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Catherine greeted Violet at the door of Chester House and wrapped her in the most tremendous of hugs. “Cousin!” she exclaimed. “Welcome back! You’re looking…” Catherine’s eyes grew wide as she struggled to finish the sentence. “You’re looking…”

“Quite green, I would imagine,” Violet finished for her. “The passage was dreadful, and I nearly cast up my accounts three times yesterday.”

Violet had run out of ginger and peppermint leaves before the last tumultuous days of the voyage and had suffered for it, as had the passengers and crew she’d been treating.

Her cheeks were hollowed out from her lack of appetite, and, having just arrived from the ship’s landing, she still felt unsteady on her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. “The storms were quite bad, even ashore. It must have been awful.”

Catherine had changed little from the exuberant seventeen-year-old she had been when Violet was last in London three years ago.

She was still fresh-faced and slim, with the kind of willowy, elegant figure that was so much in fashion.

Her hair was parted down the center, as was the au courant style, and her dress, a becoming shade of cornflower blue that matched her eyes, made her look absolutely fetching.

“We survived,” Violet said. “And I’m glad to see you looking so well.”

Catherine’s father had passed away unexpectedly the year before, putting an end to her second season before it had even begun.

Violet had been worried she’d find Catherine and her aunt Lydia deeply ensconced in the paralysis of grief, like she had been after James died, but Catherine seemed to be faring better than she had.

Her cousin glanced behind her through the open front door. “Violet,” she asked, “where is your mother?”

Violet turned just as her mother emerged from the carriage that had brought them to Chester House.

“Oh!” Catherine exclaimed at the sight of her aunt’s pale face and wobbly gait. “Let’s get you both inside with a cup of tea immediately.”

“Hello, Catherine dear,” Violet’s mother Nora said as she reached her niece. “That sounds lovely. But after narrowly escaping death, I’m going straight to bed. Where is my sister?”

“Right here, Nora.” Aunt Lydia appeared behind her daughter. “Come inside and stop being so dramatic.”

Nora stepped into the grand foyer of Chester House and greeted Lydia with the same huge hug that Catherine had greeted Violet with. The four women, different though they were, shared the same physical exuberance and large, intensely blue eyes.

“I am not being dramatic,” Nora said. “Or not unduly so. We almost died , Lydia. Our ship practically sank! Tell them, Violet.”

Violet smiled at her mother. “It was quite turbulent.”

“See?” Nora said. “I was correct. Now, escort me upstairs, sister, while these two young ladies conspire about Catherine’s triumphant return to the marriage mart.” She winked at the younger women and took her leave up the stairs with Lydia.

“I’m afraid they’re the ones conspiring,” Violet said when her mother was out of earshot.

Catherine grinned. “Oh, I know they are. Cooking up marriage plans for the both of us, I have no doubt. But never mind them. We will have bucketfuls of fun! I’m delighted to see you again. Thank you for acting as my companion.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Violet gave her cousin a tired smile. “And I truly am sorry about your father. Though I hope you understand I’m here only as a companion, no matter what my mother might envision.”

Violet glanced down at the severe dress she wore, buttoned from head to toe as if it were a suit of armor instead of a traveling gown. “I’ve other plans for my life now, as I wrote to you. I’ll not marry.”

Catherine reached out and grasped Violet’s hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“I know. I read your letters avidly and am so impressed with what you’ve accomplished in only three years.

From what you’ve told me of James, I think he would be very proud of you.

Now, let us have some tea and a rest. We’ve a full social schedule in the days ahead, starting with the Somerville dinner later this week. ”

Alistair Crawford stood outside the Somerville townhouse and breathed deeply, gathering his thoughts before he made himself knock on the door.

He’d been back in the exclusive world of the peerage for less than a week, and he was already adrift.

And slightly tipsy from the whisky he’d imbibed before arriving.

He was drinking too much, he knew. And gambling too much.

Certainly spending too much time in the gaming hells and brothels of London’s seediest neighborhoods.

The voyage home had been grueling for his ship, which had limped into port barely seaworthy from weeks of vicious storms. And worse for his heart and mind.

The East India Company had been nothing like he’d imagined when he joined three years ago. Certainly nothing like his stint in the Navy.

There was no esprit de corps . No band of brothers. No joy in the briny sea air, wide open horizons, or gentle tilt of a ship on water. There was only brutality in the name of money and power, and Alistair couldn’t stomach it.

