“Two-thirds of London is gone,” Colin lamented, “and more than half the people are homeless. But, miraculously, it seems that only eight lives were lost.” He put a hand on Amy’s arm. “I’m sorry your father had to be one of them.”
Colin’s touch startled Amy out of her vision, dragged her back into the real world. She nodded, but couldn’t meet his eyes. It wasn’t fair. Only eight dead, and her own father one of them…
Her spoon halfway to her mouth, she paused, swallowed a swiftly rising lump in her throat, and fought back the tears. It was a losing battle. Suddenly, she rose. Her spoon clattered in the bowl where she dropped it.
“Excuse me,” she apologized huskily, hastening from the room.
“YOU LOUT!” Kendra threw down her spoon. “This was her first supper in company.”
“What did I say?”
“’I’m sorry your father had to be one of them,’” Ford mimicked in a mincing voice. “Egad, Colin, I’m the one who’s supposed to be tactless.”
“I said I was sorry,” Colin protested feebly. He twisted his ring, listening to Amy’s footsteps fade as she reached the top of the stairs and turned down the corridor.
“Leave Colin alone,” Jason said. “He’s confused enough as it is.”
“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Colin demanded.
“Just that you have feelings for Mrs. Goldsmith, and you haven’t decided what to do about them.”
“What?” Ford burst out in surprise.
Kendra snorted, rolled her eyes toward the arched stone ceiling, then focused on her twin. “You are so oblivious. If something cannot be weighed or measured, it fails to command your attention.”
Colin’s hands clenched. “I don’t have feelings for Amy—”
“Are you lying only to us, or to yourself as well?” Kendra fixed him with a pointed stare.
He glared right back. “She’s an emotional wreck!”
“So what?” Kendra asked.
“So I’m leaving in the morning, most likely before she rises, and Jason will see that she gets to France, where she will recover in peace and never see any of us again. That’s what.”
“Now, Colin—” Kendra began.
“Leave it be, Kendra.” Jason looked at each of his siblings in turn, signaling that the conversation was at an end. Then, food being the typical Chase cure-all for most unpleasant situations, he rang for the servants. “I’m ready for that roast venison. How about the rest of you?”
TWENTY
AMY BIT her lip and added another crumpled ball to the small mountain of paper that was growing on the gilt dressing table in her bedchamber.
Why couldn’t she get this right?
She flexed her hand. Though the blisters had healed, sometimes it still hurt if she overused it. One more try. She dipped her quill in the ink.
26 September 1666
Dear Robert,
Perhaps you already know that I lost Papa and the shop in the fire. I am devastated. I’ve lost everything. My entire life has changed, and I’m afraid yours as well. Please forgive me, but I cannot marry you—
“May I come in, Lady Amy?” Small fingers tapped on Amy’s shoulder.
She looked up to see big blue eyes in an angelic face framed by golden curls. “I think you already have come in, Mary.” Smiling, she set down her quill and let the child climb into her lap. “But I’m not a lady. Plain Amy will do.”
“You look like a lady.”
“But that’s only because I’m wearing Lady Kendra’s dress.”
Mary squirmed out of Amy’s lap almost immediately and flounced away to the bed.
Growing up, Amy had never spent much time with small children—at least not since she was one herself. She watched as the little girl mounted the bed steps, stretched out her arms and, with a whoop of delight, flung herself facedown on the costly brocade counterpane.
Mary was a peculiar little thing.
“I’m wearing Lady Kendra’s dress, too,” Mary declared, the words muffled against the golden fabric.
“And so you are!” The dress hung loose on her small frame and was hopelessly out of style. But she was thrilled with her new wardrobe. Kendra had found an old trunk filled with her childhood gowns, and Mary had worn a different one every day since her arrival. “And a lovely dress it is. Are you a lady then, Mary?”
“Nay.” Mary giggled and sat up. “Are you sure you’re not a lady? You live in this fancy place.”
“Not really.” Amy’s gaze swept the gorgeous gilt chamber. “Before the fire, I lived all my life in London.”
“Like me?” Mary pointed her thumb—a thumb that looked recently sucked—at her own chest.
“Just like you. In Cheapside.”
“My house was in…” Her little face scrunched up as she thought. “Ludgate.”
“Ludgate Hill? Then see, we were almost neighbors.”
Mary’s feet swung back and forth off the end of the bed. “And your mama and papa are dead like mine.”
Suppressing a familiar twinge of sorrow, Amy nodded patiently. An eavesdropper would never guess they’d had this conversation at least a dozen times already. “Yes, my mama and papa are gone as well.”
“And they’re never coming back.”
“No.” She bit her lip. “They’re never coming back. But I think about them all the time, so their memory lives on.”
Mary jumped off the bed. “How many days has it been?” One little hand reached up to the marble-topped dressing table and snagged a silver comb. “How many days since the fire?”
“How many days was it yesterday, Mary?”
“Um…” Her tiny fingers traced the fine-etched roses on the comb’s grip. “Twenty-something?”
“Twenty-one.” Amy took the comb from her and faced Mary away so she could untangle her golden ringlets. “So today, how many days has it been since the fire?”
The girl raised one short finger, then popped up another. “Two. Twenty-two.” Her voice was full of pride.
“Very good, twenty-two days.” The comb made a pleasant swishing sound as Amy drew it through Mary’s hair again and again.
“My mama died of the plague. How many days since that?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I couldn’t tell you.” Amy sighed. “A lot.”
“More than a hundred?”
“More than three hundred.”
Mary’s eyes widened in the mirror. “That is a
