I rubbed a hand over my face as I read through Mother's letter for what seemed the tenth time. God, what a mess New York was now. German spies planting bombs, the city covered in broken glass, the Statue of Liberty full of holes. It almost made me glad to be away, although I did miss everyone there terribly. Liz and James were inordinately proud of their son, Morris seemed to relish any time he could spend with his boys and Samantha and Ezekiel had finally tied the knot. Not to mention how much I missed Mother, especially now that she had little Delilah romping after her.

But I had my duties here, and my husband.

Will had written that Beatty had denied his request for a few days of leave, apparently he was still resentful that Bertie had chosen to serve on Will's ship rather than the Lion. But still, I felt that my place was by his side, in spirit if not in body. And I had my charity home, I had been able to offer employment to quite a few men from my ward to assist with the renovations. Doctor Humphry had even been willing to assist with assessing our nursing candidates and offering advice on how to best provide care for our future patients.

Not to mention my new family.

Mikhail had made the occasional visit to my office, always carefully watched by Collins and Rowan in case of another enthusiastic hug. He had wanted to share every bit of his activities with me, including his visit with the King. I had listened attentively as he had detailed their dealings. He had been fidgeting with his cigarette case, though I still refused to allow him to smoke in my office. "He was very kind, and was glad to get a letter from cousin Nicky."

"And will he let you keep everything in the Tower?"

"Oh yes, he has no problems with that. But he wasn't pleased when I brought up the idea of a loan from the Crown." Mikhail had shrugged, "I suppose they've got it hard enough on the Western Front."

"From what I've been able to learn, they're borrowing heavily from American banks to fund the war."

"Well, hopefully I can make a few inroads here. We could certainly use some funding ourselves."

"I take it you're not planning on sending piles of cash back to Russia."

"Rifles and shells would be better." He had stood, sliding the case back into his pocket. "Or he machinery for us to set up more factories." I had mulled over his words after he had left, thinking about the factories Mother had so easily set up back home. In her letter about the explosion that had occurred, she had made it clear that we had only escaped losing a large amount of munitions by the skin of our teeth. She had made arrangements for us to still fulfill our portion of the order, even if the majority of what had been desired had burned into ash.

Still though, Mikhail would be displeased when I told him about what had happened.

I folded Mother's letter up and tucked it in my pocket, reaching down to run my finger over it as I collected Rowan and Mr. Collins before stepping up the yacht. Mikhail's large, bearded guard peered at me, a brow raised. I raised my chin, holding his eye. "You can tell the Grand Duke that his cousin is here to meet with him." He snorted then gestured for me to come onboard. I stepped past him, but turned when he blocked the path, leaving Mr. Collins and Rowan on the dock. "They're with me."

The guard turned, his voice guttural. "His Highness says you are allowed, he did not say anyone else."

"If they are not allowed on, then I will be leaving." I made to move past him, but he stepped in front of me. "I will jump into the harbor if needed." Seeing as how he clearly didn't believe me, I stepped up to the railing, placed a foot on the lowest rung, and lifted myself up.

The guard rolled his eyes, but stood aside. "Americans, so dramatic." He waved the other two on, then called out in Russian. A servant came scuttling up from a hatch, gesturing for us to follow. I was expecting him to describe the ship to us, but it was obvious he didn't speak English as he led us to a sitting room below decks.

Mikhail was talking happily in French of all languages, gesturing with a cigarette as he did, smoke swirling around him. A grin split his face as he saw me, his cigarette discarded as he stood. "Anastasia! You've finally decided to come aboard."

I nodded to him, and to the others in the sitting room that he had been speaking to. "Mikhail, it's good to see you. I assume this is your family?"

"Oh, yes, yes." He gestured for them all to stand, a woman who was obviously his wife, a young woman only a few years younger than myself, a boy about the same age, another girl who was still in her teens and a young boy who stayed close to his mother. Mikhail chuckled at that, "She won't bite Sergei, she's just your cousin."

