Contrecoeur's English had only the hint of an accent. "Mrs. Bonner." He focused his unsettling gaze on Elizabeth.

"Sir?"

"I understand that you grew up in Devon?"

"I did, sir, at Oakmere. Lady Crofton is my aunt. Have your travels taken you to Devon, Madame Vigée?"

"Devon?" Madame Vigée's head reared back and she looked at Elizabeth down the long slope of her nose. "There is nothing worth seeing south of London. It is all cows and peasants."

"Ain't France south of London?" Nathaniel asked, and Elizabeth hid her smile in her wine glass.

Madame Vigée pursed her mouth at him, but addressed Elizabeth. "Despite all its beauties, you left Devon for the Colonies, madame. How very ... enterprising of you." Her gaze flickered toward Nathaniel and away again. Elizabeth had spent too many hours in drawing rooms to mistake her: You could not find a husband at home, and so you cast your net in other waters.

"I went to New-York to start a school," Elizabeth said. "And that is what I did. I will return to it, as soon as I may."

"A school?" Madame Vigée's eyes narrowed. "What an astounding thing for a young woman of fortune and family to do. Did your father not stop you?"

"He tried," Nathaniel said dryly.

Madame Vigée's wine glass paused in its path to her mouth. "But who could there be to teach, in your wilderness?"

"The children of the village, of course," Elizabeth said. "Quite a number of them."

Madame Vigée drew herself up into a disdainful posture. "The poor?"

"I suppose poor is about all we've got in Paradise. By your standards, anyway." Nathaniel sent a sidelong glance toward the earl.

But he had nothing to contribute to the conversation, and Madame Vigée clearly took this for approbation. She set her sights more firmly on Elizabeth.

"Madame Bonner. Do you not realize that by teaching the lowest classes to read and write, you take them out of the station assigned to them by Providence and nature? It is this kind of foolish egalitarianism that is destroying France, madame. Have you not heard of the guillotine?"

The earl cleared his throat, and she turned to him eagerly. "Do you not agree, my lord Earl?"

He considered her for a moment, and then he shook his head. "No, madame. I dinna. The guillotine has mair tae do wi' bread than books."

Madame Vigée gave him a very disappointed look. "So the rabble would have us believe."

One white brow shot up in amusement. "Are ye callin' me gullible, madame, or rabble?"

The older woman's complexion went very pale beneath her rouge. "Neither, my lord. You mistake me. My point was simply that Madame Bonner has taken on a task of dubious merit. She should have stayed at home in Devon, where she could do no damage."

Before Elizabeth could respond to this impertinence, Nathaniel laughed out loud.

Madame Vigée looked at him as if he had belched. "I amuse you, sir?"

"By Christ, you do. Here you sit in Scotland, tellin' my wife she should have stayed at home. I'm right glad she didn't. England's loss was New-York's gain. And mine, to be blunt about it." And he ran a hand down Elizabeth's arm. It was such an affectionate and intimate gesture that she blushed to the roots of her hair, but it pleased her inordinately.

Madame Vigée's own jaw dropped in amazement, but Monsieur Contrecoeur jumped in before she could comment.

"I have visited Devon on business. It is a beautiful place, but it cannot be compared to the great forests of New-York."

Nathaniel turned to him with real interest. "You know our forests?"

"My work has taken me many places," said Contrecoeur.

"Is that how you met Monsieur Dupuis?" Elizabeth asked in the same polite and disinterested tone she might have asked him the time of day.

The earl put down his wine glass with a thump. "The gentlemen are colleagues."

Elizabeth said, "It is unfortunate that Monsieur Dupuis is too ill to join us tonight. He expressed an interest in meeting my husband."

Carryck's head came up slowly, his displeasure clear to see. "I canna allow it. The cancer has unsettled his mind."

Elizabeth remembered with great clarity the many dinners like this one she had endured at Oakmere. In polite society--in this kind of polite society--older ladies might speak their mind, but the young ones were not to discuss anything of importance, to ask a substantive question, or to express a real opinion. If a young woman was so brash as to turn her attention to anything but the affairs of the neighborhood, music, or needlework, it was taken as a sign of excessive reading, a naturally intractable disposition, or an indulgent upbringing. Clearly Carryck--and Madame Vigée--were convinced she was a product of all three.

The old rebellious spirit that had gotten her through so many years at her aunt's table rushed up through her.

"It is a very unsettling disease indeed, my lord, if it gifts him with the knowledge of the Mohawk tongue while it robs him of his life."

There was a moment's awkward silence.

Monsieur Contrecoeur said, "Merchants are by nature inquisitive, madame, and must develop an ear for languages. I myself learned Huron during my time in Canada. And I speak French, Polish, German, Italian, and Russian."

"Huron?" Nathaniel asked, rather sharply. "How do you come to learning Huron?"