For one long moment Elizabeth's face betrayed nothing at all, and the maid grew very pale.

Then Elizabeth smiled. "Is she, indeed? How kind of you ..."

"Annie, mem."

"How very kind of you, Annie, to put my mind at ease. Such thoughtfulness must be rewarded."

A flush crawled up the girl's neck and she bobbed again. "It's nae trouble at aa, mem. The countess walks by every mornin'--the Earl o' Breadalbane has a hoose in Elliot Place, just doon the lane."

"Does he? What very good luck," Elizabeth said, picking up her spoon and smiling thinly at Nathaniel. "Very good luck, indeed."

"You are cross with me," Elizabeth said calmly. She was studying her reflection in the window glass as she tucked a stray hair away. Her hand was trembling, and she stilled it by pressing it against her waist. When Nathaniel came up to wrap his arms around her from behind, she stiffened, and did not know why.

"Not cross, that's the wrong word."

"Do be honest, Nathaniel. I have never seen you look so stern. You quite frightened me."

"Then we're even, because you scared me, too, Boots." He rocked her back against him. "But I have to admit, you put my mind to rest."

She turned in his arms and stemmed her hands against his chest. There was a guarded expression about him, a reserve that she hadn't seen in him since the first few times they had ever spoken to each other, when she was still Miss Middleton and she had insisted on calling him Mr. Bonner. It hurt her to see that look in his face.

"That is a very mysterious statement. Whatever does it mean?"

He said, "That lady sitting across from me at that table wrinkling her nose at the sauce and complaining about the coffee ain't the woman I married. Here I been worried about what you gave up to stay in New-York with me, and it never crossed my mind--" He stopped.

"Go on," she said dully. "Say it. It never crossed your mind that I might become ... that kind of lady, if I had stayed to live my life here." She pulled away, unable to touch him and keep her composure at the same time. "Did you think it was all a girlish whim, my wanting to get away? Did you not hear me when I told you about what it was like here for women born to ease and wealth? Do you not see how easy it is to become manipulative and imperious when every other avenue, every opportunity to think independently, is denied?"

She felt the flush of anger spreading up over her face, and it took all her willpower to meet his gaze. "I knew what I should become if I stayed. I felt it growing in me like a cancer, day by day. And now you've seen it. It is me, Nathaniel. Whether you like it or not, that woman is part of me, too, and always will be."

"Ah, Boots," he said, pulling her close to put his cheek against her hair. His voice was hoarse but his hands on her shoulders were gentle. "If that's the worst you've got to show me, then I'm a damn lucky man."

Something small and warm broke open deep inside her, and rose up to her throat. When she could speak again she said, "I want to go home."

"So do I. And we will."

Just what is it you expect? Elizabeth asked herself sternly as she made her way to Elliot Place. What is it you want of Lady Isabel?

The truth was, she did not know what she would say to the lady when--if--she were finally to meet her. Your father has made our lives very difficult; please come and tell him to stop right away.

She smiled outright at the idea. A man passing her on the road paused as if she had spoken to him; Elizabeth gave him a cold look, and he dropped his gaze and moved on.

It was madness, of course. She could not tell them who she was without putting herself in real danger, but if she did not, what connection could she possibly claim that would open the door? Giselle Somerville's gown and cloak and bonnet marked her for a woman of quality and means, but the appearance of good breeding alone would not get her very far.

The reluctant sun had come to dry the cobblestones and a crowd of children ran out to greet it. Above her a window opened and the sound of a pianoforte being very ill used drifted down, undercut by the voices of young men bickering in French. A barouche went by at a solemn pace, in it two gentlemen with a medical look about them. And then she had come to Elliot Place, and Elizabeth must stop to gather her thoughts.

A single house stood on the lane, three stories high and surrounded by a large park. Elizabeth stopped before the garden gate, overrun with honeysuckle intertwined with roses, heavy headed and dripping with the recent rain, their scent rising now on the warmer breeze. The gate stood partially open, and beyond it a flagstone path wound through tall spires of deep blue delphinium and masses of white lilies. The path ended at a small flight of stone steps and then ran away again into the dappled light of the garden beyond.

"Were you wondering about the roses?" said a young voice behind her. Elizabeth's heart raced, but she composed her expression and turned.

"Everybody does. Wonder about the roses, I mean."

She was a plain girl of perhaps thirteen, with intelligent, bright brown eyes and a friendly expression. Her accent was not quite Scots and not English, but something in between, almost certainly the result of careful training.

"They are beautiful," Elizabeth said. "I have never seen roses of this particular shade of apricot before. I could not help but stop and admire them."

The girl smiled. "Apricot. I've never heard anybody call it that, but you are right, they are exactly the color of a ripe apricot. Would you like to see the rest of the garden?"