Even Ghislaine, who should have been her natural ally, had little of comfort to say. “Your brother will make noises like a bull, but in the end, what can he do? You have already settled the matter between you.”

Lily had hoped she could keep the nature of her attachment to Simon a secret, but Ghislaine made short work of that conceit. On the morning after the deal was struck she had brought Lily her morning coffee and stood at the foot of the bed with a small smile, a little sad.

“So,” she said. “Now you know.”

She knew, yes. She knew Simon Ballentyne in every way a woman could know a man, and oddly enough, she felt that she hardly knew him at all. He was, simply, the most frustrating human being she had ever come across.

They argued about everything, from how much she could pack to take back to Lake in the Clouds, to whether or not they should tell people of their engagement, to Lily's eating habits. When they were together they argued, or rather, Simon made an announcement, which caused Lily's temper to flare. She explained herself at length while Simon listened, stone-faced and unbending, or laughed out loud, or cooed at her and called her hen and lovey until she must laugh herself, or box his ears.

Iona watched it all with a half-smile, not the least worried, it seemed to Lily, which must be a good sign; surely Luke could have no real objection, if his grandmother did not.

Then Luke came home on a sledge piled high with boxes and barrels and bundles, filthy as a trapper after a winter in the bush, his skin burnished by snow and sun and wind. One look at him and Lily's courage failed her; she was glad, for once, to stand back and let someone else do the talking.

It was Simon who told him, standing in the hall. He said what must be said clearly and cleanly and without apology, and Luke listened, his head bowed a little, looking at Lily from under the shelf of his brow with an expression she couldn't quite name. She tried to meet his gaze evenly, and almost succeeded.

When Simon was finished Luke thought for a moment, his mouth pursed. To Lily he said, “Are you with child?”

“No!” She jumped as if he had made to strike her, and felt the color flashing up from her chest, over her neck to her face. Because, of course, it was too early to really know the answer to that question. She might be, of course. Though she had resisted the temptation to go back to Simon's bed since that first night—and temptation was the only word for the sleepless hours she spent thinking of doing just that—she must admit to herself that it might already be too late.

Every morning she felt Ghislaine looking at her and thinking just the same thing. Ghislaine knew the rhythm of her month just as well as Lily did, and would not let her pretend to forget. This was the other reason Lily wanted to leave Montreal straightaway, before the day came when she must bleed, or know herself caught, well and truly, in Simon Ballentyne's web. Somehow it would be easier to cope with that particular question if she was far away from here, and Iona's knowing eyes.

“Then there's no hurry,” Luke said. “You can wait until it's safe to travel.”

“We leave tomorrow,” Simon said. His voice even and calm, and he would brook no disagreement. “I know the safe ways into New-York as well as you.”

Luke seemed to be weighing that for a moment, and then he nodded.

“Why not marry before you leave?”

This was the question Lily had feared most, but Simon was ready for it.

“We could,” Simon said. “But Lily wants to be married at home, with her mother and father's blessing.”

“Ah,” said Luke, and he ran a hand over his hair. “That will be the trick, now won't it?”

Just that easily it was settled, which both relieved Lily and upset her, contrary as she was. She went off to her chamber to finish packing, waiting for a knock at the door and hearing none. Finally it was Ghislaine who came to her, with a letter and a bundle.

“To take to Lady Jennet,” she said. “He's writing another letter to your father.”

Lily took the letter and tossed it on the bed, piled high with things to be folded away into her trunk. Then she burst into tears and was glad of Ghislaine, who put her arms around her and rocked her as a sister would, whispering soft words that were no comfort at all.

Luke gave her two presents, just before they set off: a thin, sharp knife in a beautiful beaded sheath, and a gun. In the confusion of leaving she had little time to look at it nor could she, really: her eyes were filled with tears that threatened to fall, no matter how she might forbid them.

“If the time comes to use them, don't hesitate,” Luke said, touching her cheek with one finger. “Though I doubt it will. Ballentyne will look after you as well as I could.” It was the only compliment Simon cared to hear, or needed, and for his sake Lily was glad, and pleased with her brother.

Then they were off, the sleigh moving silently through the familiar lanes and then they were passing the garrisons, crawling with soldiers and militiamen whose job it was to protect the city from American invasion.

That was something people were truly worried about, though they had very little regard for the Americans in general and certainly none at all for American military prowess. On this matter at least Luke agreed with the rest of Montreal. Whenever the subject came up he snorted and said that an army so poorly organized and run as the American army was more likely to be invading the Plattsburgh taverns than Lower Canada. And still the threat hung in the air: Lily counted three different groups drilling, but they were too far away for her to make out any familiar faces.