May 15, 1780

My dear Emmeline,

We have taken Charles Town in a resounding victory. The rebels surrendered the city. We offered no parole and imprisoned some three thousand men—nearly the entirety of their southern army! What this means, my dearest, is that the South shall now be ours for the taking. We are close to ending this war once and for all.

I have news from New York that the thaw has come and travel is improving. Good timing, as I am returning, and very eager to be there, and would be displeased with any delay in seeing you. Unless I write to say otherwise, you may expect me in the first days of June.

Bright days lie ahead for us, and I cannot wait for each and every one.

Your humble and obedient

James

June 1780

“Finally, Emmie! Lieutenant Duncan has come home at last!” Lucy said as she fell back on my bed, her golden curls spilling over the bedcover. “Your Lord Orville, returning triumphant! ’Tis as perfect a romance as in Evelina.”

I turned to my reflection in the mirror on the toilette table and pressed my hands to my uneasy stomach. Duncan’s return didn’t feel “perfect.” We had exchanged letters, but it had been six months since he’d left. I felt dread and anticipation. Heartburn.

Lucy propped herself up on an elbow. “Do you think he will propose tonight, as Father expects?”

“I don’t know,” I replied breathlessly. It wasn’t just Uncle Henry who thought so—everyone did. Charlotte had been there all morning. She had chosen my pale-rose sack gown, bringing roses that matched it to pin into my hair, which she’d done herself. She’d even convinced me to trade my pocket watch for one of the lavish necklaces that usually sat collecting dust in my jewelry trunk. Soon the Holdridges would go to the Winterses’ for dinner, leaving me home alone to reunite with Duncan in private—and possibly to accept his offer of marriage. “He will have traveled hard to get here. Maybe he’ll be too tired?”

“Too tired? Good Lord, Emmie. I don’t think so!” Lucy jumped off the bed and came to stand behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Oh, I’m so delighted! He is so good. I couldn’t dream of a better match for you.”

Her face, beside mine in mirror, was so open, so genuinely cheerful and free of guile. “I wish it was you, Lucy. You deserve this happiness.” I rested my head against hers, wishing my heart was half as pure as hers.

Once everyone left, the house felt especially empty after all the excitement of the morning. Even Maggie and Malcolm had retreated to the cottage.

I sat in the parlor with a book of Sappho’s poems that Asa had left behind. Though the volume was in French, he’d penned the translations beneath each line. As the setting sun dove over my shoulder through the windowpanes, I stared at the lean, spare loops of his hand, reading the same words over and over.