that were spilling out from underneath her white maid’s cap to sway back and forth.
“It’s a figure of speech.”
“Not one that I’ve ever heard.”
Resting a hand on her hip, Maggie tilted her head and leveled what was probably supposed to have been a threatening look, though she was still clearly attempting to conceal a burgeoning smile.
“James Thomas Morrow, is this the way that you want to spend our last minutes together? Squabbling over a mere couple of words? Doesn’t matter to me whether you’ll be in the middle of the Atlantic or only circling the British Isles. You won’t be here with me.”
James heaved a sigh. He took her hands in his.
“Oh, Mags, but that’s exactlywhyI’m picking a fight. It hurts my heart to leave.”
“Stay, then,” she said. “Bruce Ismay can find someone else to be a steward by the time that the ship is scheduled to set sail.”
“In six hours? I can’t imagine that such a thing would be possible.”
Maggie’s hint of a smile vanished, and she looked away.
“When that man was here meeting with Mr. Fairleigh, blathering on about hiring for his wonder ship... oh, the way your eyes lit up, I knew for sure you’d be trying for a spot even before Mr. Fairleigh suggested it.”
“It’s a wonderful opportunity for me,” James said. “I can see the world a little.”
“You have no interest in traveling for traveling’s sake, James,” she said with a pitying look. “Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes so easily. There’s no need to pretend that you’re some fearless adventurer. You’d much rather be lounging in front of a fire, working on those sweet little romance stories than flitting from place to place on some ship, even if she is supposed to be some sort of marvel.”
“You’re right.” James took a pause to try to find his words. “But trust me when I say that I have no other choice. Losing George has been...”
He trailed off, sorrow stirring in his chest.
Maggie nodded. “I know.”
“It breaks my heart to leave, but I know I have to. It’s been... by God, it’s been three years, Mags. I’m ready to move on, to moveforward, but I can’t seem to manage it here. I followed your advice to keep myself busy, but still, I feel like I’m stuck in the past. Every time I see his old flat, I begin to think about the time we spent together there, and I...” James’s eyes filled with tears. Blowing out a trembling breath, he blinked them away. “Sorry. I’m so lostwithout him. I feel like a ghost sometimes. Like somehow, a part of me, or maybe evenmostof me, died with him. I can’t even write my romances now. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to be, how tofeel.”
Maggie’s lips curled into a small, sympathetic smile.
“I miss my brother, too,” she said. “Go heal your heart, James. London will still be here when you’re ready to come back to it.”