Sergei muttered something in Russian, his mother jostling him. "Speak English, it's rude not to."

He screwed up his face, making Mikhail sigh. "Ah, he's young. He'll come around." Mikhail gestured to his family in turn. "My wife, Irina, our eldest daughter Catherine, my second oldest son Ilya, Natalya and you've already met Sergei."

Irina, a delicate auburn haired beauty with perfectly pale blue eyes, gave me a smile. "I am hopeful you will meet our eldest, Pyotr, once the war is over."

"I would be glad to." I nodded to her, then to each of the children. "It's lovely to meet all of you."

Sergei whispered up at his mother, "She sounds strange."

"She's American," Mikhail chuckled, "We can all go over sometime, then we'll be the ones sounding strange." He tossed Irina a cocky smile. "Wouldn't you like me to take you out for a night in New York?"

She blushed, but grinned. "You've always promised to."

"Mikhail," I stepped forward. "I actually have news from New York for you."

"What is it?"

"It may be better to hear alone." I rubbed my hand over the letter again. "It's not good news."

His face fell, and he spoke softly to his family in French. They filed out of the room, each of them casting a look at my strange little group as they left. Mikhail pursed his lips, "Well, what is it?"

I drew out the letter, "There's been an explosion in New York, some German spies set bombs off in a munitions dump. The munitions that you had been arranging transport for."

I marveled as his face slowly turned red, a string of what I had no doubt were Russian curses springing from his lips. While I had been making introductions for Mikhail at some of the London banks, I had also connected him with several British shipping companies that were willing to risk the long voyage to supply the Russian army.

First, I had had to give him a detailed explanation of why I could not use my ships to move them, I had eventually made myself understood but I had drank a few glasses of whiskey after.

And now his work had been rendered useless, the munitions ash in the wind. I watched as he paced around the sitting room, Mr. Collins gently drawing me out of the path as Mikhail reached for a glass and threw it against the wall. Rowan frowned at that, "Sir, that was unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?" He whirled on Rowan, "What's unnecessary is some burned gargoyle scaring my children and thinking that I asked for his opinion!"

I stepped in front of Rowan, my jaw set. "Mikhail, shut up." He goggled at me, and I didn't let him have a moment to continue. "You will apologize immediately, and sincerely, or I am leaving this ship and will never come back on. I will see you blacklisted from every bank in London and shipping company and I will evict you from my docks. These men are veterans who have given far more to their country than you have, and they are in my employ, I will not tolerate any disparaging remarks about them. Have I made myself clear?"

Mikhail's head dropped. "My wife always tells me I have a terrible temper." He looked to Rowan, "Sir, you have my deepest apologies. I spoke in anger and haste, but that is no excuse. Please, allow me to make it up to you." He glanced to Collins and I, "Please, all of you, join us for lunch, and after the Yeoman are coming to collect the jewels to take to London. I should like to show them to you all before they're placed under the Crown's protection."

Rowan's head was still ducked, and I stepped closer to him so only he could hear me. "We can leave, Rowan, it's all right."

He shook his head, "I've heard worse, ma'am."

"But still-"

"I'm not some fainting flower." He looked towards Mikhail, his jaw set. "I can take a few harsh words, and he did apologize. Let's give him a chance to make up for it."

I glanced towards Mikhail, the red slowly draining from his face. "If you're sure." At his nod, I spoke up. "Lunch sounds lovely, Mikhail, and we would be glad to see the jewels."

"Excellent," He held open the door to the sitting room for us, then lead the way through the ship. "Our cook has been able to do wonders with what we've been able to get our hands on, although he is looking forward to getting back to an actual kitchen."

I glanced around the passageways as we walked, taking in the paintings that hung on every way, not to mention the gilded carved door we passed. "Mikhail, what's that?"

"Oh, just our chapel." He kept walking, "You can view it later, if you like, so long as Father Symon approves."

"Ah," I cast one last glance at the door. "You mentioned your cook wants to get back to an actual kitchen. Are you planning on purchasing a home?"

