DECEMBER 1670, LONDON

Livia shivered in the stern of the little skiff as it crossed the river, a cold wind blowing in from the sea, the water stairs at Avery House glittering with frost, the garden a monochrome of tree trunks, white on one side and black with damp on the other, the twigs and the boughs outlined, as if a limner had been through the orchard to make every branch a thing of startling beauty.

“Here,” Livia said, putting a penny begrudgingly into the man’s hand.

“You’re welcome, my pretty,” he taunted her, and let the boat rock as she stepped from it to climb up the stairs, her boots making dark tracks in the white frost of the steps.

“I shan’t be long, you can wait,” she said.

“You hiring me to wait?” he asked hopefully.

“No! Of course not! Why should I pay for you to do nothing? But if you wait, I shall come in a moment and pay you to take me back to Savoury Dock when I’m ready.”

“I’ll wait unless I’m called away,” he said, resentfully. “I’ll wait for free and then I’m sure it’ll be my honor to escort you home. To Savoury Dock—known for its aroma. To the Reekie Wharf—known for its elegance.”

“Chiudi la bocca,” she muttered under her breath, and turned to walk through the garden. Ahead of her a robin gripped a swinging bough, sang to her, a sound of piercing sweetness. Livia did not hear it, did not see the tip-tilted bright head. The statue of the sleeping fawn was curled at the foot of a gnarled apple tree, drifted snow was white on the white marble of its back. Livia strode past it, eyes on the blank windows of the house.

Glib, the footman, had reported that the staff had been instructed to light fires, air the linen, and open the shutters and that the master would return within the week, but Livia had heard nothing from Sir James himself, neither letter, nor invitation. She did not know why he had not invited her to his house, not written to her again from Northallerton and sent no present. She had been hoping for a diamond ring as a Christmas gift and a betrothal. She had received nothing. Livia gritted her teeth and walked up the beautiful terrace, sparkling with frost in the hard bright sunshine of winter.

She felt no gladness when she saw that the curtains of his study were drawn open. She felt no joy when she saw the back of his head and shoulders as he sat at his desk. She raised one dark gloved hand and rapped on the window. He jumped at the sudden knock, turned and saw an ominous figure in a dark dress; she saw the shock on his face, and then he recognized her.

He rose to his feet and opened the tall glass door. “Livia,” he said weakly. “What a surprise.”

She marched in.