With sunset approaching, the party moved to the lawns along the waterfront for the last sport of the day—a boat race on the North River. Many of the older guests had forgone the earlier games and were already there, enjoying the prospect of the river under the shade of a large tent. We congratulated Liesje, who looked radiant with her groom-to-be, and stunning in a blush-pink sack gown. Then we joined the Holdridges, the Winters, and Judge Latimer, accepting spiced wine that tasted deliciously of cinnamon and apple.

All the top men in the British army and navy were present. Nearby, General Clinton took wine from a white-gloved slave and handed it to his mistress. His proclamation granting freedom to slaves affected only those owned by American patriots—not slaves owned by Loyalists like Liesje’s family and most everyone there. Giving preferential freedom seemed unjust to me—how could one person be valued over another? But I couldn’t argue that the general’s proclamation had bettered the lives of many.

I studied Clinton more closely—the most powerful man in North America. Thick dark eyebrows gave him a glowering appearance. Epaulets spilled from his shoulders in brilliant waterfalls. His coat buttons shone like gold coins in clear water. If only I could only spy on him.

“Look!” Lucy said. “There they are!”

Upriver, I saw four sloops, each flying flags of a different color. I squinted, seeing a dozen men on each boat. They stood at the rails, awaiting the starting signal.

My stomach tightened. How I ached to be out there with them.

David Henrickson, a friend of the groom’s, stepped forward to offer a toast. “Casper Devoor,” he declared, the river gleaming behind him, “you have a lovely bride in Miss Visser. She is much too good for you; I know not how you have come to deserve her. Truly—’tis a mystery.” Laughs rumbled from the guests. Henrickson lifted his glass. “Mr. and Mrs. Devoor, allow me to be the first to wish you a lifetime of happiness together—or even longer. May your love last, as Shakespeare wrote, ‘for ever and a day.’ ”

Hearty hear-hears sounded from the guests, and cups tilted back. Then Henrickson traded his wine for a ship’s pistol, which he fired to begin the boat race. Across the steely water, anchors weighed, sails hoisted, and the sloops began to cruise to the cheers from the riverbank.

“Who’s winning—can you tell?” Lucy bounced on her toes, her blond curls bobbing. “Since there is no white flag to pick, I am for the yellow—the yellow will win it!”

“I’m for the red,” Charlotte said. “Obviously.”

I smiled, seeing her apple-red gown out of the corner of my eye.

“The black flag will take it,” I said, sure of it. The sloop had gotten a slow start, but now it was practically skipping across the river.