Ruth lounged happily in her parlor, a tea service set out and the room ready for guests, curtains drawn back and fresh flowers on display. She liked having guests come in and sit, the little bits of gossip they would pass on and she would whisper to them in return. It served as a good distraction from her worries. After the first day with no word from Anastasia, she had marched down to the Cunard offices and demanded they get her in contact with her daughter.

The clerk working the desk had been apologetic, but Cunard was not sending out messages from the Lusitania in order to obscure her position from German cruisers and, unfortunately, she was out of range of their wireless now. Perhaps Ruth could send through an American service and have a message waiting in Britain once the Lusitania docked?

She had almost beat the man with her parasol, but had held herself in check.

It at least gave her something to think over while she waited for any visitors. The coming summer weather seemed to had driven everyone up to Newport early though, and Ruth was wearily sighing over a cup of tea when Mr. Rigby entered, bowing. "Mrs. Dalian, Mr. Keller is here to see you."

"Of course, please show him in." Ruth smiled, reaching for a tea sandwich to nibble on. It wasn't unusual for Adam to come during her visiting hours, especially when Anastasia wasn't around to handle the business. She rose to greet him, gesturing to the other chair. "Adam, please, sit."

He did, but appeared anxious as he refused a cup of tea or any sweets. His feet danced, and he chewed his lip. "Mrs. Dalian, we've had some chatter over the wireless. I don't know exactly what's happened, but it sounds as if," Mr. Keller hesitated, closing his eyes. "It sounds as if the Lusitania was sunk off Ireland."

Ruth knew how she was supposed to react. She should have dropped her saucer, letting the delicate china shatter on the wood while she threw her hands up in the air and screamed. She should have begun to frantically ask after her daughter, if she was alive, if she was dead, begging God for the former. She should have fallen to her knees, weeping and taken to her bed after.

She did none of these.

She calmly set her tea down, folded her hands in her lap, and looked to Adam. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"Has anyone else learned of it?"

"I have no doubt it will make its way to the papers soon."

Ruth sighed, "I want any word about the ship sent to me immediately." She closed her eyes briefly, "And any mention of Anastasia."

"Of course, Mrs. Dalian."

"I need to make a call, and then I'll be down to the offices. She'll send word either here or there, but at least there I can get any news from our men as soon as it comes in." She stood, gesturing for her maid to follow. "I'm going to change, please send some men to loiter outside the newspaper offices and work our contacts to learn anything they can."

"I will." Adam paused, then reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure Anastasia is fine."

Ruth's lips pressed together, holding back a sob that she fought down. "She has to be, but we must prepare for any outcome."

Adam squeezed her shoulder, "I will stop off and light a candle for her, and all those with her. A prayer wouldn't hurt in this situation."

"No," Ruth nodded, "It would not. I will see you at the offices, I need to stop off and make a call."

"The Fields?"

"Make that two calls."

Ruth was fidgeting as she sat in the parlor, and Oscar watched as his mother reached over to take her hand. That seemed to calm her somewhat, but her eyes were still far too serious. Ruth glanced to Moira, "I don't mean to cause a fuss, but the offices have heard something over the wireless and it affects your family as well."

"As well?" Oscar sat up straighter. "I'm assuming that it affects your family?"

His hear was hammering in his chest as she nodded, for it could only mean something had happened to Anastasia. Ruth took a moment before speaking, taking a deep breath. "There's word being passed back from Britain; it sounds as if the Lusitania was sunk."

Moira gave a gasp, and Oscar gripped the arms of his chair so tightly he was afraid they would splinter. "You're certain?"

"As much as I can be based on what the wireless boys are saying."

"Was it, well, the Germans?" Moira bit her lip, "I told Alfred he should stay with his boys, it's far too dangerous to head over there right now."

"And I told Anastasia she should stay home!" Oscar stood, running a hand through his hair. The brown curls tugged at his fingernails, threatening to tear them. "I wanted her to stay safe."

Ruth nodded; her face suddenly pale. "We all did. I wanted you to hear it from a friend before seeing it in the papers. You may want to call Margaret and let her know, I'd hate for some reporter to spring the news about her husband on her."

"But we don't know!" Moira leapt to her feet, a look of desperate hope on her face. "We don't know if they're dead, and they're both smart, strong people. I'm sure they'll be fine!"

