“No, Mr. Latimer. What I mean is that harm is the objective of war, so those who make war must accept the possibility of meeting dark ends. ’Tis simple—rain clouds bring rain.”

“Sometimes not, says this seasoned sailor, but your point is certainly made.” Asa raised his glass. “I salute you, Lieutenant. Your unflinching mind-set is admirable.”

Duncan raised his glass in turn. “As is your enviable understanding of clouds.”

Words flowed from my mouth before I had a chance to think. “I have delivered medicines to the prisons for years. I agree with Miss Holdridge. I find it tragic how the men are mistreated.”

“Perhaps ‘unfortunate’ is a better word,” Duncan said with a mild smile. “Regardless, ’tis a common soldier’s fate. My concern is for our men, and our king and country.”

By “our men” he meant gentlemen. He was well above the riffraff—which was the low-bred class into which I’d been born.

His eyes flicked past me. “What is truly tragic is that I’m being summoned to cards when I would prefer to dance with you.” I followed his gaze to a group of officers waiting impatiently for him by the door. “But now that the subject has been broached, I spoke to your uncle recently and he agrees it’s best you stop making your medicine deliveries. To have you aiding the enemy gives off a bad gloss—I’m sure you can see how it reflects unfavorably on me. Moreover, you are too refined and delicate to march all over town on an errand better handed to a servant. I’m sure your charity and generosity will make itself known in ways more befitting your worth.”

Throughout his speech I felt a crumbling inside me, like a fire that finally surrendered and collapsed into a pile of embers and ash.

“Duncan!” one of the officers by the door called. “Before we grow old!”

“I must go,” Duncan said. “But I shall come for you as soon as I can.”

And with that, he took his leave.

Sometime later, I found myself in the grand parlor, with no memory of having left the dinner table and walked there. I watched the room swirl with pairs gliding through the allemande, trying to understand the hot feeling inside me.

Dismissed? Reprimanded? Diminished?

Or some blend of all three?

The parlor floor felt unsteady beneath me. Instead of perfume and candle wax, I smelled rum. Tobacco. Salt air. I pressed my eyes shut and felt blood trickling from the scar on my eyebrow. A bright coppery taste bloomed over my tongue.

You will yield to me.

You will obey.

Duncan wouldn’t be like that; he’d be kinder. And it was a wife’s duty to obey. He for God and she for him, Aunt Nora liked to say. That was the proper order of things. How I felt about it didn’t matter.

“Emmie, what is it?” Lucy whispered.

I opened my eyes, disoriented. “Sorry?”