From the author of the internationally bestselling novel, WHEN THE WORLD FELL SILENT, comes a breathtaking tale of secrets, betrayal, and the enduring power of friendship.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Ship of Dreams by Donna Jones Alward, which releases on March 31st 2026.
Aboard the Titanic, where opulence knows no bounds and the horizon seems limitless, two women fight for the futures they dream of, fraught with secrets that could change everything.
Hannah Martin is clinging to the hope that six days on this grand ship will heal the wounds in her marriage to Charles. Beneath her poised exterior lies a desperation to mend what was shattered and conceal a secret that could upend their lives forever.
Louisa Phillips, spirited and uncompromising, is escaping her family’s insistence on a passionless marriage. But this daring step could also sever the deepest bond in her life.
As the ‘unsinkable’ ship strikes the iceberg, amidst the chaos and icy waters, lives are changed forever. In the face of impending doom, what dreams will Hannah and Lou decide are worth saving, and at what cost?
This evocative historical fiction will stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page. Perfect for fans of Kate Quinn, this is a poignant tale of love, choice, and survival against the odds.
Excerpted from Ship of Dreams, by Donna Jones Alward. HarperCollins, 2026. Reprinted with permission.
“Oh, Lou, isn’t it simply magnificent?”
I spun away from the glorious sight of the Titanic and beamed at my best friend, Louisa Phillips, who, like me, was standing in awe of the veritable palace resting at Southampton’s dock. Her blue eyes were alight with an excitement that mirrored my own. I reached out and clasped her gloved hand, giving it a squeeze. “Oh, this is absolutely tremendous,” I bubbled. “I can’t wait to get on board and see our cabins!”
Lou was three inches taller than me and far more self-possessed than I was at this moment. Her blond hair was precisely curled, tucked, and pinned beneath a cream confection of a hat that was wider than her shoulders and more than adequately adorned with silk ribbons and diaphanous netting. And while her face held a certain enthusiasm, her bearing was one of elegance and, well, presence. She was the kind of woman who walked into a room and owned it. Heads turned her way and never failed to admire.
I, on the other hand, often felt like a rambunctious little puppy, or perhaps a kitten, sometimes adorable, more prone to get a pat on the head than admiring respect. It had always been thus, since the day we first met at St. Hilda’s School in Exeter. When I couldn’t find my pencil, she’d plucked it out of my hair and handed it to me. We’d been closer in height back then, but I’d kept more of my baby fat while Lou’s figure was already willowy with bumps in all the right places. Lou hadn’t cared a bit. She’d announced we were to be best friends, and we were – the jolliest of friends for nearly fifteen years now. It didn’t seem to matter how different our lives were. Through thick and thin, we always said.
“It is exactly as you say, Han. Magnificent.” Lou squeezed my hand back and her smile widened as her eyes twinkled. “Oh, we are going to have such fun on this crossing!”
“Not too much fun,” came a grumbling voice beside me, and I sighed on the inside. Charles could be such a wet blanket.
Lou was undeterred, though. “Oh come, Charles, even you have to admit the Titanic is built for pleasure.” She let go of my hand and slid her arm through mine, and we all looked up at the massive ship. I was stuck between the two of them, which felt rather appropriate, considering. My husband was always the steady, rather dull one, which often appealed to my quieter side. But then there was Lou to my right, elegant, confident, and always ready for a party. If not for Lou, I’d probably be a recluse. Whenever I needed a dose of fun, I looked to Lou. She could lighten the darkest of moods with her charm and easy laugh. And I’d needed that over the last year or so, while I made a return to the land of the living.