Ruth stood, pulling her arms around herself. "I told Anastasia this all was utter foolishness, so I can't say much for her intelligence at the moment. But I'm going down to the offices to listen to what I can. I've told the wireless boys to send me anything that even mentions the Lusitania, but I want to be there."

Moira nodded, "I'll have Richard reach out to anyone we know over there to begin looking. I'm sure we'll find them safe and sound."

Oscar wished he had his mother's confidence. "Ruth, please, let me know the moment you hear anything." He watched as the two women began to speak quietly, and excused himself. It took every bit of his will to keep his feet moving and his hand from shaking on the banister as he climbed the stairs to his room. He glanced to his valet, currently straightening up the bar in Oscar's sitting room. "I'm not to be disturbed, by anyone, until Mrs. Dalian has sent word."

His valet, stunned by the growl that Osar had let out, nodded and quickly left the room. Oscar followed, locking the door before returning to the bar. It was stocked with the finest liquors that New York could offer, but he ignored all of them for a bottle of rotgut whiskey that he had hidden behind the finer bottles for occasions where he wanted to get plain, stinking drunk. He poured himself a glass, drained it, and filled it again.

How could she have been so stupid? She could have stayed here, been safe, been around her friends and her family and she had abandoned that to go chasing after her husband. And her husband! He was another fool, abandoning the most wonderful woman New York could offer, just to go try and get himself blown up.

He groaned as he finished the second glass of whiskey, pouring a third. And Anastasia could have had him! He would never have abandoned her to go fight a war, he would have kept her safe and protected. All she would have had to worry about was her company, their family, it would have been such a wonderful life and she had given it up to throw herself into danger for the sake of a man who had valued his 'honor' more than her. She could have had a husband utterly devoted to her, one who worshipped at her feet.

He drained the dregs of his glass, and then pitched the damn thing at the wall. The shattering of the fine crystal would ordinarily have brought servants running to clean, but his orders were followed. He was left alone, watching as the shards of glass reflected the afternoon light. He wished it had been William, he wished he could have throttled the man or shot him or stabbed him. Anything to make him feel what Oscar felt right now, the pain and grief that was gripping his heart. If Anastasia hadn't found him, if she had been here, she would have been safe. There was nothing in his life that mattered to him as much as she did.

Oscar never valued anything higher than her, and he never would. She was the light in his life, and he should have at least proposed before he had left for Cambridge. He pinched his nose as memories washed over him, that last day he had seen her before leaving. He had visited with her father first, begging Gareth to allow him to propose, but Gareth had stood firm. Anastasia would not be engaged before she turned twenty, let alone married.

He had at least gotten him to allow him a private visit with Anastasia to break the news of his departure himself. He would never forget the soft light streaming through the windows, haloing her and making his heart lurch over the fact that he would be bereft of her for years.

Every word of that meeting held a special place in his heart. "Oh Oscar, do you have to go?" Anastasia, her blonde hair swept up and diamonds at her throat, had dramatically flopped back against the cushions of the loveseat.

He had gently taken her hand, bare of any gloves for once. "I've already put Father off for two years, he's threatening to cut me off if I don't."

"But everything is going to be so boring with you gone." She had given his hand a squeeze, "What's so good about Cambridge anyway? Couldn't you go somewhere closer?"

"Father insists." Oscar shrugged, "But it's only four years, it will go by so fast you won't even notice."

Anastasia pouted. "Still, I don't like it."

"Neither do I." He moved a little closer to her, stroking her hand. "You'll have to write me all the time to keep me from becoming some dreadfully boring snob." He placed a kiss against her hand, smiling when he heard her breath hitch. "And I'll think of you every moment."

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

He leaned closer, bringing his hand up to brush her cheek. "I may, but you're the only one I mean it about, Anastasia." Her eyes fluttered shut at that, her lips plump and pink and begging for a kiss.

They were soft when he claimed them, and moved against his own lips with an amateurism that was charming of all things. Anastasia was a sweet girl, funny and kind and he wasn't about to despoil her before he left. But he wasn't going through leave her empty handed either, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closet to him. Her hands brushed against his chest, his nose was filled with the jasmine perfume she was wearing and he flicked his tongue against her lips.

She shuddered, slightly, but when he did it again, she opened them. The feeling of her tongue against his, hesitant but gaining confidence as he led her along in the kiss, was enough to drive him wild. Especially when one of her hands found its way to the hair at the back of his neck, stroking and playing with it. He had to pull away at that, for if she kept it up he would be far too tempted to take more than he should. She deserved better than him rutting at her in the front parlor, Anastasia deserved a loving and moving wedding night followed by a honeymoon filled with pleasure that she had never dreamed of.

