Not enough prosperity, according to Cedric. He was just remarking on how none of them could afford us when Rosamunde approached. She joined me in my assessment of our shipmates while Cedric and Adelaide chatted on my other side. “It sure would save us a lot of trouble if we could just find a respectable match on this trip,” Rosamunde remarked.

   “Doesn’t sound like anyone here has enough money. Besides, I assumed you wanted to go to all the parties.”

   “I do, but sometimes I get nervous thinking about all the pressure and the crowds.” She tilted her head speculatively. “Look at that one with the blond hair. He’s fine looking, don’t you think? And his waistcoat is silk. He might have some means.”

   The man in question had sausage curls above his ears and wore the rest tied back with a blue silk ribbon. His face was so pale, I couldn’t tell if he was sick or had just overly powdered it. “He looks like he’s never been outside before,” I said disapprovingly. “And he seems pretty upset about the wind messing up his hair.”

   “So? Maybe he’s a refined gentleman who stays inside reading. All the time. And I think his hair’s very elegant.” Rosamunde scanned the others. “Okay—what about him? The one with the pipe? He’s a little older, but he’s dressed well too. And he’s very handsome.”

   I squinted. “He’s got a wedding ring on. And he’s not that handsome.”

   Rosamunde’s face expressed disbelief at my opinion. “Well, that one over there looks pretty good—the one with the long brown coat. Not even you can deny it.”

   I opened my mouth, ready to protest, and then I did a double take. “Okay,” I admitted. “I can’t deny it.”

   Her brow furrowed. “But he needs to be cleaned up. Shaved, for one. And given a haircut. I mean, is he trying to grow it out? Or is he just lazy?”

   The young man’s glossy black hair did seem confused—too long to lie in the neat, military style favored by older Adorian men but not quite long enough to pull back into the tails that the fashion conscious, like Cedric, wore.

   I brushed my own windswept hair back to get a better look. “I don’t know. I kind of like the hair and stubble. It makes him . . . rugged.”

   She rolled her eyes. “Do you think that suit is rugged too? It’s actually decently made, but he didn’t bother to press it at all. And anyway, he looks comfortable but not rich. We can do better.”

   As her attention shifted to the other passengers, I kept mine on the black-haired man and took in all those little oddities. Definitely a man of contradictions . . . and a strong, muscled build no one near him could match. My eyes lingered longer than they should have, following the lines of his body, taking note of the broad shoulders and the way his trousers hugged his legs. You didn’t get a physique like that from gentlemen’s easy pastimes. But there was a vigilant, almost fierce quality to his stance that didn’t exactly come from common labor either. I found myself thinking of my scandalous remarks to Tamsin, about the allure of a brief, purely physical affair before settling down with a husband I may or may not love. It was easy to imagine this mysterious man in such a role. Not so easy to imagine ever being able to do it while in the tight grip of the Glittering Court.

   And that’s when I noticed he was staring at me.

   No—I wasn’t the one he was looking at. Adelaide was. His eyes, as dark as his hair, rested intently on her as she laughed at some joke of Cedric’s, and it was a wonder she couldn’t feel that piercing gaze. Or maybe she did. Moments later, she glanced in his direction. Upon being noticed, the man nodded politely and then turned away in a seemingly casual manner—but it wasn’t casual. His body crackled with tension, hyperaware of everything surrounding him.

   My illicit musings evaporated. Men looked at Adelaide all the time. How couldn’t they? She dazzled everyone. But I hadn’t read any attraction in his eyes when he watched her. I hadn’t read anything in his eyes. And that worried me.

   I didn’t see him as the week progressed, and he gradually slipped my mind. Monotony settled in, as did seasickness. Miss Bradley realized the futility of keeping us all below deck and allowed us freedom of movement, so long as we didn’t walk alone or breach any other rules of etiquette. A few girls frequently disregarded the command about traveling in groups. I was one of them.

   The ship’s motion only bothered Adelaide a little, and me not at all. She took a lot of walks with me in those early days, and we’d chat about what was to come or reminisce about Blue Spring. And Tamsin. We talked about Tamsin all the time. The Gray Gull was always in sight. One of my favorite things about being aboard our ship was standing right at the edge of the port or starboard railing. I loved watching the water rush past and feeling the breeze against me, but Adelaide’s carefree nature faltered at that.

   “Be careful,” she told me one day. It was probably the hundredth time she’d said that during our trip.

   We were having another deck walk on what was turning into a pleasant afternoon. The sun had broken through the morning haze, and I couldn’t stay away from the edge. Adelaide remained a few steps behind me, shaking her head with a smile when I beckoned her forward.

   I’d barely turned back to the sun-dappled water when I heard a voice address her: “Your first voyage?”

   I spun around, worried I’d have to ward some sailor away from her. Instead, I found myself staring at him—the man of contradictions. And he was looking at Adelaide in that same, disconcerting way. I moved swiftly to her side.

   “I’m sorry,” the man said politely. “We’re not supposed to talk without a formal introduction, right?”

   “Well, these aren’t very formal settings.” Adelaide smiled readily, sharing none of my concerns. “I’m Adelaide Bailey, and this is Mira Viana.”

   He shook our hands. “Grant Elliott. I’d take my hat off if I had one, but I learned long ago that it’s not even worth wearing one out in this wind.”