Will found himself looking closely at his officers as he introduced Bertie, trying to see if any of them recognized him. He thought he saw a brief look of shock in Ives's eyes, but then he had simply asked Bertie to join him on a walkthrough of the Unicorn's guns, he wanted to know how they compared to the Collingwood's. Tyne and some of the others asked Bertie to sit near them in the wardroom, peppering him with questions.

Will let out a sigh of relief when the questions proved to be about Scapa Flow, and he even listened in a bit.

Tyne let out a laugh, "Well, Lieutenant Johnson, I don't think we can promise you a golf course just for us sailors, but Edinburgh has its own entertainments."

Bertie blushed, "I d-don't really need much. Usually I prefer a quiet night in."

"There's plenty of that here." Nettles grumbled, shrugging. "Well, it's not as if Beatty lets us take the squadrons out to practice. If it weren't for Captain Murdoch here we'd never get any actual gunnery training done."

Bertie glanced to him, and Will nodded. "I believe the ship should be kept ready at all times, and that includes her crew. If I have to flatter the Admiral to get us permission, it's not a hardship."

Sharpe, coming around with port for all of them, perked up at that. "Actually, sir, I meant to tell you earlier. Admiral Beatty asks that you visit Lion tomorrow morning, he'd like to speak to you."

"Not a problem," Will replied, although he could feel a curl of suspicion in his gut. "I'll brush out my uniform tonight, you don't need to worry about it, Mr. Sharpe."

Will took on all the worry himself instead, brushing his jacket and trousers at least three times. What could Beatty want him for? They hadn't spoken since after the battle, but he knew Beatty had been speaking to damn near anyone who would listen. Every paper he'd read at the house had featured interviews with anonymous sailors who spoke glowingly of Beatty and disparaged Jellicoe at every turn. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was Beatty himself, or at least those trying to get into his good graces.

Will hardly cared about that, but Beatty seemed to be all about politics. He may not have read a biography on the man, but he knew how he fostered relationships that proved fruitful for him in the long run. Or Ethel did, she seemed to meddle as much as he did. Will pondered briefly if Ana would do anything like that for him, promote him to the right people in order to secure his advancement. He didn't think she would, but when he laid down and reached for one of her letters, he was forced to admit that she might.

Ana had found a most interesting penpal, Lord Fisher. She had written about what an interesting man he was, and even included some of their letters. A lesser man would have scrutinized every letter for some sign of flirtation, Will felt very secure in their marriage now that he had banned Oscar from seeing her and had worked through things with his wife. Ana wouldn't be looking at a man old enough to be her father, instead she was writing to him about ideas and theories relating to the Unicorn.

And Fisher was only encouraging her!

To think that in between all the sweet moments she wrote to him about; the picture of Ruth with her puppy, the garden that Rowan had planted, the purchase of the first location of Murdoch Soldier and Sailor's Homes, there were comments about a more advantageous armor scheme, or the effect of more smaller caliber guns along the edges of the deck. It made Will shake his head.

He was still shaking his head as he was piped aboard the Lion, although that was more because the bo'sun was playing his pipe as shrilly as possible. And directed right at his ear. Fortunately, his hearing didn't seem to be damaged in any way as he stepped through the door to Beatty's office, saluting.

Beatty grunted, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Sit." Will did so, and Beatty immediately pinned him to the seat with his gaze. "Did you know?"

Will blinked, "Know what, sir?"

"The prince!" Beatty was clearly keeping himself from jumping out of his chair. "The bloody prince! Did you know who he was? You had to, no one is that ignorant."

Will swallowed, "After my marriage, most of my time was spent in America. And I was never close to the royal family, I truly had no idea of Lieutenant Johnson's identity."

"But you surely heard the gossip." Beatty spat, "And you manipulated events to line yourself up so that you would wind up in his good graces and he'd speak highly of you to the King."

"Sir, I met the prince at a party your wife hosted."

"I asked him to come, a favor for his father. The boy's too sheltered, too shy." Beatty snorted, "Treating him like a student only enforces that. How else is his career to advance if he always runs to you to check everything?"

"His Royal Highness does not have innate talent, I can tell you that. But he works hard to grow what talent he does have. He's young, he will grow more confident with time."

Beatty blinked, "And we both know his advancement is secured by his family. But what of you? He speaks glowingly of you to His Majesty, and the King could easily dole out a promotion as a favor to his son. Is that your goal? You want to become Admiral Murdoch?"

Will almost laughed, "Admiral Beatty, sir, I am not aiming for your position. I am quite content where I am." He could see Beatty about to retort, a sneer already on his lips. "Don't forget, sir, that I am a reservist. As soon as the war ends, I will be gone. This isn't my career, and I have no desire to make it so. If I was given the opportunity to gain a few more stripes on my sleeve or retire back to New York with my wife, I would hang up my uniform and never wear it again." Now, that was a lie. Ana loved him in his uniform far too much for him to not wear it.