Anastasia, her hair slightly messed from his touch and her lips swollen, looked at him breathlessly. "Will you really miss me, Oscar?"

He had to get his breath back under control before he could answer, although looking in her dark, honest brown eyes nearly made him pull her in for another kiss. "I'll do nothing but miss you."

And he had. Four years at Cambridge had been pure and utter torture, despite the entertaining lectures and schoolboy pranks they had pulled. Any British girl who had flirted with him solely for his surname had seemed rude and coarse when he remembered the girl he had waiting for him. He had relished her letters, before Zachary had attacked her and she had ceased writing. But he had the society pieces that Liz sent him, and he kept all of them together.

His feet took him to his bedroom, sliding out the small cardboard box that he had brought with him when he had returned from Cambridge. It was filled with her letters, society clippings, pictures of her from the papers. Hell, he'd even tucked her wedding invitation in the box. Her eyes looked up at him from a dozen photographs, and he could hear her laugh when he closed his eyes.

And she was gone.

This beautiful, funny, caring woman, a woman he had given his heart to, was gone. Dead. Drowned or blown up, without even a body for him to mourn over. He thrust the box away from him, unwilling to have those dead eyes watching him for even a moment longer. The tears came then, fat ugly tears that traced down his freshly shaved cheeks. She was gone, she was dead, the Germans had killed her.

He'd leave the city once it was confirmed, he'd go over to England, volunteer, and kill as many of them as he could before dying himself. At least then he could see her again. A sob tore from his throat, and he lurched as he felt something besides a sob coming up. He scrambled for the silver champagne bucket behind the bar, retching as he emptied his stomach. His breakfast swirled in the bucket, the smell of it making him wretch again.

He wanted water to rinse his mouth, but he reached for the whiskey again. He swirled it in his mouth, spat it out, and shoved himself away from the bucket.

He curled himself around the whiskey bottle, still crying as he mourned the woman he had loved so dearly, who had never loved him back.

Sophie wished she had her son with her, but Zachary had insisted that Adam should stay home while they visited his parents. He'd also insisted that she wear a green dress, pull her hair up, and wear the emerald necklace he had gotten her once Adam had been born.

She felt like a doll being rolled into the house, expected to sit and look pretty and to say all the right things. To be honest, it was rather easy. She had it roughly down to a science, she knew the exact tone to use that would have Samantha carrying on for fifteen minutes on her own. Henry and Zachary barely looked to the two of them, laughing loudly over cigars and whiskey.

Sophie was fully prepared for it to be another long, boring visit, but a sudden commotion drew all of their attention as a rather disheveled clerk burst in and hurried to the men's table. Usually these events were private, family affairs, and the staff knew to not let outsiders in.

Henry's brow was furrowed as the clerk whispered something to him, and he pursed his lips. "You're sure about this?"

"Mostly." The clerk spoke quietly, "I've reached out to Mr. Reading at the Journal and he's hearing the same thing. I can come back with confirmation, if you like."

"Do it." Henry stood, moving over to the bar. "I want fresh copies of anything the papers send out."

"Of course, sir." The clerk scurried out, and Samantha was clearly about to jump out of her seat with excitement over what had just happened.

Sophie had to admit she was curious as well, and Henry clearly knew that he had all of them anticipating his every move. He waited, pulling out a fine bottle of scotch and pouring himself a full glass. He sipped, savoring it for a moment. "The Lusitania has been sunk."

"What?" Samantha gasped, "How? Where?"

Henry swirled his glass expertly, not spilling a drop of the amber liquid that came perilously close to the wind. "Off the coast of Ireland, but no one seems to know exactly what it was. A mine, a torpedo, something sunk the ship."

Sophie's stomach twisted, "A U-boat, it had to have been."

"Perhaps your brother did it." Zachary grinned, "Should allow a few of our ships to slip through the blockade, all the outrage over this will have ships shifted to the other side of Britain."

Sophie shook her head, "I hope he didn't. Has there been any word about survivors?"

Henry snorted, "If you're referring to Mrs. Murdoch, no, there hasn't been any word."

"Anastasia was onboard?" Samantha's fingers fluttered. "Oh, I simply must make some calls."

