“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?”

Most of the officers ignored him, but a young ensign trailing at the end of the group turned and shouted, “Yes!” with a beaming countenance. The young man was hastily grabbed by the arm and dragged along, but the group was plainly in too much hurry to waste time on official rebuke.

“Oh, dear God.” Amaranthus was panting, pressing the heel of her hand into her corset. William had quite forgotten her, in the excitement, but at once took the shoes and stockings from her other hand and urged her to sit down and let him help re-shoe her.

She did, and laughed, in small breathless spurts.

“Really. William. What do you think me? A … mare?”

“No, no. Certainly not. A filly, maybe.” He grinned at her, and pulled her last stocking up to her knee. He had to leave her shoe buttons undone, having no buttonhook and no clue how to use one if he had, but he tied her garters briskly and she could at least walk.

“They’ll have gone to Prévost’s headquarters,” he told her, as they reached Oglethorpe Street. “I’ll see you to Papa’s house, then I’ll go find out the details.”

“Come back as soon as you can,” she said. She was windblown and panting, with red splotches on her cheeks from trotting over the cobblestones. “Please, William.”

He nodded and, handing her in at the gate, strode off in the direction of General Prévost’s headquarters.

By the time he returned, it was well after teatime, but Moira and Amaranthus and Lord John’s new housekeeper, a tall, irritable woman aptly named Miss Crabb, had kept some cake for him and were all waiting impatiently to hear the news.