"But Kitty sits downstairs, a new widow with the key to your father's heart and property at her breast, and I do not doubt that Richard Todd will see that as clearly as I do."

"Whatever did he say to you to lead you to such a conclusion?"

Aunt Merriweather began to twist and turn the rings on her hands. "It was not so very much, at least it would not seem so much to anyone else. He said that a woman imprudent and impetuous enough to elope with a back—woodsman could not be a proper overseer and steward of this land—" She glanced out the window. "When I heard those words from him, I knew that he either did not know you at all—unlikely, given the small society here, and the fact that he pursued you for so long—or that he preferred to misrepresent you to the world to further his own ends. It was outrageously insolent of him, too, to make such pronouncements about his betters, and in public."

Elizabeth smoothed her skirt under her hands, and sought the right tone. "But Aunt," she said. "Richard's interest has always been very specifically in Hidden Wolf—the mountain. I do not believe that he has designs on the rest of my father's holdings. All of the trouble has been because that mountain is in that part of my father's property which he deeded to me—upon my marriage."

She wished for the power to keep from flushing, even as she felt the color rising on her neck and face. From the way her aunt's mouth curled down at one corner Elizabeth knew that none of the intrigues of how and why she had married had gone unnoticed, and also, more strangely, that her aunt's sensibilities had not been fatally insulted. Because she could not resist, Elizabeth remarked on this.

"I expected your disapprobation," she said softly.

"Because you ran off into the wilderness with Nathaniel Bonner?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said slowly. "And because of the way I secured my claim to the property. All of this—" She gestured out the window. "All of my life now, so different from what you hoped for me, I think."

Aunt Merriweather's bright blue eyes could be hard, but her expression now was not an unkind one. "Are you happy about the child you carry? About the man who is the father of your child?"

"I am, yes. I am very happy."

"Then I see no sense in criticizing you for living a life different from the one you would have had in England. This is not England, after all—so much I have learned on this journey. No, the truth is, Elizabeth, that I am a bit envious. Do not smile, you insolent girl, when I reward you with a confession. I assure you, I do not make many of them; old age has some small compensations."

The mixture of exasperation and amusement on the older woman's face faded away to be replaced by something more thoughtful as she looked out into the night. Benjamin was walking toward the house with a rushlight to show him the way, and the strange shapes thrown by the pierced tin of the lamp shade danced like fairy lights in the darkness. In the endless woods above them, a stag called out, a great rolling sound that echoed down the mountain valley.

"What a strange and wonderful place this is," Aunt Merriweather said. "Everything is bigger, and taller, and brighter—even the night sky is intemperate. I'm quite sure we do very well with many fewer stars in England."

"Why, Aunt," said Elizabeth, surprised out of her watchfulness. "I believe that you like it here."

There was a flicker on her face, regret perhaps, and sadness. Gone as quickly as it came, forced away by sixty—five years of studied pragmatism.

She said: "Had I been born a son, I should have come with your father to this new land to make a life for myself." She hesitated, examining the backs of her hands. "At your age I would have disappeared into this wilderness, too. Even now, I can still feel how it lights a fire in the blood." She turned back to the window. "Is that not so?"

"It is so," Elizabeth said. "It is exactly so."

They talked for a very long time, Elizabeth getting up from her place now and then to put more wood on the fire and trim the candlewick. Her aunt had always been a good storyteller, and she had much of interest to relate. Even so, Elizabeth was startled to see the time when Nathaniel finally came to knock on the door.

"The rest of them have all gone off to bed, and Hannah can't hardly keep her eyes open."

"Oh, I'm so sorry—what have you been doing with yourself?"

"I had a talk with Will Spencer, and then a longer one with Joshua and Daisy. Looks like another wedding soon."

"That will please Curiosity," Elizabeth said with considerable satisfaction of her own.

Nathaniel hesitated. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"Of course she does not," Aunt Merriweather said behind them.

"Take her back to your mountain now, Nathaniel. I shall come tomorrow to see what kind of home you two have made together."

Elizabeth kissed her aunt's soft cheek, and the old woman held on to her for a moment. "He's a fine man, my girl. You did better for yourself than my Amanda did, but you know that, do you not?"

* * *

She wondered if Nathaniel would raise the subject of her relations straightaway, but he was more concerned about Richard Todd, and unable to curb his curiosity.

"I can't see your aunt dining at Beaver Hall," Nathaniel said, shaking his head as he pulled off his leggings.

"She said it was all very elegant. The lieutenant—governor of Montreal was there, and a Huron sachem, and a French counte escaped from the Terror and Richard in the middle of all of them."