"And I hope she died slow!" Zachary crowed, joining his father behind the bar. Sophie bit her lip as he pulled out a bottle of champagne, popping the cork and pouring a glass. "Come on now, our biggest competitor is dead! We'll be set once her bitch of a mother follows her."

Henry pursed his lips, "You can't act like this outside the house."

"But inside, we can celebrate her demise." Zachary filled a number of glasses, holding one out to Sophie. "Come along dear, join in!"

She stared at the glass with disgust, then turned her gaze on her husband. "You don't know that she's dead."

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Two shipwrecks? And the second without some officer to save her, unless she took up with a sailor for the crossing as she seems to enjoy doing. She has no chance."

"And would it be so bad?" Henry chuckled, "She's a vain, greedy creature who didn't even have the good sense to marry well. It's not much of a loss."

"That didn't stop you from trying to force yourself on her!" Sophie spat, and the next thing she knew she was on the floor, her cheek on fire and her ears ringing.

Through the tears stinging her eyes she could see Henry glowering down at her, his hand reddening slightly from the slap he had given her. "The girl was nothing more than a spoiled cunt." He turned to his son, "You need to control who she's talking to, clearly she can't tell a friend from someone seeking to turn her against her family."

"I'll keep her well in hand, Father." Zachary reached down, his fingers tight around Sophie's arm. "Come along dear, we need to have a talk." Sophie let him pull her along, not trusting her feet to keep her steady. Zachary backed her against a wall. "Where ever did you hear that?"

Sophie stared at him, seeing the cruelty of the father reflected so clearly in the son. "Are you going to hit me too?"

His fingers dug into her arm for a moment, before relaxing. "I won't raise a hand to you, but this prancing around with your friends dripping poison in your ear, it's done. Anastasia is dead, and I won't have you calling on her mother." He brought his hand up, brushing it over the mark his father had left. "I'll monitor your callers from now on, you need to spend more time at home with Adam anyway."

Sophie's heart twisted, mourning her access to Morris.

But she refused to mourn Anastasia, not until things were certain.

"What's got the captain smiling like that?"

"You didn't hear? He managed to get two weeks of leave out of the commander and his wife is coming over from America. Two weeks with his wife, why wouldn't he be smiling?" The gossip of the junior officers didn't seem to bother Will, who was attending to some last details before leaving for Southampton.

The training cruise had gone well, better than Will had hoped. Their aim needed work, but he expected that. They had at least managed to hit the targets each day and not blow up the guns or the ship, so he counted that as a positive. The engines had been run in, all three propellers slicing them quickly and cleanly through the waves. Of course, their destroyer escort moved faster, but they only fell behind them shortly.

One thing Will wished was that they could have practiced with their torpedoes, but he doubted the destroyers would have been happy to have dummies fired at them.

Everyone else was quite happy though, for the Unicorn had come in with her boilers needing to be cleaned and her machinery looked over after her first long run in sometime, which meant two weeks of leave. The crew would alternate, half staying onboard while the other half took their leave, but the upper officers had been granted a full two weeks. He couldn't keep the grin from his face, anticipating Ana's delight when he met her at the train station. He'd have the house filled with whatever flours he could find, have Kate bring whatever feast she could find with the rationing and then he would carry his wife up to bed.

The wardroom door opened, revealing a rather pale Tyne. "The Germans got the Lusitania! Right off the coast of Ireland, might have been a mine but the telegram isn't sure."

"The Lusitania?" The coldness in Captain Murdoch's voice drained any remaining warmth from the wardroom. "They sank the Lusiantia?"

"Says so right here," Tyne handed over the telegram, which began shaking as soon as Will took it. "Got a copy from one of the boys. Captain, sir? It's a tragedy, no doubt sir, but it might bring the Americans in. At least that's what the higher ups are hoping, there were quite a few onboard."

"My wife was onboard." Will couldn't help but stare at the slip of yellow paper, it seemed to be his entire world. He needed to do something, needed to know more. "Are they picking up survivors?"

"Cunard says that everyone was saved, so no need to worry there."

He barked out a bitter laugh, then turned and slammed his fist against one of the bulkheads. "White Star said the same thing after Titanic. There will be hundreds of dead, if not thousands!" He could feel his heart hammering, "And my wife among them!" Wild eyed, he said the only thing he could think of. "I need to get to Ireland," Will made for the door, the chief officer barring the way. "I have to find her!"