Mikhail smirked, "Let us save the interesting conversation for lunch." The next door we went through revealed a dining room, the table already set and his family in their places. At a few words from him two more places were set near the head of the table for Rowan and Mr. Collins, and the first course was brought in.

I let Mikhail carry the conversation throughout lunch, my attention more on the food. I hadn't eaten this well in a long time, their cook was clearly French and knew his stuff. Mikhail happily talked about a property he was looking at on the outskirts of London, large enough for his family and the staff he had brought with him. Apparently he intended to stay through the end of the war, it had been dangerous enough to slip through the North Sea once, he didn't want to risk it again. He could very easily arrange for weapons and supplies to be shipped to Russia from England, and he could return home when everything was finished.

He also appeared to be genuinely contrite over how he had spoken to Rowan, even calling his family to attention to listen to Rowan explain how many vegetables went into the salad we had been served and the benefits of hothouses to be able to eat food that grew in different seasons. The appeared to interest Natalya, for she looked to her mother. "Can we have a hothouse?"

Irina gave her a smile, "Perhaps when your father buys the new house."

"It would certainly be interesting to learn how to garden," Mikhail chuckled, "Would you care to come and teach us, Mr. Harrow?"

Rowan shifted in his seat, "Perhaps, but I'm sure you can find a better gardener."

"But not one who makes it so interesting." Mikhail grinned, but looked up when his guard entered. A few words were exchanged in Russian, and Mikhail stood. "The Yeoman Warders are here, everyone be respectful."

The door opened, admitting a dozen men in uniform. It was a plain blue uniform although very clearly displayed on each of their hips were pistols. One stepped forward, sketching a small bow. "Your Imperial Highness, thank you for admitting us."

"Thank you for your assistance." Mikhail returned the bow. "Shall we head to the vault?" We all fell into step behind him, although I kept towards the back. Most of the Yeomen were carrying large, stiff bags and when Mikhail stopped before a door, they set them down. Mikhail busied himself with unlocking the door, pulling it open to reveal shelves upon shelves of glittering jewels.

I could almost feel Rowan and Mr. Collins's jaws drop, I knew mine had. Mikhail had a tattered inventory in his hands as he read off each item, casually handing them off to a Yeoman who would wrap a piece of cloth around it and place it into one of the bags. Diamond crowns, tiaras of sapphires and emeralds, pearls that hung in thick ropes from Mikhail's hands as he nonchalantly tossed them to a Yeoman. My eyes were stuck to a ruby pendant, deep and rich as blood, that was surrounded by pearls and diamonds. One of my hands had come up, half thinking to touch it, before it was wrapped up.

My eyes widened even further when Mikhail pulled out a jeweled egg, glittering green and gold enamel with shining stones in a band around the middle. That one he handled carefully, wrapping it himself. "Be careful with these, Nicky will want them back as soon as possible."

"Of course, sir." The Yeoman replied as he took it from him. "Seeing as these items are intended as collateral, will they be transferred to other owners should it be needed?"

Another egg was in Mikhail's hands, and he frowned. "Any deal I make will be contingent on these items remaining in the custody of the Tower until the loan is repaid. Then they will be returned to the Imperial family."

The Yeoman nodded, "Of course, sir, His Majesty has informed us that was a possibility. We will be glad to assist his royal cousins." I could barely keep track as more and more jewels were brought out, more golden eggs packed away. By the time the bags were bulging with treasure, I was barely able to string a thought together.

How could one family have all those jewels? I admit my family had some, but it was nothing like that. Father might have gotten Mother and I diamond bracelets as a gift, but not a collar that had to weigh at least ten pounds. And Mikhail was content to simply hand off all of that to the Yeoman, collecting his guards so they could join them on the trip up to London to see them safely delivered.

He paused before closing up the vault though, pulling out one last item. He turned to Rowan, a glass bottle in his hands. "Mr. Harrow, I hope you will allow me to present this to you as my ultimate apology. A bottle of the finest Russian vodka, one of very few we have left."

