I was still chewing on the end of my pen, lost in thought, when I heard a terrible noise, followed by a scream that sounded like Olive. I shoved my notebook into the desk drawer and rushed into the hallway to see what was happening.

Olive ran to wrap her arms around me and bury her face against me. “What’s that sound?” she sobbed. A rumbling noise came from the street, but I couldn’t identify it.

Rollo came charging out of the schoolroom, shouting excitedly, “It’s a riot!”

What I’d heard was the rumble of many voices from a distance. With my arm around Olive, I followed Rollo into the schoolroom. If I stood to the far side of the window, I could just see a dark mass with torches rushing toward us up Fifth Avenue.

Lord Henry entered then, still dressed but in his shirtsleeves, without coat, waistcoat, or necktie. “Uncle Henry, it’s a riot!” Rollo said.

“A riot? Are you sure?” Lord Henry looked out the window, then turned to me. “Verity, take the children to the back of the house.”

“But, Uncle Henry!” Rollo protested. “I want to see what’s happening, and I’d be more scared not knowing. We’re on an upper floor, and the house is warded, isn’t it?”

Lord Henry placed his hand on the window frame. “Yes, it is warded,” he murmured. Then he nodded. “Stay here.” He left the room, returning a few minutes later with a shotgun. “Just in case,” he said. “Chastain, Matthews, and the rest of the male staff are guarding the doors downstairs. The maids are safe up in their rooms.” For a moment, he looked wryly amused. “And Flora is somehow still asleep. Mrs. Talbot is in with her.”

The riot was close enough now that we could hear occasional words in the shouting instead of just a rumble. They cried out for blood to atone for the blood the British had shed that day. I jumped at the sound of breaking glass. Olive clung more tightly to me, and Henry put one arm around Rollo and the other around my shoulders, pulling us close to him.

I remembered then that I was dressed only in my nightgown and felt a different kind of warmth than when Alec had touched me the night before. This time, it wasn’t my overly excited imagination, but rather Henry’s body heat passing through the thin layer of fabric between his hand and my skin.

When the rioters reached the mansion next door, the sounds became bloodcurdling. Olive whimpered, and Henry grasped my shoulder so firmly that I feared he’d leave bruises. “Verity, perhaps you should take the children to the back,” he whispered, but none of us moved.