"And you stay in London how long?" Alan asked as they stood on the icy street once more, whistling up another coach to take them back to their lodgings.

"We may spend two weeks at the outside," Governour informed him. There probably wasn't money enough to allow them to rent rooms and buy food for longer. Burgess would have to be settled in that time, or he would have to return to Guildford and take what little the countryside had to offer.

"We must see each other again, sir," Caroline insisted, from the frame of the same dark red velvet, hooded traveling coat; she'd worn in Wilmington in 1781. It was a little shiny in places from too much wear, but still presentable enough, and it made Alan feel an urge to buy her a new one, a cloak fine enough to suit her, and what he felt she deserved from life.

"Call on us, do, Mister Lewrie," Mrs. Chiswick agreed. "We lodge in St. Clements Street. Oh dear, I forget the house number, but it's a decent enough house, I'm told. Governour knows it."

" Panton Street for me," Alan said. "I'd never be able to afford it but for Admiral Sir Onsley Matthews and his wife. You remember I wrote of them, Caroline."

He and Governour exchanged addresses while Burgess managed to flag down a coach, one of the few that would still risk horses on the streets that were now icing over under the constant drizzle of sleet. Caroline and her mother huddled for warmth to one side by the door.

"Goodnight, and thank you for the wine, Alan. Do call on us!"

"Aye, I shall," Alan told Mrs. Chiswick again, then turning to Caroline, said, "We have so much to catch up on."

Which sentiment Caroline agreed with heartily, and gave him a last smile of invitation, and a firm nod of her head as they said their goodnights as well. Then the coach trundled off, leaving Lewrie to trot home on his own, swaddled up in the voluminous dark blue watchcoat he'd never thought he'd find a use for back in the West Indies.