“Certainly—well, almost certainly,” he corrected himself, “you could. I—have been thinking that I must go back to England, soon. To deal with things. You could travel with me, under my protection. Ben’s not a duke yet, but he’s still a peer. That means a divorce would have to be granted by the House of Lords—and they’d do it in a flash, once they heard about General Bleeker. Mere infidelity is one thing; treason’s quite another kettle of fish.”

Her nostrils whitened, but she kept her temper.

“That is exactly what I mean, William. Do you think I haven’t thought of divorce? How brainless do you think I am?”

There wasn’t any sort of good answer to that question, and he wisely didn’t try.

“What do you mean by ‘exactly,’ then?” he asked instead.

“I mean treason,” she said, exasperated. “What else could I mean? As you say, if I were to petition the House of Lords for a divorce on the basis that Ben has abandoned me, not for a trollop but for General Washington, they’d grant it in a heartbeat, if I could prove it—and I do think you’d come and testify to it, if need be, William.” She gave him half of a rueful smile before returning to her argument.

“And the newspapers and broadsheets and every salon in London would be buzzing for weeks—no, months!—about it. What would that do to your uncle? To his wife? His brother? To Ben’s brothers and his sister? How could I possibly do that to them?” She made a passionate gesture, flinging out her arms in frustration.

“The regiment? Even if the King didn’t disband it outright, he’d never trust Father Pardloe again. Neither would the army.”

“I see,” he said stiffly, after a moment’s silence. He took a breath, and then took her hand, carefully. She didn’t jerk it away or slap him, though she didn’t respond to his touch, either.

“I only want to say that I didn’t suggest divorce from any motive of self-interest,” he said quietly. “I thought you might suppose …”

She’d been fixedly looking out at the water, but turned at that and met his eyes, her look straight and serious, eyes gray as the overcast sky.

“I might have,” she said softly. She was close enough that her skirts, stirring in the breeze, wrapped round his naked calves, and kissing his knuckles lightly she let go his hand.

“We should—” she began, but then stopped dead, staring. “What’s that?”

He turned to look and saw a naval cutter, ensign flying in the wind, tearing down the river toward them. As it passed, he caught a flash of army uniforms aboard.

“News,” he said. “From Charles Town. Let’s go!”

THEY SAW THE cutter at the quay as they hurried back, then a small group of army and naval officers laboriously climbing the slippery stone stairway to Bay Street.

William inflated his lungs and bellowed, “Has Charles Town fallen?”