"Meaningless words."

"Honestly, sir," Will spread his hands. "I was content to remain a lieutenant commander, I did not ask for my promotion to captain. I will not ask for a promotion, and if Lieutenant Johnson tries to secure one for me I will disabuse him of that notion."

Beatty leaned back, mulling that over. "Has he said anything about me? Or Jellicoe?"

Will furrowed his brow, confused at the sudden switch of topic. "No, not to me at least. Is Admiral Jellicoe of any concern to you, sir?"

"Of course he is!" Beatty shot to his feet, dislodging his hat. He grabbed it from where it fell on his desk, beating it into his other hand. "He's blaming me for everything at Jutland. It was my fault we lost those two ships, it was my fault I didn't radio him about the Germans. We were a damn sight too busy to send a signal!"

Will bit his tongue, swallowing down a remark that Beatty had radiomen to send the signal who were not involved in the battle. "The men don't blame you, sir. They love you." And they did, they spoke highly of the admiral who had led them into battle. Jellicoe was viewed with intense suspicion, if not outright animosity. There was a hatred for the battleships and their late arrival, Will had heard men muttering that it wasn't the German's fault that their friends were dead, it was Jellicoe's.

"They do, but I'll always be the lesser man." Beatty muttered, looking out the porthole. "Jellicoe commands the whole fleet, he collects his battleships around him and grows his influence over the other admirals." He looked over his shoulder, smirking at Will. "At least we got the prince away from him, eh?"

Will nodded, dearly wishing he could be dismissed. "I promise I won't influence him in any way with regards to this. And I will see that my offices don't either."

A snort, "You could influence him towards my point of view, you know."

"I'm not a political man, sir. I wouldn't have the first idea on how to go about it."

"Speak well of me to him, send him over to the Lion so I can talk to him." He turned, leaning on his desk. "Get that wife of yours back up here and host another party, boy can't keep his eyes off her."

"Neither can I, sir."

"Nor can any man. She certainly livens up the place when she's here. With her and Ethel we could have parties every week, it would certainly make things easier."

Will dearly hoped that whenever Beatty saw Ana again, he wouldn't say that. Given her time around her convalescent sailors, and he had no doubt the soldiers she would start taking in, Ana looked poorly on officer's parties and clubs up in Rosyth. An occasional party was one thing, even officers needed to have a break, but after Bertie had told her all about how Beatty spent his days in leisure, she had remarked that he should take a nice, relaxing sojourn to the trenches and let the men there spend a few days in leisure.

He scrambled for something to say, "Ana is certainly lively sir, but she does have her obligations in Southampton to see to."

"And Ethel has hers in London." Beatty grumbled, "I wonder who she's taken into her bed this time."

Will watched as the admiral reached into a desk drawer and drew out a bottle of whiskey and tow glasses. "Sir, I don't-"

"Sit and drink, Captain." Beatty poured him a glass and shoved it over. "That's an order." He waited until Will had sipped his drink before pouring his own. "How do you get her to do it?"

"It, sir?"

"Stay faithful." Another swallow, "Ethel was the finest thing I had ever seen, I knew I had to have her. Should have realized if she had an affair with me before she was divorced then it was in her nature to stray."

Will was deliberately trying to drink as little as he could. "I haven't done anything to force Ana into staying loyal in our marriage."

"You married an impressionable girl that you can order around like your crew."

"Ana is a woman of strong convictions, sir. I cannot force her to do anything." Will took a larger sip, thinking that he hadn't even forced her to stop seeing Oscar. He had asked her to and she had agreed. "We don't hide things from each other, sir, our marriage has no secrets."

Beatty's face flushed, and not from the whiskey. "You want Ethel to be honest with me about how many men she fucks? You want me to tell her about all the girls that want me?"

Will drained his glass. "I cannot tell you what will work in your marriage, sir, only what works in mine."

Beatty frowned, "Christ, the both of you are just so perfect, aren't you?" He waved his hand, "Get out, go write her another letter." Will gratefully stood; Beatty's next words almost shouted. "And don't you go spreading this around, especially to your prince!"

I was far too happy as I signed the purchase agreement for the first hotel. The old Villiers Inn would be renovated, nurses and doctors would be approached for their services, and the Murdoch Soldier's and Sailor's Home would take shape. I would be able to help far more people than just the men in my hospital ward, I wanted a dozen homes spread across the country. I wanted these men to have the time to rest and recover without worrying about their families or the cost of treatment, they deserved all that and more. There would be work available for them once they were healed, there was no need to worry.

