Soon after Imlay left, Robespierre fell victim to his own blade and timber, and at last the Terror was done. France breathed a heavy sigh of relief; we all did. I wanted to be in Paris with Imlay, not alone in a place I didn’t like, with the sole care of our child. Le Havre only made sense if he was with us. I felt abandoned one day, talked myself out of it the next, and was back to it that night, as soon as the sky pitched to dark. I wrote long, loving letters telling him that all I wanted was for the three of us to be together, and to be revived and cherished by his honest love, but they soon devolved to recriminations.

He responded with silence, all my insecurities reinvigorated. And then one day, without warning, he came home. He greeted us warmly, held his “Fannikin” close, apologized for being away, and made love to me as he always had. But by next morning he was tepid to both of us. He seemed agitated, and bridled when I asked him if he’d come to take us back to Paris with him.

“I have to go to London,” he said, setting his teacup on his saucer with a spilling clang.

“London? We’ll go there with you, then.”

“There’s been some bad business, Mary. The knavery I suspected. I’ve lost money.”

“I know it’s demanding, a new baby, but she’s the best baby, and will travel well—”

“I’ll take care of you and Fanny while I’m gone. Just tell me what you need.”

I sat across from him, stirred a splash of milk into my tea, something to occupy my own shaky hands. “It wounds me when you conceal yourself,” I said. “I ought to be the one person you can say anything to, without disguise.”

“I need to be in London when the English lift the embargo, make contacts with the right merchants. It’s an opportunity I cannot miss.”

“We don’t need all the money you think we do.”

“I can’t have a wife and child in tow.”

“I’m not your wife,” I said, but the words were bitter on my tongue.

“No,” he said, icy, draining his cup. “But I intend to honor my commitments.”

I reached for his hand across the table. He took mine, but his fingers were limp. “I don’t want you to be with us out of a sense of duty. If you don’t love me as passionately as I do you, you shouldn’t be with me at all.”

He loosed his hand from mine. “Don’t talk like that. You sound desperate.”

“Should I be?”

He looked out the window toward the churning sea. “I have serious business to conduct. Why do you take that as an insult to our love?”