Richard's look had something of pity in it, and that made Elizabeth draw up.

"I don't think there's much chance of a mortgage," he said. "Not with the taxes in arrears."

"But he could sell land, if need be." Elizabeth met Richard's gaze directly. "I believe you—and others—have made offers to him."

"He could have done that many times over, but he chose not to. You know that your father wants to keep the land in the family."

"And so you wish to become his son—in—law," Elizabeth said. "To circumvent his familial scruples. The land stays in the family if you marry me and resolve his debts."

He was not a coward; he did not look away. "That is the short of it," he said. "But there is material advantage for you in it as well."

"Let me ask you, then," said Elizabeth. "What happens if I refuse to marry you?"

Richard shrugged. "I expect that in the end he will sell me the land anyway," he said. "He has no choice. It would be hard for him to borrow the cash he needs, given his investment difficulties."

"Hidden Wolf seems to mean a lot to you," Elizabeth said lightly.

He didn't flinch, but he turned back to the mantelpiece. "Yes," he said. "It means very much to me."

She waited, but Richard was silent. Finally, Elizabeth dared to ask.

"And what would you do with Hidden Wolf once you had it?"

The shepherdess was in his hands, her china skirt an impossible powder pink against his palm. He ran his thumb over the frills, and then looked up suddenly. "I would make it mine," he said with an empty smile. "Mine alone."

"I see." Elizabeth nodded. If ever in your life you managed to keep your feelings in check, she thought to herself, then you must do so now. Resolutely, she put aside what she knew of Richard's past. She could no more mention the way his mother had died on Hidden Wolf than she could have asked Richard if he had been the one to rob the Bonners, or shoot at Nathaniel. But she did not like the blankness in his face when he spoke of Hidden Wolf.

"As would be your right," she said quietly.

Richard drew a deep breath. He's relieved, thought Elizabeth. She rose from her chair.

"Well," she began. "Let me wish you good evening."

"But—" He came toward her, stopped at a distance that made her uncomfortable. But she could not draw back. "My offer?"

"Thank you most kindly for your offer," Elizabeth said. "I'm sure you'll understand that I need to think about this carefully."

He inclined his head, and then, slowly, nodded. "Of course. When might I expect an answer?"

Elizabeth was thinking of her cousin Jane, who had had seven offers of marriage before she accepted one. I should have paid more attention, Elizabeth thought. Then she was struck with a fortunate idea.

"I would like to write to my aunt Merriweather," she said. "I shall do that tomorrow."

"Your aunt—in England?"

"Yes, of course," said Elizabeth. "I could never make a decision on a matter of such importance without consulting her."

Richard nodded, but his look was thoughtful. "As you wish it," he said finally.

"As she wishes what?" asked Julian from the hall. "What interesting conversation have we missed?"

Elizabeth and Richard turned toward Julian to find him leaning against the doorway, gently slapping his gloves against his leg.

Behind him stood Katherine, her eyes fixed first on Richard and then on Elizabeth, her face as pale as the snow that dusted her bonnet.

Chapter 15

Although she was surrounded by new purchases and wore a new hat, Katherine slumped in her corner of the sleigh as unhappy and dejected as she had been on the way to Johnstown. Elizabeth sat observing her, torn between compassion and irritation. That Katherine believed something important to have been arranged between Richard Todd and Elizabeth was obvious, but Elizabeth was loath to bring up the subject for discussion. What terrible messes we get ourselves into when we are silly enough to fall in love, she thought.

The sky rolled over them in alternating patches of blue and clouds, now casting sunlight, now spitting flurries. After only an hour on the road the team was pushing too hard, eager to be home, the smell of snow in their noses. Galileo sang to them to keep their gait steady, his soft, breathy tenor whirling away in the wind. It was a strange but compelling winter landscape: the road ran along a high ridge, frozen marshes stretching out into the winter mists, broken here and there by stands of crooked black ash and white cedar, dogwood and alders dangling clusters of red catkins. Great stretches of evergreen shrubs showed gray—blue against the snowy backdrop. Where standing water had frozen into whirlpools of ice, islands of bulrushes stabbed up, their stems twisted and gold—brown, shimmering with frost. Elizabeth wished for someone who could tell her about what she was seeing: what the grasses were called, if the berries that the birds were eating from the shrubbery were consumed by people as well, what the strange puppy like animal she spied next to the track was. A look in Katherine's direction made it clear that she was not to be engaged in such a conversation. Kitty's whole attention was fixated a quarter mile ahead of the sleigh, where Richard and Julian rode along beside each other.

"Kitty," Elizabeth tried, and was rewarded with a sullen look. "Please tell me why you are angry with me."