I was still smiling as walked past Mr. Collins to sit in the car, chiding Rigel to move over so he could join us in the back. "Well, that went well."

"It did." He glanced down to his folder, "We can walk through next week to review what needs to be renovated. I've already reached out to a firm to begin interviewing women to serve as nurses."

"You've given them the list of qualities I want, right?"

"Yes, they've been told to hire women who are calm, collected, made of stern stuff and compassionate. I'm quite sure in a few months we'll have the home ready for its first residents." He looked to the front, Rowan watching us through the mirror. "I think we're ready for the docks now."

Rowan nodded, the sound of the engine being turned over drowning out my groan. "Yes, off to sign yet more contracts. I'd rather take the train to Portsmouth to see the inn."

Collins rolled his eyes, "Oh come now, aren't you interested in the mystery ship that Mr. Welton won't shut up about?"

"Somewhat, although I doubt it's anything really interesting. More likely it's some tramp steamer that got blown off course." I folded my arms, affecting a pout. Welton had begun sending wires up to Scotland about a ship that had randomly shown up in the harbor, the pilot bringing it over to our docks. Welton had interrogated the man, only learning that the passengers had requested coming to the Dalian docks. Every attempt to speak to the passengers had been rebuffed by an armed guard, although he had watched hampers of food be delivered and a well dressed valet had come around to deliver an envelope bulging with pound notes, the payment for using our dock space.

Will had though it might be someone from New York, come to surprise me, but as we pulled up at the docks I wasn't so sure. It certainly was a yacht there, one that wouldn't have been out of place the Newport Regatta, but not a yacht I had ever seen before. She had fine lines for her large size, masts and an engine, and an incredibly shoddy paint job. I wrinkled my nose at it as I got out, "Good God, did they just throw paint on it?"

Rowan shrugged, "It looks good to me."

"Landlubber," Collins teased as we made for the offices. "A crew takes pride in a well painted ship, I don't know who could be proud of that."

"Well, we're going to find out soon." I smirked, waving down Welton. "You can send someone to bring them over, I'm headed up to my office."

Welton left the clerk he had been speaking too, his hair blowing in the breeze. "Thank God, ma'am. It's been distracting the men, no one knows anything and all they do is gossip."

"They're sailors, they gossip all the time." I shrugged, opening the door to the offices. "I promise to reveal the official story once I have it." Collins and Rowan followed me, taking up places on either side of my office door. I always teased them that they looked like the guards outside Buckingham, they would only shake their heads and smile.

I busied myself with organizing the office while I waited, opening the curtains, piling up the papers on my desk, even bringing over the decanter of whiskey and a pair of glasses. Rigel moved to occupy the rug between a couple of chairs, curling into a large black ball. I posed prettily behind my desk, smiling when I saw Welton at the window. His face was pale, and he glanced behind him. "Mrs. Murdoch, Grand Duke Mikahil Petrovich Romanov to see you."

I didn't even have a minute to register what he had said before a veritable bear of a man came around from behind him, his arms held wide as he shouted something in a language I didn't understand. He didn't even pause, coming around my desk to wrap his arms around me and lift me off the floor. The other men started at that, their voices raised as they started shouting. Rigel was even on his feet, growling.

I beat my hands against his shoulder, "Put me down!"

"Ma'am, are you alright?" Welton was immediately at my side, Collins and Rowan placing themselves between Mikhail and myself. Rigel was immediately at my side, his hackles raised.

Mikhail, I could see him well enough to note his blonde hair and brown eyes, held up his hands. His spoke beautiful English, with the proper accent. "Gentlemen, I was simply greeting my cousin!"

"Cousin?" I spat, moving around Welton to look closer at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You, my cousin Anastasia." He blinked, looking for all the world like an innocent little boy. Something about the way he said my name made the hair on my neck rise. I was used to being 'ah-na-stay-za' not 'ana-sta-zia'. Mikhail spread his hands, "I even greeted you, surely you know our mother tongue? Your grandmother should have taught you."

I took a breath, touching the bridge of my nose. "Gentlemen, please let me speak to him alone for a moment."

Mikhail grinned under their scrutiny, "I promise, no more hugs." He waited until they had left, looking towards the chair. "Perhaps it would be better if we sat?"

I nodded, resuming my own seat. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning." Rigel sat, but stayed by my side.

"The beginning of our family is three hundred years ago." He chuckled, but seeing my expression his smile dropped. "Do you truly not know who I am? Who our family is?"

I sighed, "I know I am Anastasia Victoria Dalian Murdoch, from New York. My parents are Gareth and Ruth Dalian, my husband is William Murdoch. That's all the family I am related to, by blood and marriage."

"And your grandmother was the illegitimate daughter of Alexander the first." Mikhail sat back in his chair. "You really didn't know?"

