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As though he felt her look, he turned. For two heartbeats, a pair of gray eyes held hers. Memories and nightmares from years gone by assailed her, tumbling over each other in a rushing whirl. She stumbled.

“Miss Dennington!” At the sound of Mr. Cantrell’s anxious voice, the images fled as quickly as they’d come. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” Hannah took an unsteady breath and chanced another glance over her shoulder. The seaman was gone. “Forgive me. I must pay more attention to where I am walking.”

Sophia gave her a concerned look.

Hannah responded with a forced smile. “Truly. I am fine.” It had been a long time since she’d experienced one of the nightmares that had plagued her youth, and she had no desire to dwell on anything that evoked those images now. “And I shall be even better when we have found Mr. Ridley and the Arabella’s cargo is safely in the warehouse.”

Samuel had been at sea too long. That was the only explanation for the jolt that had passed through him when the young lady from the elegant black carriage had met his eyes. Her pretty face, pale-blue silk gown, lace-trimmed bonnet, and powdered curls were about as far removed from the motley crew of men he’d associated with for the last few months as any person could possibly be. It was no wonder her appearance had hit him like a lightning bolt.

He was fortunate that his legs had remembered how to function, even if his brain had momentarily shut down. Without the guidance of conscious thought, his limbs had taken him around the corner of the nearest warehouse and blessedly out of sight of the young lady and her two companions. He shook his head as if to clear it. What were two finely dressed ladies doing on the wharf in the first place? They were as incongruous as pearls among pebbles. Should he have offered to assist them? He shook his head again—this time in answer to his own question. They’d appeared to know the fellow who’d been asking about the Arabella. The most likely scenario was that there was a loved one on board the merchant ship with whom they were anxious to reunite. If that were true, they would be away from here soon enough.

He leaned against the warehouse wall, closing his eyes against the dingy surrounds and focusing on the familiar sounds and smells. He would miss this. The familiar creak of wood, slap of waves, and cry of seagulls. The salty air was fresher out at sea, but to sailors, the wharf’s aromas meant time onshore, usually after weeks on board ship. They were oft-longed-for scents, particular during a rough crossing or after a fierce battle at sea.

He raised one arm, his fingers sliding beneath his hair to find the small portion of scarred cartilage that had once been his left ear. The most recent battle had been the worst of them all. Captain Lund and four other sailors had died. Eight more severely wounded. If Samuel had been two inches higher on the rigging when the Americans had come upon them off the coast of Virginia, he would have been a casualty too. As it was, he was still here, but the damage to his ear had ended his career in the navy.

He sighed deeply. And then, with one last long look at HMS Swan’s familiar mainmast rising above the others in the Pool of London, Samuel pushed away from the warehouse wall. A change. A new chance. He’d fallen back on the words the Blind Beak had spoken in his courthouse-like parlor all those years ago more times than he could count. They’d helped Samuel face the difficulties of life at the Marine Society and then on board ship. They were tried and true and would guide him again.

Hannah had not anticipated how long it would take for the Arabella’s crew to unload one hundred fifty tons of sugar, eight hogsheads of molasses, and twelve hogsheads of rum. After the first half hour, Sophia had taken a seat on the small bench beside the Denningtons’ warehouse. Unable to relax while the transfer was occurring, Hannah had remained standing at the warehouse’s doorway, marking off every sack and hogshead as they entered.

Mr. Cantrell had stayed nearby, hovering between the warehouse and the landing dock where the small boat ferrying the cargo from ship to land unloaded. He had repeatedly offered to stay on to monitor the wharf workers so Hannah and Sophia could return home, but Hannah had been determined to see the job through to the end. And she had. But now that she and Sophia were in the carriage, leaving the wharf behind them, the incredible sense of satisfaction that had filled her when Mr. Cantrell had locked the door on the full warehouse was giving way to utter exhaustion.

She leaned back against the cushioned seat and released a soft moan. “My feet hurt.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sophia responded. “Although I think it is your head that needs to be examined more than your feet.”

“My head?”

“Yes.” Sophia tucked the handkerchief she’d been clinging to for the last three and a half hours into her reticule. “Why on earth would you choose to remain at the warehouse door all that time when Mr. Cantrell was willing to do it for you?”

“Because it was my responsibility, not his.”

Sophia groaned. “That is ridiculous. It was Father’s responsibility, and he would have been more than willing to delegate it to Mr. Cantrell.”

“The welfare of our entire family was dependent upon the safe delivery and storage of that cargo,” Hannah said, unwilling to frighten Sophia with the severity of the financial risk their father had taken when he’d funded the Arabella’s journey yet wanting her to understand that Hannah had not insisted upon being present merely to satisfy a whim. “For Father’s sake—for all our sakes—it was important that I be there.” She offered her sister a tired smile. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Sophia shook her head helplessly. “Hannah, you are the most stubbornly independent woman I know, and I love you dearly, but the next time you decide to spend your entire afternoon at the wharf, I shall vigorously cajole or, if necessary, trick Elinor into being your companion.”

Hannah’s lips twitched. “Should I warn Elinor?”

“Good heavens, no. In fact, I am going to close my eyes for a while so that when we arrive home, I shall appear rested and can act full of enthusiasm for the beauties of London’s waterfront.”

Hannah laughed. Elinor would see through Sophia’s playacting instantly, and Sophia knew it. But in the spirit of keeping up the pretense, Sophia positioned herself against the seat cushions and closed her eyes. Hannah waited to see if she would open an eye to check on Hannah, but when that didn’t happen and her sister’s breathing became steady and even, Hannah opted to follow her example.

She was dreaming of a young man in a pawnshop, staring at her with pain-filled gray eyes when she was shaken awake by a sudden lurch of the carriage.

“Oh!” she cried, reaching for the doorframe with an unsteady hand.

Sophia blinked. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Bad roads, a bad dream, and—” Her voice trailed off as she became aware of her surroundings. “Why did Prescott bring us this way?”

Sophia peered through the window. “Where are we?”

“We’re passing Tyburn Gallows.”

Sophia’s face fell. “There must have been a holdup on the other road.” She reached for Hannah’s hand. “There is no reason for concern. The square is empty, and your nightmares of this place are in the past.”