I missed that life. I missed it sharply. Even with the ever-present danger of battle and death lurking over us, my existence in the king's army had been good. I had been a whole man, fit and vigorous, enjoying my friends and comrades.

The footman assisted me from the coach and opened the door to the house. He took my greatcoat and hat and gloves but left me my walking stick.

"She's upstairs, sir," he told me.

I knew the way. I climbed the stairs, noting that the house was dark, cold, and silent. If the servants were up and awake, they were staying out of sight.

I found two maids in the room with Louisa, both looking upset and alarmed. Lady Aline Carrington, a stout, white-haired woman with a booming voice, was seated on a divan with Louisa.

Louisa reclined next to her, a blanket over her knees. Her maids had loosened her hair, and it hung down one shoulder in a golden swath. Despite that, she looked tired and old, well beyond her forty-three years.

When she saw me, she exhaled in relief. "Gabriel."

Lady Aline creaked to her feet. "Lacey, my boy. Dreadful business, this. You will find out what really happened, won't you?"

"That is my intention," I said.

"Louisa was a bit worried you wouldn't trouble yourself," Lady Aline said, always frank.

Louisa flushed. "Aline, will you please allow me to speak to Gabriel alone?"

"Of course. Come along," she told the maids. "Your mistress will not crumble to dust without you. At least not for ten minutes."

The maids, who had been straightening Louisa's blanket and holding a cup of tea for her, made every show of reluctance as they left the room. Lady Aline drove them out before her, then she shut the door.

"Louisa," I began, preparing to launch into my speech of comfort.

Louisa pushed aside the blanket and left the divan to fling her arms around my neck.