Nettles grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back from the door, "Your leave stipulated you being close in case of action, sir! You go to Ireland and they'll court-martial you!"

"I've already been court martialed once, and I would gladly spend the rest of the war in prison if I could save her!"

Ives glanced to the door, moving in front of it. "You need to stay sir; we can't lose another captain."

"My wife could be dead!" He tried to force his way past but Nettles shoved him back, the junior officers rushing to lock the door as Ives guarded it. "I order you to let me go!"

"Sir, we can't do that." Nettles pushed him into a chair, "Think on it sir, if she's alive she'll send word here. And if," He jumped as Will slammed his fist on the table, sending cups jumping. "If the other, then word will come here."

"Perhaps a drink might help, sir?" One of the junior officers offered a bottle of whiskey, no doubt it was supposed to be enjoyed later between the juniors but it was much more needed at the moment. Nettles didn't even measure the glass he poured for Will, simply shoving it at him.

Will glared at the liquid, "My wife could be dying, and you expect me to drink."

"We'll all drink." Nettles gestured for the offices to sit around the table, "There's no point to drinking alone."

The whiskey was quickly distributed, and the time could be measured by the emptying bottle. At one point a junior officer passed a message outside, and Sharpe brought in even more bottles of drink, no doubt what was left of their rum rations and the private stock of the other officers. Will's personal steward stayed, his cane tapping as he considered the chart spread out before them. It covered the whole southern coast of England, their previous cruise marked out in a faded line. "Sir, I'm wondering, say we shove off now, how soon could we make to where they were?"

Will had forgone the glass for the entire bottle at this point, his eyes glazed as he glared at the chart and anxiously twisted Ana's wedding ring around his finger. "Don't know, depends on where they were hit."

"Off Kinsale," Tyne stood, shuffling the chart around to bring a similar chart of the coast of Ireland into view. "It was in the distress message. Perhaps you could trace us out a course and we all could figure it out, sir?"

"And what, you'd all follow me into mutiny if it's within reason?" Will raised a brow, watching as the men shifted in their chairs. "I doubt we'd be able to do anything but search, anyway."

"Still, sir. It would be something to get your mind off it." Tyne pushed the instruments kept on the chart table toward him. Rulers, pencils, scales and anything else that would help plot how to safely get the ship to where she was needed. The whiskey dulled his mind a bit, but Will still managed to sketch out a route.

He consulted one of the scales, basing it on the top speed they could achieve. "Ten fucking hours!" He yelled, the pencil in his hand breaking as he gripped it far too tightly. "She'll be dead by then!"

"And it's not as if we had the crew to go." Nettles muttered, "Half of them are already on their way to spend their pay."

"We could demand a destroyer." Will grumbled, thinking of the two ships that were fully coaled and waiting to head out with the tide. "Commandeer it, I mean."

Ives paled, "Captain, they'd shoot you if you took the ship. What good would you be to her dead?"

"What good will I be if she's dead because I wasn't there?"

Tyne caught him by the arm when he moved for the door again, Will's steps unsteady. "I'm sure there's ships already there, sir. You know that area is well patrolled."

"Not fucking well enough!" Will shook the younger man off, but Nettles was already in front of the door with his arms crossed. "Goddamn you all, that's my wife!"

Nettles was at his shoulder again, guiding him back to a chair. "Sir, you need to calm yourself. Have another drink."

"I don't want another drink." Will grumbled as he sat back down, even though another whiskey had been put in front of him. "I want my wife; I want to go help."

Nettles looked over at the Tyne. "Perhaps we could ask our wireless boys to try and reach Kinsale and see what's going on? I'm sure there's been some sort of rescue sent."

The younger man nodded. "They haven't left yet, and it's an extreme circumstance." He glanced over. "Ives, go down to them. Tell them to start hammering away, don't let them get brushed off."

Ives had already started when Will spoke. "Tell them to try and get in contact with any Dalian ships. There may be one nearby, and they'll do anything for her." The door had shut before he sighed. "Unlike me."

"Sir, you're doing everything you can." Nettles glanced around the table. "More than most men would be able to."

The junior officers piped up in a veritable chorus. "He's right, sir."

"No one else would think about risking a court martial to get to their wife."

"Or think about running a destroyer out of a naval harbor, surely getting all of us court-martialed."

Will gave a bitter laugh at that. "You all would pitch me overboard before you followed me into that."

