“Pray, forgive me,” he said, his voice choked. “You deserve so much more than I can offer you.”
And with that, Henry strode from the room.
I stood near the hearth, but the heat would not penetrate my skin. I was shaking and weak, my heart thudding against my breastbone.
To be so close to him, yet know he was not free to offer me his heart, was one of the greatest misfortunes I could fathom.
8
RMS OLYMPIC, NORTH ATLANTIC
JUNE 10, 1914
I was finally on my way back to New York, just hours away from docking in New York Harbor, and though I was thrilled to be home, my heart had not been steady since the night Henry and I stood near the hearth. It had been almost two weeks. No matter where I was, in 1774 or 1914, he was never far from my thoughts.
On the first of June, many of us had gathered in Williamsburg at the Bruton Parish Church to pray and fast. There was an awakening in the colonies, and even if I had not been privy to the history of our great nation, I would have felt it. Everyone felt it. The sensation hummed in the hearts and minds of every patriotic colonist.
In the days since then, Henry had remained in the capital at the request of Governor Dunmore and had not taken the trip for his father. I didn’t see him often or know why the governor needed his assistance. I also didn’t know when Henry would return to Edgewater Hall. For now, he remained in Williamsburg, and I looked forward to the few brief interactions we were ableto have. I’d thought it would be awkward to see him again after the evening we were alone, but it wasn’t. We’d both shared a bit of our hearts, opening another path of communication—even if it did not lead where I wished to go.
With a sigh, I brought my thoughts back to 1914 and the majestic ship taking me home. I stood on the wide deck of the glorious RMSOlympic, the sister ship to theTitanic, which had tragically sunk two years before. There were hundreds of other passengers around me. I was watching for my first glimpse of America, allowing the ocean breeze to push any lingering troubles from my spirit. The ship boasted over two thousand passengers and nine hundred and fifty crew members. It was akin to a floating city.
Though Mother Wells and I were returning to New York, we had not come on the terms I would have chosen. Mother had accepted Lord Cumberland’s proposal on my behalf and told him we would return to New York to start the wedding plans. It was understood that as soon as we spoke to Father and set a date, Lord Cumberland would travel to America for the nuptials.
But I refused to set a date or acknowledge that I was engaged to be married—no matter what Mother and Lord Cumberland had decided. I had no idea what they discussed behind the drawing room doors in Berkeley Square or what stipulations they had agreed upon, but Mother had come away quite pleased.
Regardless, I was elated that I was almost home. I never wanted to see England again. Perhaps, with time and distance, Mother would accept my decision and we could put the whole matter behind us.
An older gentleman stepped up to the railing beside me, holding his hat so the wind did not tear it away, and I smiled. We’d been introduced early in our voyage, and I had liked him from the start. He was a congressman from Virginia, returning home after representing the US government in conversations with European powers, trying to reduce armies and navies.We’d dined together at the captain’s table, along with the author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and others. The congressman had sat beside me each time, regaling me with fascinating stories. I’d found him to be a wonderful conversationalist and companion. He was a refreshing change from the stiff Englishmen I’d spent so much time with of late.
“Hello, Miss Wells.”
“Good afternoon, Congressman Hollingsworth.”
He was warm and congenial with a welcoming smile. “Are you eager to be home?”
I nodded, unable to hide the pleasure from my voice. “I’ve been gone for six weeks, but it feels like a lifetime.”
“I’ve been gone even longer.” There was a hint of longing in his voice. “I miss Virginia. Spring is always my favorite time of year at home.”
My own yearning for Williamsburg expanded at his words. Perhaps it was his connection to Virginia that made me feel so at home in his presence. He was a tall gentleman, well-built and handsome for his age, with grey hair at his temples. His interest in me was that of a father or uncle, and when he looked at me, I could see he was genuinely attentive to what I had to say—unlike some people with status who were often distracted by their own importance.
A commotion erupted down the deck, and the congressman and I both looked in that direction. It was nothing more than an anxious woman reprimanding her servant. But at that moment the wind came up, ruffling the hair at the back of the congressman’s head and revealing something that made my mouth slip open.
He bore a sunburst birthmark just above his hairline. It would have been almost impossible to see if the wind hadn’t moved his hair.
When he turned to look at me, I swallowed hard. The birthmark looked identical to the one I bore over my heart.
Congressman Hollingsworth must have seen the astonishment in my eyes, because he said, “What is it, my dear? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
How did I ask him about his birthmark without telling him about mine? Or what mine meant? Could it be a coincidence that they looked exactly the same? Did his mean what mine meant? Mama said there were other time-crossers in the world, but we only knew of other women. Could this man be one, as well? It seemed too difficult to imagine.
But I had to say something. “Y-Your birthmark. I have one that looks exactly the same, over my heart.”
He stared at me for many moments, his gaze penetrating mine.
For a long time we just looked at each other, and the longer it took for him to respond, the more I suspected that his birthmarkdidmean something.
“My father had the same birthmark as me,” he said slowly. “And his father before him.”