Charles smiled a little, looking slightly pained. “You’re right of course, Miss Phillips.” He never called her by her Christian name, which made her somewhat cross, and he knew it. “There is no end to the delights promised on the Titanic. It should be a pleasant crossing.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lou roll hers, and I stifled a smile. Pleasant was such an innocuous word, like nice or amenable, which required no commitment one way or another. Still, I looped my left arm through Charles’s as we made our way through the chaotic throng to the gangway for first class. “It’s going to be marvellous,” I decreed, raising my voice in the din, calling forth the small flicker of hope I held that perhaps getting away from our day-to-day humdrum could somehow improve my marriage. If I could just shake Charles out of his rut, maybe we could share the kind of relationship we’d once had while courting. He’d smiled more then. He’d brought me flowers and we’d gone for walks and danced at soirées. That had all disappeared over the last two years. Neither of us was the same after—
I shook away the painful memory, determined not to let it ruin what was bound to be a momentous day. All around us, voices cluttered the clear, salty air. I was simply transfixed by the sheer size of the ship, all white and black and gold, regal and yet ostentatious, settled firmly at the dock with an attitude of blatant superiority. The noise was horrendous; it felt as if all of Southampton and indeed most of Hampshire had congregated to watch the spectacle. Workers scurried along the docks like industrious ants, preparing for the departure; reporters called out rapid-fire names as they sought to pluck a new, juicy tidbit for their stories. Nets of trunks and baggage swung over the deck to be loaded into the hold, including our belongings. Except what we would unpack in our cabins, of course. A shout went up as men guided the cargo to the deck. Horns from motor cars punctuated the air with their brash calls.
A frisson of excitement fizzed in my veins once more. One week from now I’d be in New York City, something I’d never even dared to dream of. And while on board the Titanic, I’d be dining on the finest food, listening to music under sparkling lights, dressing in beautiful, eye-wateringly expensive frocks. Charles, for all his reticence, was not stingy. He’d taken us to London for four glorious days of shopping before herding us onto the Waterloo Express this morning. I had new outfits to wear and the filmiest of lingerie, not to mention a brand-new scent, Quelques Fleurs, that I’d fallen in love with. I was most excited about the Paul Poiret ensemble, though. It was by far the most modern thing I owned, and I hoped it would knock Charles’s eyeballs out.
Charles urged us forward. Lou dropped my arm as we navigated our way through the crowd, and she kept a tight hold on the plain brown valise she had insisted on carrying, saying she didn’t trust her personal items to be delivered correctly. That surprised me, because I was the one who tended to worry about those sorts of details, while Lou generally waved a hand and cared less. Still, every woman was entitled to her own personal privacy. If she wanted to carry her own bag, so be it.
Being Mrs. Charles Martin has its advantages, I thought, as we threaded our way through the throng to where the first-class passengers would board. My husband wasn’t titled, but he was influential, at least in Devon society. He’d made his fortune in mining, and at only thirty-three, had a bright future ahead. And Lou … well, Lou’s family held a baronetcy in Exminster. She was a “miss” and not “Lady” anything, but the Phillips’s manor house and the four-hundred-year history behind it gave her a pedigree I lacked as a solicitor’s daughter. After several years of marriage, I was still not used to how crowds parted to let us pass and felt somewhat awkward about it.
The procedure to board for first class seemed much easier than steerage, too, with no pesky checks for lice, which made me shudder just thinking about it. We simply walked across the gangplank and entered the ship, greeted by a smiling steward who said he would show us to our cabin.
“This way, if you please. May I take your bag, miss?” Lou lifted an eyebrow at him. “I’m perfectly capable, thank you.”
The perplexed steward looked at Charles, who merely shrugged. “This way, then,” the steward repeated, and we set off.
Here we were, stepping inside the grandest ship in the world, the scent of fresh paint still hanging in the air and the white halls pristine and unblemished, without marks in the paint or scuffs on the floors. We were the first passengers to tread these decks, the first who would eat off the elegant Spode china and drink from the cut crystal. I looked over at Charles and squeezed his arm, attempting a smile. Our marriage had become so stale and lifeless. I desperately wanted to change that. “Darling, this is so exciting,” I said for about the tenth time in an hour. “I’m so glad we’ve come.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Since 2006, New York Times bestseller Donna Jones Alward has enchanted readers with stories of happy endings and homecomings that have won several awards and been translated into over a dozen languages. She’s worked as an administrative assistant, teaching assistant, in retail and as a stay-at-home-mom, but always knew her degree in English Literature would pay off, as she is now happy to be a full-time writer. Her new historical fiction tales blend her love of history with characters who step beyond their biggest fears to claim the lives they desire.
Donna currently lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband and two cats. You can often find her near the water, either kayaking on the lake or walking the sandy beaches to refill her creative well.
Facebook: @DonnaAlwardAuthor
Instagram: @donnaalward
