Jane Walthrope paced the deck of the Princess Anne like a tiger pacing a cage. She liked to travel, and she didn't mind ships, but after three days of sharing the company of her middle-aged sister-in-law in the narrow quarters of the French-bound liner, she was beginning to feel intellectually and socially cramped. It had been a charitable impulse of hers to take her spinsterly, impoverished sister-in-law to Paris for a month. She was quickly realizing how much that charity truly cost – not the money, she had enough of that – but, oh, what a chore to have to keep biting your tongue when you think of something clever and cruel to say, for Elise Walthrope would be so distressed to hear it, and what a pain to have to avoid flirting with all the charming, gentlemanly strangers you might meet, for Elise Walthrope would be so horrified by your impropriety.

Jane scowled to herself and leaned her back against the railing and examined the other passengers and crew on the deck. Elise was a good woman, but she was a very boring one, and Jane found nothing more painful than boredom. But at last she had left her sister-in-law in her cabin for the afternoon, and was free of that oppressive, moralistic presence. Free, indeed, through a piece of immoral trickery. Jane had deliberately torn a seam in one of her morning dresses, and Elise, being so good and servile and grateful, had insisted on mending it, as Jane knew she would. It would take her all afternoon.

Her temper relaxing quickly, for Jane was sanguine in temperament and never remained angry long, she began to run her clever eyes over the crew members and passengers. None of them, however, pleased her overly much. Was she then destined to spend the rest of the journey to Brest in solitude, or a companionship so dowdy it made solitude seem preferable?

But no. A new man appeared on the deck, coming down the steps from the stern, with a faint, attractive limp in his step, and his hair, more grey than black, tossed by the wind into a charming mess on top of his head.

Jane watched him thoughtfully. She had not seen him before, in the dining hall or any other room on board. He walked towards her, and she boldly kept her gaze on him, but he walked past seemingly without seeing her at all. It irked her, as she dressed to be seen, and with admiration. She kept watching him, as he walked down the deck, and then turned and walked back, the wind pulling his hair first to one side of his head, and then to the other, wondering how she would conquer his attention – for Jane's relationships with men were always battles, and she always the victor.

But as he came closer again, a strange feeling of recognition came to her – was it, no – it couldn't be!?

"Neil?"

He walked on by her again, head bowed, frowning, but she definitely recognized him now, though it had been thirteen years since she had last laid eyes on him. How many times had she seen that worried expression!

"Neil! Mr Armiger!" she called, pushing away from the railing and following him. At the third time, he turned in surprise. "Really, Neil!" she said severely. "Are you deaf?"

He stared at her, blank confusion on his face, and she laughed at his surprise.

"Or are just old, and forgotten me? I know I haven't changed that much, surely."

Slowly, the confusion on his face morphed into realization. The frown on his face disappeared, and became a wide, incredulous smile. "...Jane? Jane Gardiner!? Why – you have changed! When I last saw you..."

She gasped in mock horror. "No! No if I have changed do not mention it! I will not have you mention it!"

He laughed. "When I last saw you, we were both children! Of course you've changed! How could you not?"

But he was the one who had changed, to her eyes. He had been such an awkward, ungainly boy, with too much hair, and nose, and limb. Somehow, he had emerged from the ugly chrysalis of adolescence as a handsome and elegant male creature, well worthy of her attentions.

She held out a hand for him to kiss, but instead, he took it in both of his and squeezed tightly.

"Jane Gardiner."

She laughed merrily. "It's Jane Walthrope now. Didn't you hear?"

"No! Then you are married."

"I was." She didn't bother to hide her smile. "My husband died several years ago, leaving me a widow at the ripe old age of – oh, but I shouldn't say. And, you, Neil?" She had taken his arm proprietorially, and was steering him down the deck. Good. He had muscles, despite his thinness.

"We're in similar circumstances. My wife died the winter before this last."

"I am sorry." And she was. So more hurt had come to Neil. He of all people did not deserve it. "Perhaps we can console each other."

"Console?" His muscles tensed beneath her grip. "If you mean..."

"I'm not proposing marriage to you," she said reassuringly. "Not yet, anyway."

The muscles remained tense. Then, suddenly, he relaxed.

"I'm afraid you're too late, by a matter of days. I married again just three days ago."

It was her turn to tense. Married! Newly married! She couldn't get involved in that. She wouldn't. Not with Neil. She drew away from him, floated down onto a bench, and patted the space beside her invitingly.

"Then I must commiserate you first, and congratulate you second. Tell me all about it. Is she here? Shall I meet her in the dining room later?"

