Abigail reeled as if from a blow. 'You're leaving me?'

'Duty calls, I fear.'

'But I've only just got to know you, Captain Rawson.

'Daniel, please.

'You can't abandon me now, Daniel.'

'It pains me to do so,' he said, 'but desertion from the army would carry a terrible punishment and that's the only means by which I could stay in London.'

'Where will you go?' she demanded. 'And for how long?'

'In the first instance, I'll be accompanying His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, ready to fight once more against the French. Exactly where we'll go and how long the campaign will last, I cannot tell you.'

Abigail was alarmed. 'Will you take part in battles?'

'I mean to take a very active part.'

'Even though you could be wounded or even killed?'

'That's a risk every soldier must take.'

'I couldn't bear to lose you, Daniel!'

'Those sentiments are very comforting,' he said, squeezing her hands, 'but I shall do my very best to survive. I've been engaged in combat many times in the past fifteen years or so and I've always escaped with nothing more than bruises and scratches.'

'I hate to think of your suffering any injury.'

'Then put it out of your mind.'

'How can I?' she asked, her voice rising with apprehension. 'If I know that you'll be marching into battle, I won't be able to stop thinking about you for a single moment. I hoped so much that we could be friends, Daniel.'

'We are friends — that's why I'm here.'

'But you only came to tell me that I may never see you again.'

'Oh, I expect to be back here one day, Abigail.'

'When will that be?'

'Who knows?' he replied, releasing her hands. 'Our campaigns are usually limited to spring and summer. The roads are impassable from October onwards and the enormous food supplies on which an army travels are simply not available outside the growing season.'