“Cake? Have I interrupted a celebration?”

“Today is Miss Coates’s birthday,” Aunt Nora said. “Do join us, Major.”

“If you insist, madam. But first I must make a delivery.” He rounded the table and drew something from his coat pocket. “A very happy birthday to you, Miss Coates.” He bowed and offered me a rolled paper tied with twine. “I always keep my ear to the ground.”

I smiled and took it. “Of course you do.” I untied the twine, expecting to find a few pretty words about friendship, which I felt we had after years of turning in the same social circles. Amongst his many talents, André was a poet—some of his poems were even printed in the newspapers. But instead, I discovered a drawing.

“I did it from memory,” he said, “or it would be more exact.”

It was rendered sparely, like he’d tried to capture me in as few lines as possible. My face was made by a few slashes framed by curls. The hint of a pocket watch chain disappeared into a squiggle of lace. He had even gotten the scar at my eyebrow, but it was the eyes that drew me in. They were fierce eyes. Bold. The eyes of a girl who hunted through sunken wrecks. Who, when she was pushed, pushed back.

“Expertly done, Major André,” Charlotte said, leaning closer to see. “That is her exactly. Don’t you think, Miss Coates?”

A shiver rolled through me. “I do. Thank you, Major. The likeness is truly breathtaking.”

We left the table and moved to the parlor, where Lucy played the judge’s grand Viennese piano and Charlotte sang. While I spent most of my mornings reading novels or poetry, my friends practiced their talents, and it showed. They accompanied each other perfectly. Usually I loved listening to them perform, but I couldn’t sit still tonight.

I wandered to the window. Outside, it was dusk and raining heavily. A pair of Hessian grenadiers ran down the street, their footsteps sending up tiny explosions of water.

Swimming had proved to be the mistake I’d expected. My skin felt too sensitive; my stays and gown too tight. I felt pressure inside me, an ache to open. Turn outward like an anemone.

“Have you had a good birthday?”

I found a smile as Uncle Henry joined me. “I have, Uncle. Very much.”

“I am happy to hear it,” he replied.