He lowered himself less gracefully down next to her. "She is here, yes. But she's plagued by sea sickness and has not come out since we boarded."

Then that was the reason for his worried frown. He always was one to worry about a woman, even if she didn't deserve it, or need it. She felt a pang of surprisingly deep affection and pity for him.

"That poor child," she murmured. Then, her usual spirit returned. "But I am assuming. You may have married someone as old and grey as yourself."

"I did not." He patted his hair with mock vanity. "And I'll thank you not to mention my deformity, Mrs Walthrope."

"Then I shall not, and you shall tell me about her. Is she pretty? Is she as pretty as I am?" she said flippantly.

"Prettier."

"I don't believe it. I've been told I have very good looks. I should. I spend a lot of time and money on them. Did you know there is an unguent called Crème des Dieux? You can only buy it in Paris. It's half the reason for my journey. They say it can quite – ah, but I've gone off the topic, and that is a very intimate discussion. Tell me more. How old is she, and what is her name?"

"She is twenty, and her name is Verity."

"And do you love her very much?"

His hands, resting on the lats of the bench, twitched slightly. "I'm quite – fond of her."

"Fond of her. Well, naturally." She looked inquisitively at him, suspicion growing within her. "Do you not love her?"

He didn't answer her. He just looked out at the blue, endless ocean.

"If you don't love her, then why on earth did you marry her, Neil? Don't tell me you wanted to – not you, not for an insipid fondness. You – but perhaps I don't know you so well after all."

That was her little trick. Men hated being asked to explain themselves, but they hated even more when a woman didn't even care to hear them explained. She waited in silence as it did its work, eventually, slowly, he began to speak, and she listened.

She heard with hidden surprise of his winning at cards against an unpleasant stranger; with hidden amusement of his jest when the man could not pay the debt; with hidden scorn of how the girl had arrived at his house to pay the debt, but not the price; and with unhidden anger of how the rumors that followed, and the social pressure of the small minded village, had driven him eventually to marry the girl and restore her fortune.

She knew he was leaving out some of the story, of course. She suspected him of greater lust that he admitted, and was correct in it. She did not, and could not, suspect the incident with Harlan. He had left that out of his telling, to protect Verity's pride. And so, when he finished, she was almost furious with how she thought he had been treated, and angry even with him for being so weak as to bow so easily to mere social pressure. But, being Jane, her anger was lukewarm and quiet, and easily covered with a smile, or in this case, a frown.

"Entrapment," she pronounced. "And you didn't even get the fun of taking the bait in the trap, only the pain of the cage door closing."

"No. No it's not like that," Neil protested. "It was not entrapment – there is something else, but it does not do to speak of it. And I swear she was more reluctant than I to marry."

"Then why did you not give her a sum of money, and send her away to a distant relative? That would be more kindness than needed."

"I considered it — but I know she would not accept. She is too proud."

"And silly! Silly to marry a man out of pride, if she does not love you. I gather she does not."

"I think not. She is well-disposed to me, now, but she does not love me."

"Rash foolishness itself!" She considered things. She suspected Neil had been manipulated, and couldn't see it. She doubted that Verity could be as innocent as he protested. But she knew it would only anger him to cast aspersions on his new wife, unloved as she might be, and decided to pretend to take his point of view, for the moment, at least. "What will you do if you fall in love again, or if she does? You are both young still."

"I shall not love again. Giulia – my first wife – she was everything. And I cannot think Verity susceptible to the disease. She is very cold, and very proud, and does not know what to do with kindness, when she meets it. Women like that do not fall into love so easily."

"No," she said drily. "There's nothing easy about it, for a woman like that, which is why it's so catastrophic when it does happen, and it does. It might."

A faint flash of horror passed over his features. "I'm sure – I'm sure it is not likely. I don't believe she is even capable of such a feeling."

"Invite her to dinner with me, and you, and my sister-in-law tonight, if she is well enough," Jane suggested. "I'll tell you if I think it's likely."

"How could you know! You hardly know anything about her."

"Well I am a woman, Neil." Jane gave him a smile, her best, most intriguing smile. She was curious about his new wife, and determined to meet her before the ship docked and they parted ways. And curious about Neil too, who had changed so much, and yet, stayed the same. "Women know these things."

Introducing a new character. I LOVE character introductions. They are so fun to write. This chapter was first written from Verity's point of view (boring, she was stuck inside a cabin puking all the time) and then from Lord Armiger's , which just didn't quite fit, even though I liked the dialogue, so I rewrote it all from Jane's POV, and I think it works better this way.