Outside, it had stopped snowing and the sky had cleared. Randolph had moved only a couple of doors down to a larger town house on Bleecker when he married, and now he and Margaret walked the well-trodden path to Thompson in companionable silence. It was bitterly cold. The sidewalks crunched under their feet; the air was painfully sharp to breathe; but as they reached the entrance to Washington Square and the street lights dimmed, the stars brightened in the clear sky. The park had a magical quality, carpeted with snow, icicles dangling from the trees like Christmas decorations, the noises of the city muffled. Pausing to lift her face to the sky, Margaret was transported back to Dalkeith, as she always was during the festive season when there was snow, but this time when she opened her eyes, the longing that engulfed her refused to dissipate.

“What is it?” Randolph asked. “Are you worried that Rita is going to come between us?” he joked, though his smile faded when he saw she was close to tears. “Just because I’m a father now doesn’t change our friendship, Margaret, anymore than my becoming a husband did.”

“Don’t be daft! I couldn’t be happier for you and Geraldine. My goodness, I remember that first time you saw her, on the day of the Queen’s Cup. You looked as if you’d been struck by a thunderbolt.”

“An arrow straight to the heart.” He grinned sheepishly. “One look and I simply knew, though if you’d told me that could happen, I’d have laughed in your face.”

“I saw it with my own eyes, remember?” Margaret squeezed his arm. “You’re my best friend, Randolph. I want you to be happy, and you very obviously are.”

“So what’s bothering you all of a sudden? And don’t try and deny it—you can’t fool me.”

“Seeing you with your new family makes me think of mine, I guess.” She started walking towards the lights of the town houses on Washington Square, forcing him to follow. “It’s five years in January since I landed at Castle Garden, but it’s always more difficult to be so far away from home at this time of year. More so, since Mama started writing to me again. I feel I’m missing out on so much. My niece Margaret, my first little namesake was four in the summer, and now my sister, little Margaret’s mama, is expecting her sixth child this month—can you believe that!—and I’ve not set eyes on any of them save in the photographs she sends. In fact I have a brood of nieces and nephews I’ve never met and—oh, ignore me, Randolph, it’s like I said, I’m a little homesick, that’s all. Now here we are, back at my little town house. I won’t invite you in—Geraldine will be expecting you.”