Tonight, Charlotte had insisted we all dress for the occasion and had chosen a “celestial theme” for us. Our gowns ranged in color from Lucy’s soft periwinkle to my rich indigo. We’d spared nothing, wearing our best boned stays and widest hoops. Instead of having Maggie style my hair, I’d spent hours that morning with a coiffeur who had curled and piled it, adding scarlet ribbons and raven’s feathers so black they looked blue in the candlelight. I seldom applied paint, but tonight I wore blanc and rouge, as well as vermilion lip stain. “We are à la mode tonight,” Charlotte had said earlier. “We would rival the French court.”

I’d expected to hate all the extra trappings, but I didn’t.

I felt beautiful. Dangerous.

“Dearest Miss Winters, you know I adore you,” Liesje said to Charlotte from across the table, “but you have never read a book in all your life.”

“Nonsense, Mrs. Devoor. I read French fashion plates daily.”

I laughed. “You look at them. They’re pictures.”

“There are a few words.”

Asa, who sat beside Liesje, appeared to be listening to his uncle, but I had a feeling he was really listening to us, judging by the smile he was fighting.

I cast my gaze farther down the table. At the far end, Major André recited one of his poems, predictably holding everyone in thrall.

Everywhere I looked, there were powdered wigs, rich silks, satins, and brocades. Wrists and collars exploded with lace. Today, the men’s fashions were as lavish as the women’s. Every eye glimmered with candlelight and the parlor roared with happy conversation, but above it, I could hear the noises in the street outside. While we were here, wrapped in luxury, common folk paraded to the sound of flutes and the tattoo of kettledrums.

Though the queen’s birthday was actually in the summer, like the king’s, it was celebrated during a different season to give city inhabitants more occasion to rejoice in their royalism. The middling class, in particular, loved festooning themselves in high style for the day. All morning, I’d heard church bells ringing and cannons firing. Townsend had told me that very different celebrations happened elsewhere. In patriot cities, effigies of the king and queen were sometimes mutilated and burned in public. Unlike here, the toasts being given weren’t for God to save the Queen.

I took a sip of my wine, eager for the dancing to begin. With such a large assembly, it would be easy to slip away in the commotion to search this elegant mansion for useful information. Patience, I reminded myself. My chance would come.

“Emmeline,” Duncan said quietly, his hand settling on the back of my chair. “I have some news to share. Not good news, I fear. I must go south with my regiment in two days. I shall be away a few weeks, at least. Likely longer. Perhaps for months.”

Though I already knew this, I didn’t have to pretend to be disappointed. He was charming, beautiful, gallant. Informative. And over the past months, my life had molded to his. Like a young plant, I’d encircled him in delicate roots. It would hurt when he left. He’d leave a void.