"Actually," Nettles looked over, "I'd be by your side. And I know a good number of the men would too, you've made this ship far better than it was. You don't know the loyalty you've got building below deck, sir."

"Not enough loyalty to get to Ireland." Will groused. Nettles came up with an idea though, after more whiskey was scrounged up and brought for all of them in indulge in, and he quickly came up with a game. Having seen Will's great enthusiasm for his calculations, it seemed a good idea for all of them to drink as much as they could, and see how long it took until they could no longer figure out even the distance to the end of the harbor.

The sun was slowly sliding down the sky, and Will felt his stomach knotting itself every time the clock chimed the hour. Soon their meal was spread across the charts, the rough routes and scribbled numbers obscured by whatever the cook had sent up. Will didn't much care, simply shoving it down his throat before reaching for another bottle.

Ana couldn't be dead, she just couldn't. He couldn't lose another wife, to have another woman who was foolish enough to love him stolen away. Losing Ada had been hard enough, but to lose Ana, God, he'd jump off the ship in the middle of the night and let the sea finally take him if she was gone. His full uniform, even the great coat. It would help weigh him down, taking him to where he belonged. All the souls from Titanic and the U-boat would weigh him down, but it would be those attached to the rings on his fingers that would weigh heaviest. Those who had loved him without a care, who he had failed time and again.

Ana would have been far better off if she had never met him. She would have lived a long, happy life, surrounded by children and untouched by tragedy. Now she was rotting below the waves, and he didn't even have the comfort of knowing if she was in one piece. All he could think was about he wouldn't be able to feel her touch, hear her laugh, simply listen to her soft breathing, and he couldn't face a world without that.

Will would leave letters for everyone, for Lights and his father, Peg and Ruth and Oscar and James. He would beg their forgiveness, though he did not deserve it, for he had been the one to take Ana from them. He would tell them what he had done and that he had punished himself as much as any man could. Hell would be waiting for him, torture and pain for all eternity with no one by his side. When Will closed his eyes, he could see a glowing Ada welcoming Ana to her reward, both of them disappointed to have fallen in love with him, a man who hadn't been by one's side for her last breath and one that he had led to her death.

Will felt a sob in his chest, although he looked up when a knock sounded at the door. The stupor they were all in broke, Tyne answering the door before Will could stand.

"Thank you," He murmured to the wireless officer. A yellow telegram was in his hand, and he slowly held it out. "For Captain Murdoch."

He would have thought the paper would have shaken in his hand as it had before, but it was steady as he took it, his fingers prizing it open with a delicacy that belied his fear. It took him a minute to absorb the words, to understand what they said, but it was only a second before his face was in his hands, tears streaming as he sobbed. There was nothing dignified about this, his nose ran, his eyes burned and he knew his voice would be lost if he kept at it. Nettles had just come around to put his arm around his captain, no doubt to offer his condolences, when he saw the telegram, open on the table.

Will,

I am safe, with Rigel, in Ireland. I will get to England, somehow, and find my way to London. I will wire when I board the boat train, meet me at the station?

All my love,
Your Ana

Instead, he smiled, "There sir, see? Just like you always told us, she's one hell of a lady. Now, let's get you to Southampton tomorrow. I'll come with until she sends a wire, can't have you rushing off to Liverpool." He turned to the table, "Mrs. Murdoch made it off!"

That drew a loud cheer from the table, all of the officers coming to pound Will on the back. Their cheers didn't diminish, and soon Will's cries had turn to laughter. Ana was alive! She was alive and she was coming to him! He didn't care if she showed up naked in the train station, he would pick her up and spin her around while he cried into her shoulder. He wasn't alone, he had someone by him and the world was full of light again.

He would do everything to deserve having her back, even if it took his whole life.

"Lads, three final drinks." Nettles held up his glass, rather unsteadily. "First, the King."

"The King." They echoed, and the glasses were filled again. By this point there were far more empty bottles than full ones, and some of the younger men were looking a little green around the gills.

"Second, those lost on the Lusitania."

"The lost."

Most of the officers were looking askance as the dregs a bottle of rum were poured into the glasses. "And finally, to Mrs. Murdoch. Safe and making her way home."

"To Mrs. Murdoch."

Will took the bottle of whiskey that Sharpe had put before him, drinking deeply. He wiped his mouth off after the last of the burning liquid had vanished down his throat. "To my wife, who I don't deserve."