Rowan took it, grinning. "How is it?"

"Very smooth, best served cold."

"That's very kind of you," Rowan tucked it under his arm, smiling at Mikhail. "Perhaps we could share a glass or two, when you get back."

Mikhail nodded, "While we speak of hothouses, I would greatly enjoy that."

Will was able to shove aside his disappointment that Beatty had refused his leave request with the knowledge that he hadn't forbidden him from taking a day for himself. So long as he was back on the ship by evening, Will could head into town and do as he liked. A break from the ship was much needed, as there was little going on.

Not to mention that he needed to attend to the telegram he had received.

It sat tucked in his pocket, folded and folded again. I will be in Edinburgh on Thursday, we will talk then. Oscar. Will would occasionally reach down to touch it, wondering if Oscar was doing the same with his reply; the address of their house and a time to meet. What was going to happen did not need a public audience.

To be quite frank, Will wasn't entirely sure what he intended to happen. He was definitely going to have words with the man, and some of them might be quite loud. And possibly violent. God, he doubted Oscar understood how his actions had affected Ana. The way she had been so distraught over her actions, how she had despised herself. Oscar hadn't cared how his actions had hurt her, he had only thought of his own satisfaction.

Will was going to make that extremely clear.

But he wanted to spend the time until then enjoying himself, and he enjoyed nothing more than finding something incredibly scandalous to dress his wife in. Will wanted something wanton and utterly obscene. He had sent those nightgowns to Ana and enjoyed her in them, but even then, they were still nightgowns. There had to be something created only to tantalize a man, something similar to what the girls at the Bonnie Puss had been wearing.

He was secure enough in himself to begin looking through the few items on display himself, ignoring the titters of shopgirls and other customers. He didn't care if they thought him odd, for he would have Ana to himself soon enough. It was while he was considering a potential robe that a voice caught his attention. "I know you." Will turned, finding a very elegant woman looking at him. The sheer fabric of her sleeves did nothing to hide the way her arm trembled as she pointed at him. "You were there, on that ship."

Will blinked, "Ma'am?"

"You helped me into the boat." She stepped closer, her voice low. "I was so scared, and you calmed me down."

A memory stirred in his mind, back on that cold April night as he loaded the first of his boats. She certainly looked better than she did that night, her hair was twisted up and dressed and a hat with enough feathers to make Ana jealous rested on her brown curls. He recalled the way her hands shook in her gloves, it had not been the chill, not with the fur coat she had worn. "I remember you, ma'am, however your name escapes me."

She extended a hand, "Lady Duff Gordon, however you may call me Lucille."

Will gently took it, squeezing her fingers slightly. "Captain William Murdoch."

"I must admit, I never expected to find you in the lingerie department." Lucille chuckled, looking around. "I certainly hope you're buying for someone else."

Will fought down a blush, "My wife, she'll be visiting soon and I thought to have something to surprise her."

"Well, don't bother with any of this." She flicked her fingers to encompass the whole of the department in her gesture. "I can supply something much better." A smile broke out, "Come, I am famished and it would be much easier to show you my sketches at a table."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense, I've already spoken to the head of the department and have been assured they would love to feature a few of my creations. My assistant will see to the details, and we shall pass a delightful lunch reminiscing." Lucille had already begun walking out of the department, only pausing to collect a sketchbook from her assistant.

Will trailed in her wake, amused as it seemed as is the entire staff of the store descended to ensure that Lucille and her guest had only the best seat in the restaurant, the finest wine, the most delicate foods. Not even Ana merited this kind of attention, although perhaps it was because she was less temperamental. Lucille rejected several of the items offered before a lobster salad finally met with her approval. Will was happy enough with the roasted chicken that had been suggested, and took a sip of wine while he waited.

Lucille set her sketchbook on the table, flipping quickly though it. "Oh, where was that? I sketched it a few years ago when the Ballets Russe was putting on Scheherazade, but it would be absolutely delightful for you wife." She looked up, blinking. "You haven't told me her name."