"I knew it as a fairy tale." I reached for the whiskey, pouring a couple glasses. "A story my mother told me at night to make me feel special, that we were secret princesses and someday a prince would come and take us home where we would live in palaces and dance all night. I was a child when I believed that."

He smirked, "She wasn't wrong, my grandfather was softhearted and kept in touch with his half-sister. We knew about you all, at least a little. Our little American family. Grand Duke Alexis even danced with your mother when she was young, during his visit to your country." Mikhail reached for his glass, "We have been very pleased to see the success your family has achieved and your marriage. I even sent you a gift, sapphires."

"Thank you."

"I wrote of our relationship in my letter, but I now know you can't read Russian."

"I'm afraid I can only manage English." I leaned back in my chair. "But why are you here? If you were content to keep an eye on us distantly you could have kept doing so." I finished my whiskey and poured myself another. This was a lot to take in. I didn't doubt his story, he knew far too much. The only ones who knew about the story Mother had told me were the people I told, and those were family and close friends. And how else would he know about the sapphires I had received? It hadn't been written about in papers, and the only other person who knew about the note was Will.

Strange as it was, our family legend was true.

"Why is anyone doing anything nowadays?" He shrugged, "The war." Mikhail leaned back in his chair, reaching into his jacket. "Would you mind if I smoked?"

"Yes."

He frowned, the lines on his face standing out more. He was older than me, perhaps fifteen years, maybe twenty, but he had the look of an elderly man as he sighed, tucking the packet of cigarettes away. "Very well, this all goes much easier with a smoke." He fiddled with his hands, eventually pulling out a box of matches and turning it over and over in his fingers. "Things back home, back in St. Petersburg," He grimaced, "Petrograd, God I hate that name, well, things are not good."

The matches flipped over and over again. "Riots in the streets, strikes, dissent, and that's not even taking in how badly the front is going." I could hear the matches rattling around in the box. "I went to the front myself, at the Tsar's request. He wanted me to do something for him."

"What?"

"He wanted me to take the Imperial yacht and disguise her, fill her with jewels and art, and come here to negotiate loans to Russia with my cargo as collateral." He must have noticed my reaction, pure and utter shock, for he tapped the side of his nose and grinned. "It's why we haven't allowed any of your men on, can't have them stumbling across some diamond necklace and pocketing it."

I furrowed my brow, "I don't employ thieves."

He smirked, "Of course not, but there's a difference between a crate of tinned fish and a diamond so valuable they would never have to work again."

I rubbed at my eyes, "So that ship is the Russian royal family's yacht, is filled with jewelry, and you're here to get a massive loan." I took another sip of whiskey. "That still doesn't explain why you're at my dock."

He lifted his glass to me. "Well, after dodging submarines and hiding out in Denmark until the Brits had beat the Germans back into port, we needed somewhere safe to go. I knew your company had offices here in Southampton, and I figured that the one to help me would be you." Mikhail chuckled, "You can always rely on family."

"What do you mean by help you?"

"With the loans, I don't know which banks would be best to approach. I could hire someone here to advise me but there's always the risk of them trying to swindle me. Your family is wealthy, and from what I know of you all, you're unlikely to try and steal."

"Do you intend to keep everything on the yacht?" I glanced towards the windows, taking in the ship bobbing happily at her moorings. Part of me wondered if she was riding so low in the water because she was filled with enough treasure to make a pirate die of envy.

Mikhail rocked his head from side to side. "For now, it's at least safe. I wrote up an inventory, and I trust everyone on board."

"Mikhail," I shook my head. "What's on that yacht belongs in a bank vault at the least, or the Tower of London!"

He stood, grinning widely as he picked up my hands and kissed them multiple times. "You are a genius, cousin. I'll call on the King, we're related so he will have to see me, and ask him if we can store everything in the Tower while I negotiate terms." He patted his jacket pocket, "I do have letters for him, so it can even be an official visit."

I took my hands back, placing them securely in my lap. "I hope he can help you."

"Will you, cousin? Help me?"

I pursed my lips, "Mikhail, I can give you the names of some banks but I'm afraid that's all I can do. I wouldn't know what to ask for or how much credit they can extend."

He waved my comment away, "Oh cousin, I will handle all of that. I just need introductions." He clapped his hands, looking for all the world like a happy little boy. "And speaking of introduction, I should bring you around to meet the family."

"Mikhail, I am not going to St. Petersburg."

"Oh no, my family! They came with me, my wife, my children." He looked out towards the yacht. "Well, except for Pyotr, my eldest. His Imperial Majesty is hosting him, he all but told me that he's a hostage to make sure I come home with the money."

"Then we had best begin speaking to banks. I'll have a list compiled and sent over."

"Bring it yourself when it's ready, I'll arrange for a dinner for you to meet your new family."