Soon, Charlotte, Liesje, and Rebecca arrived to offer their support. Liesje gave me beautiful yellow tulips. Rebecca, a book of collected poems by Alexander Pope. Charlotte handed me the drowsy puppy in her arms.

“Iseult,” she said. “She’s usually very alert and protective, but I guess now she’s tired,” she added with a little laugh.

My heart filled with love. “She’s perfect.”

With Iseult darting into the unlit hearth and tracking sooty paw prints everywhere, the mood grew more cheerful. Lucy and Uncle Henry joined us and we shared a lunch of ham, cheese, and jams, and it was almost as though Malcolm hadn’t been murdered yesterday.

Almost.

As the party returned to the parlor, Duncan caught my hand and kept me in the dining room. “I’m loath to leave your side, but the French fleet is threatening again.”

Even in my fog, my instincts prickled. “The French? They’re coming to take New York?”

“It appears they mean to try. But don’t let it add to your worries. We’ve had ample warning; we shall be ready for them. I’ll return as soon as I can.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss on my forehead. “I swear to you, Emmeline. I’ll see the murderous scoundrel caught and destroyed. You will never have to worry about him again.”

I slipped away to my room after Duncan left. Alone at last, I crawled into my bed and shed fresh tears for Malcolm—and for Maggie.

I’d thought being Miss Coates was the answer. But four years later, Sewel was still after me. I’d been a fool to think he’d ever forget me. All I’d done by escaping West End was fuel his anger. Along the way, I’d deceived good people and completely lost myself. One of the most honorable men I’d ever known was dead. And a mother had lost her beloved son.

I was finished with lies and deceptions. Finished with all of it—Duncan, spying, Miss Coates.

I wanted truth in my life again.

I wanted the freedom to be completely me.

But to have it, I’d need to confront Sewel first.

No running this time. No hiding. I’d face him head-on.

And I’d be ready.

July 1780

A week after Malcolm’s death, Uncle Henry insisted we get on with our lives.

“The whiff of scandal has passed us by,” he said, pacing the parlor, his arms linked behind his back. “We have had ample time to grieve and restore ourselves. Now we must return to society before we are forgotten and set aside. I have purchased tickets for Ranelagh tonight. The fresh air and music will do us all good. Lieutenant Duncan plans to be there also.”

Beside me on the settee, Lucy smiled. “You must wear your blue brocade, Emmie.”

“Yes, with something new,” said Aunt Nora. She paused, waiting for our new day maid, Azubah, to set the tea tray down. Maggie had vanished. Two days after Malcolm’s death, Aunt Nora entered the cottage and found it perfectly tidied. Vacant. I would never see her again. In the span of a week, two people who’d been part of my life for years had disappeared forever. “Let’s go out this morning and find a pretty hat for you, or a new pair of gloves.”