"Anastasia, she was onboard. I saw her off in my last boat." Will took a much larger sip of wine.

Lucille was clearly doing her best to recall her, "I believe I've seen her in some of my gowns, a lovely woman. Blonde, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, this will suit her wonderfully then." Lucille turned the sketchbook around, and Will peered closer. Fabric samples, little more than thing gauze, covered the sketch but all it did was enhance the appeal of what the sketch promised. A figure posed with one arm above her head, a sheer short gown that barely reached her thighs hardly hiding what lay beneath. Twisting around her legs were a pair of gauze trousers, metallic paint bringing to mind glittering embroidery. Covering it all was an organza robe that made the object of his desire obscured, but still slightly visible. Lucille chuckled at his reaction, "I take it you approve?"

Will swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the figure that was clearly modeled after a concubine in some Sultan's harem. He was suddenly very curious about the ballet Lucille said she was inspired by, perhaps Ana would be willing to try a few steps in this for him. "It's, it's lovely. It's just, how much?"

"Oh, consider it a gift." Lucille closed the book, placing it aside. "You did save my life that night, and you never spoke badly to the press about me."

Will knew what she meant, the gossip that had erupted after the sinking had seized on her husband making a gift of money to the crew in the boat, interpreting it as him bribing them to not return for other survivors. He hadn't much cared back then, and he didn't care much now. "I have no idea what happened in your boat that night, so I wouldn't speak of it."

"My husband was only being generous," She sighed, sipping her own wine. "Those men said as soon as the ship went down their pay stopped. Considering that they were facing poverty a few pounds to each of them seemed so little to us." Her face screwed up though, and she set her glass down. "However, our fellow passengers weren't so charitably minded."

"I, unfortunately, know precisely who you mean." Will pursed his lips. "I actually regret letting them on the boat that night, they've harassed my family quite a bit."

"Would you believe he was trying to promise the crew jobs, so long as they got us far away from the ship? The father, I mean, the son was drunk as a lord and almost rolled the boat over until one of the crewmen forced him down. He practically tied him to the bench."

He leaned forward, "Lucille, I would love nothing more than to hear what other horrible things they did that night." He hardly cared that she was clearly embellishing the details to keep his attention as their meals were brought, he knew that family would sink to impossible lows. The Reichsters had no shame, even if he doubted that Samantha had given a soliloquy about every item she had lost in the sinking. But after Will had finished his plate, he glanced to a nearby clock and sighed. "I must beg your pardon, but I do have a commitment I need to attend to."

She pouted, "Must you?"

"I am afraid so."

"Well, then I shall simply have to come up to deliver your order myself." She giggled, "Perhaps your darling wife might even model it for me, I actually never quite made this and would love to see how it moves on a live person."

Will blushed, "I am afraid you'll have to take that up with her." Lucille laughed, kissed the air on each side of his face, and collected her staff as she left. Will's thoughts as he made his way to the house were of Ana in the new lingerie, the fabric as soft as her skin as she tantalized him. By God did he want her then, he wanted that lingerie in their house and her in his bed.

In fact, he was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registered unlocking the door, going to the kitchen and pouring himself a whiskey. Ana, barely concealed and tempting, would be here soon enough. By next month his dreams would be reality, the sting Beatty felt would have faded by then. Will was still picturing Ana waiting for him when he heard a knock at the door, and he straightened his uniform as he went to answer it.

Oscar, dressed as usual in a perfectly tailored suit, stood on the doorstep. "William."

"Oscar." Will stepped back, allowing him inside. "I hope you haven't tried to contact Ana."

"She refused all my calls." He grumbled, looking around the parlor. "I didn't know you had a house in Edinburgh."

"Ana bought it." Will couldn't help feeling a bit smug. "She wanted to be close to me and have a place to ourselves."

Oscar's lips thinned. "She's always had good taste."