He’d been stationed in a region of Punjab the Company had annexed two years earlier and there was no hiding the evidence of atrocity all around him. Families ripped apart, men pressed into service, mass graves for Muslims and crematoriums for Sikhs. Too many dead to count.

He’d never seen anything like it and hoped never to again. So, he served out his contract, retired once more, and came home to London with nothing. Just as Father had warned he would.

His father, the Marquess of Timsbury, would be in attendance at the dinner tonight, as would his older brother, Darius. He slipped his hip flask out of his pocket and took another long drought before he knocked on the heavy door to the Somerville residence.

He’d accepted the invitation only because he knew his father would be pleased if he attended, the Somervilles being longtime family friends. Or Alistair hoped it would please him, anyway. This was to be the first stop in his planned father/son goodwill campaign.

He needed more money than his mediocre allowance to launch his dream of a trading company. Money his father had to spare, if only he’d loosen the purse strings for Alistair the way he’d always done for Darius.

If only he liked or admired Alistair, the way he liked and admired Darius.

Get on with it, Crawford. The money won’t raise itself.

Perhaps he’d visit a gaming hell as a reward after dinner. Then he would clean up his act and get to work. He promised himself.

He wouldn’t let himself slide so far into the dissipated lifestyle of London that he couldn’t crawl his way back out again.

He’d seen too many men tumble down the slippery slope into profligacy once they’d left their sea legs behind.

A sailor without the sea was useless, and uselessness had a way of killing a man’s spirit.

With spirits, he thought wryly and took another sip of whisky before he stowed the flask back in his pocket.

He took a deep breath and shifted his weight from foot to foot as if preparing himself for battle. Which, in a sense, he was.

The relationship between Alistair and his father had been nothing but contentious since the summer he turned fifteen and had snuck away to join the Navy as a Boy First Class. To his father’s horror, he hadn’t even entered as a Cadet on a training ship like other aristocratic men did.

No, Alistair had wanted real training with real sailors on a real ship. And he’d had it. He knew the ocean like the back of his hand now. It was on land he was apt to become lost.

But he had a strategy for that. He’d earn his father’s trust, convince him to invest, and get out of London at the earliest possible moment. Tonight was the first step.

The heavy door swung open, and Alistair was greeted by the butler before he made his way directly to his hostess, Mrs. Somerville.

She was presiding over the guests who had arrived before him, which was nearly all of them, as he had waited until the very last moment to grace the Somerville doorstep.

“Ah, Lord Alistair Crawford,” Mrs. Somerville said and glanced pointedly at her pocket watch. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

He looked appropriately chagrined and gave her a graceful bow. “I offer my sincerest apologies.”

“You’re forgiven. But only because you’re handsome and your mother is one of my dearest friends. Now, come greet my guests.”

She took his proffered arm and walked him around the room to make introductions.

Alistair glanced at the other guests, hoping to see his father and get the conversation started sooner rather than later, but found no familiar faces.

It struck him then how long he’d been away at sea.

Before he’d left London, the small circle of society in which his family operated had felt positively suffocating in its sameness.

Now, other than the Somervilles, whom he had known since he was in leading strings, he saw not a soul he was familiar with.

“Have my father and brother arrived?” he asked.

“You’ll find them smoking with the other men, I fear. Bring them to me, would you? Along with my husband. Or I’ll have to take drastic measures to regain their company and begin this dinner.”

“You’d drag your husband out of his study by his ears?” Alistair asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Only if he’s lucky. If he’s not, I’ll drag him out by some other body part entirely.”

“Why, Mrs. Somerville,” Alistair said, suppressing his grin. “I am shocked.”

“Why so? I meant by his hand, of course.”

Alistair gave her a short bow. “Of course, you did. And I will certainly pass on the message.”

“Thank you. And, Crawford, I hope you don’t mind, I’ve sat you next to a relation. Quite a lovely girl, attending with a cousin from America. I believe they’re arriving now. Even later than you.”

She turned and caught sight of Catherine and Violet as the butler led them in. “Oh, goodness!” she lowered her voice. “What a horrid dress. They must have lost her trunks at sea, poor girl. No matter. You’ll like Lady Catherine. She’s from an extremely good family.”

“She’s from your family.”

“That’s what I meant. Come, and I’ll introduce you.”