Lady Rebecca Pierce trailed behind the seaman carrying her portmanteau on his shoulder and the dour-faced maid who was her companion for this undesired trip sailing across the Irish Sea to England to marry a man she loathed.

The seaman led them across the deck, following other passengers, a woman with children, a gentleman, a tradesman. The seaman took them through the companionway and down the steps to the cabins below.

Rebecca inhaled the scent of brine that permeated the ship’s wood. Must she be stuck breathing that sour mockery of fresh sea air for the entire journey? Would Nolan, the maid her half-brother, the Earl of Keneagle, hired to accompany her, at least allow her to spend some time on deck? She loved standing at the bow of a ship, feeling the sea breeze on her face and watching the vessel cut through the inky water.

She slowed her step, simply to annoy the woman. Nolan’s duty was to make certain Rebecca fulfilled the nuptials her brother had arranged for her—forced on her—but that did not mean Nolan could control her every move.

Rebecca glanced behind her. But there was no escaping the ship, not when it was anchored in the middle of the harbour. Even if she could swim the distance to shore, her brother had also arranged it that she would have nothing unless she married Lord Stonecroft.

‘Lady Rebecca!’ a strident voice called. Nolan, of course. ‘Hurry. Your cabin is ready.’

Her lips thinned and she simply stopped.

‘Lady Rebecca!’ Nolan had walked back to get her.

Reluctantly—and slowly—Rebecca followed her to the cabin.

* * *

In her cabin, Rebecca sat at the small table and chairs that were securely fastened to the floor. Through a small porthole she watched the ship leave the harbour. There was a good wind. No doubt they would reach England in the morning.

In the open sea, the water grew choppy and the ship heaved and swayed.

‘Oh,’ Nolan moaned, clasping her stomach. She dropped into the seat across from Rebecca. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

Not in her cabin, thought Rebecca. ‘Come.’ She rose and helped Nolan to her feet. ‘I’ll take you to your cabin. You can rest there.’

Nolan had a small cabin near Rebecca’s, nothing more than a berth and, luckily, a bucket. She helped Nolan into bed.

‘Oh,’ Nolan moaned again. The older woman had turned pale. She rolled over and faced the wall.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Rebecca asked. It was hard not to feel sympathy for the woman. ‘Eating something will help seasickness.’

Nolan thrashed in the bed. ‘No food. No food. Leave me alone.’

Rebecca placed the bucket next to the berth. ‘There is a bucket, if you need it. I will check on you later.’

‘No,’ wailed Nolan. ‘Leave me alone.’

With pleasure, thought Rebecca.

But she would check on the maid none the less. She’d never experienced seasickness herself, but in her trips across the Irish Sea during her years in school, she’d witnessed many others who had endured such misery.

She walked into the passageway and could not help feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was free to do as she wished—within the confines of the ship, at least. It was worth something.

She quickly found her sea legs and easily walked to the companionway. Free of Nolan, this was the perfect time to go on deck and enjoy what she could of the voyage.

The hatch opened and a young woman descended the stairs. She wore a hooded cape that was damp and smelled of the sea.

Rebecca waited. There was only room for one on the stairs.

Head down, the woman passed Rebecca and Rebecca started up the stairs.

‘Were you planning to go on deck, miss?’ the woman asked. ‘The midshipman sent me down.’

Rebecca turned.

The woman pulled the hood of the cloak off her head. ‘Rough seas—’ Her eyes widened.

Rebecca gasped.

This woman had her same pale hazel eyes, her nose and lips, her nondescript brown hair. She was of a similar height and figure and age. Her cloak was even a similar shade of grey.

Rebecca was looking in a mirror. Except her mirror image wore her hair in a simple style and her dress was a drab brown.

When Rebecca managed to breathe again, she shook her head. ‘You look like me!’

Her eyes must be deceiving her. She blinked twice, but her mirror image remained.

The other woman laughed nervously. ‘I—I do not know what to say.’

‘Neither do I.’ What did one say to one’s exact likeness?

‘It is most unsettling.’ The young woman straightened. ‘But forgive my manners. Allow me to present myself. I am Miss Tilson. A governess. Nobody you would know.’

Rebecca extended her hand. ‘Lady Rebecca Pierce. It is a pleasure to meet you.’ She almost laughed. ‘To meet me.’

Miss

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