"Except about you." Will didn't try and mask his bitterness.

"I'm not going to apologize, if that's what you're after." The younger man crossed his arms. "If anything you should apologize to me."

"For what?"

"For implying that I forced my attentions on your wife and that I would do the same to the woman I am now seeing." Oscar looked away. "You don't have to worry about me pursuing Ana, you never needed to."

"Oh yes, you're oh so noble." Will spat, anger rising in him. "These women just fawn over you. It's not your fault."

"I've never said that." Oscar raised his shoulders, clearly riled. "Will, what happened, it's done. It won't happen again."

Will furrowed his brow. "Do you have any idea how awful Ana felt after you tricked her into kissing you? She felt like she had betrayed me, like she had committed adultery. You didn't spare a thought for how your actions hurt her, you only cared that you finally got to kiss her."

Oscar glanced down, frowning. "I didn't realize she felt that badly."

"Christ," Will pinched the bridge of his nose. "You still have feelings for her, while you're seeing another woman! You're impossible. I should find this girl and warn her off you."

Oscar whirled, "It's not like it's something I can cast aside! I've loved Anastasia for years, and even if I marry this other girl I will always love her in some way, no matter what you-" Will didn't let him finish, his fist bashing Oscar's head to the side.

Will was almost panting in anger, "You don't get to be in love with my wife! I should have had this out with you years ago."

Oscar whirled, and Will dodged a shot to his gut. "And I should have told Anastasia she was marrying a controlling brute!"

"I have never forced her to do anything!"

"You forced her to stop talking to me!" Oscar tackled Will, his fist sinking into his stomach. Then it was like when they had fought each other in Southampton, but without Anastasia to intervene. Both men punched and kicked, threw each other around the room while spouting curses and doing their best to emerge on top. Will had wanted to beat Oscar to a pulp ever since he had first met the man, had seen how he looked at Ana, but every punch he delivered had no satisfaction to it. Beating Oscar, and taking a beating off his own, felt pointless.

Anastasia would be furious with the both of them, yet again, and this would accomplish nothing. It wouldn't change the fact that they had kissed or that Oscar still had feelings for her. All it would do would make things worse. Will couldn't tell if Oscar had the same thoughts, but the intensity of the fight began to wane. Finally, exhausted, they sat on the floor and stared at each other. Oscar had the most visible damage, a split lip and a bruised face that would likely include a pair of black eyes soon enough. Will winced as he moved, fearing that he may have cracked a rib. Oscar shook his head, "We can't keep doing this."

"If you would just apologize." Will groaned, "I can't forgive you, Oscar, not for this. But if you apologize and swear to me that you will never do it again," He shook his head. "I don't know if I can ever trust you alone with her again, but I can at least tolerate you."

Oscar blinked, "After all that we've been through, you don't trust me now?"

"Can you blame me?"

A rough chuckle that turned into a hiss, "I can't, not really." He sighed, "Fine, I'm sorry about the whole awful thing. And I promise you, William, I will never approach Anastasia in that way ever again. I respect that she's your wife, and that you're her husband. I'm not out to hurt either of you, you know."

"I know," Will grumbled, because he did. Oscar hadn't done this to hurt him, well, he had hurt him during the fight but that was different. It had been a complicated moment for the two of them, but Oscar was right. It was in the past, and if he really was seeing another woman, then his eyes were on the future. "Just, please don't be alone with her too much. She gets melancholy when we're separated, and I don't want her to turn to you for comfort."

"Then bring her up here," Oscar looked around the parlor, now a mess of upset furniture and damaged paneling. "But you might want to clean up first."

Will snorted, "We both agreed she needs to be up here more often, but first I should probably have the place cleaned. I don't want to explain to Ana why there's blood on her settee."

Oscar nodded, "Anastasia, and Penelope for that matter, can't know about this."

"Why?"

"Because then they'll just be angry with us."

Will nodded, "I take it this Penelope has a temper?"

"I don't know, and I don't particularly want to find out."