I was wondering if there would ever be good news when Sir Arthur turned into the Row. He was looking pleased with life. As he came toward us, I thought how much better we had come to love each other during this year and a half without physical love. He made it clear that he wanted to be in my bed, but never insisted. He had become regular in his habits, visiting us every Thursday when he was in town and after church on Sundays. He was Catholic, like Frankie and me, but too ambitious to own it.

When he had secured the horse and removed his outer clothes, I saw that he was carrying a small package wrapped in green velvet. It was too early for a New Year’s present and I wiped any hint of expectation from my face as I pictured Weston turning at the street corner and bowing. His warning had unnerved me; it would be exceedingly pleasurable, and a huge relief, to prove him wrong. Arthur was come to propose, five months before the end of mourning.

He followed me into the parlor and kissed me.

“Wine?” I asked. A glass was always ready, primed with Forman’s brew.

“Are you sad?” he asked, as I handed him the drink. I was surprised that he noticed.

“The betrothal of my neighbor’s daughter has been broken. Have you use for a maid?” I said, feigning indifference to the parcel in his hand.

“Is she in trouble?” he asked, drinking the wine and putting the glass back on the board. “I can’t hire a whore.” I hated to hear the word on his lips. “There’s nothing to be done once they’ve slipped,” he finished, sitting down.

The ignorance and carelessness of his response made me too furious to speak. His own daughters would be on the streets if I could not work and he halted his stipend, and that was little enough.

“What news?” I said, fussing with the wine to hide the redness on my neck that came unbidden when I was angry.

“The Prince has promoted me to Master of Arms,” he said at once, unable to keep the news to himself a moment longer. Despite my ire, I was pleased. It put him in a better position to marry. “To celebrate,” he said, handing me the parcel.

I pulled at the ribbon slowly, to conceal my eagerness. Pray God this was a wedding ring. The velvet wrapping came undone easily and revealed a wooden box slightly too large for my liking. I opened it. Coiled inside was a gold chain, like the one Carr had given Frankie, only shorter and with fewer flowers and stones. My disappointment was so great I could no more have kept it at bay than I could force the Thames back to its source. I could not meet Arthur’s eye.