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restrain herself from spinning on her heel to greet him with a big, stupid grin. Her own excitement shocked her, for she’d convinced herself long ago his hold on her heart had failed. She’d thought the thing in her that made her pulse race at the sound of this man’s—or any man’s—voice was long dead, and there should have been no girlish smile nor excited greeting in a voice an entire octave too high. But today her body betrayed her and she forced herself to wait a beat, then turn slowly. Graceful. Self-possessed. Dignified, in spite of what she’d told Piers earlier. She held the edge of her vizard in one gloved hand so she could speak without the button between her teeth. “Daniel.”
    “I’m happy you came. We’ve much to say.”
    The sun was at his back, and she stepped aside so she could see him without his face in shadow. He turned with her, a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth as he realized what she was doing. He reached out and gently removed her vizard from her face to gaze at her. With one flick of the wrist he flung it, spinning, over the bank, where it floated down to the river like an autumn leaf. There it danced and bobbed on the glittering surface of the Thames, making its way toward the sea. She watched it go and thought of the shilling it would cost to replace the thing. Then she regarded Daniel thoughtfully.
    He’d changed more than she’d ever imagined he could. After so long, he seemed even older than he should. Too thin, too gray, too…weary. His long limbs and lanky body took an insouciant stance, hipshot, casual, in the eternal boyish pretense of superiority that had once impressed her as actual superiority. But now she saw it for the immature bluff it was, a posture cultivated by those on the defensive, and understood that the intervening years had not been kind to him.
    Nevertheless he wore a cheerful countenance that lifted her heart. Plainly he was happy to see her, and his smile appeared genuine. She wondered whether she should also be glad to see him, and she remembered the events leading up to the meeting on that terrible night eighteen years ago, when she was but seventeen and her life changed so horribly.
    S UZANNE stood before her father in the ’tiring room of his house, her heart thudding in her chest so hard it seemed her stays must bulge in time with it and her lace collar lift with each beat. Her fingers knotted together behind her at her waist, bloodless and slippery with perspiration. A suitor stood near the archway, who had that look of hope which sickened her for its weakness.
    Why her father wanted her to marry someone so needy and spineless was a dark mystery to her. One that put a crease in her brow such as her father could never quite beat out of her. This one was a coal merchant named Stephen Farthingworth, not terribly much older than herself, whose father mined and transported coal from Newcastle. His entire family for two generations had mined and sold coal to the London nobility and had become quite wealthy from it. Not overwhelmingly rich, but well off enough, considering their background involved nobody of significant rank even at a distance and their money did not come from land. Father was quite taken with him, and Suzanne knew where that must lead. She also knew she could never marry Farthingworth. Ever. Nor anyone else, for that. The baby within her had quickened, and she knew it was far too late to pass it off as his.
    She was to meet Daniel at the bank at sunset, and shetwitched to be let go so she could sneak away. Poor Mr. Farthingworth would have to find a girl more desperate than she to marry.
    When her attention came back around, Father was saying, “Mr. Farthingworth has made an offer, and we should be well pleased with it.” It was unseemly groveling. Shameful, and it made Suzanne cringe. If only he’d held her worth a little better, she might have had a better offer than this. But Father had always made it clear she was a burden to