The younger woman never turned her gaze away from the men. "But I'm not angry with you in the least," she said tonelessly.

Irritated, Elizabeth was tempted to let Katherine stew in her jealousy, but then she recalled how the scene in Mrs. Bennett's parlor must have looked to her. I might as well try honesty, she thought, for it could do no more harm.

"Kitty," she began again. "Richard made me an offer of marriage yesterday evening."

A tremor ran over the other girl's face, followed by a quick flow of color, but she didn't speak.

"I didn't accept him," Elizabeth said. As irritating as Katherine could be, the urge to offer her some comfort was strong. She knew that it would be short—lived, if her plans came to fruition, but for the moment she wanted to help, if she could.

"Oh?" Katherine examined her mitt. "But I'm sure you will, the next time he asks."

"Why do you think that?" Elizabeth said. "I haven't shown him any encouragement."

Katherine's head turned toward Elizabeth in a slow, steady arc. Her blue eyes glittered, not with tears so much as anger and vexation.

"I suppose you are going to tell me that you want to remain a spinster," she said with a small, bitter smile. "Your father may believe that—your brother seems to. But I don't believe it for one moment."

Elizabeth's first urge was to protest that she did intend to stay single. That she had no intention or will to marry. The arguments for spinsterhood came to her easily; she had been perfecting them for almost ten years. But she could not tell Kitty what she was thinking; she was too young and too much involved to be trusted.

"I don't believe that Richard and I would suit at all," Elizabeth said gently.

Katherine gave a very unladylike snort. "Suit? You wouldn't suit? What does that have to do with it?"

"I hope it has something to do with it," Elizabeth responded. "If two people are to live together." She had the distinct impression that Katherine was hurt by Richard's offer to Elizabeth, and, nonsensically, affronted by Elizabeth's rejection of him.

"I don't see that you can be so fussy, it's not like you have other suitors at your door. I would think Dr. Richard Todd would be a fine enough husband for you."

She meant to hurt Elizabeth's feelings, that was clear, and in fact Elizabeth was amazed and a little dismayed to find that Kitty disliked her so very much. But more than that, she was relieved. Thank God, she thought. Thank God, she really has no idea about Nathaniel.

"You and my father are of one mind on this," Elizabeth said quietly. "I wish I were so sure. Tell me," Elizabeth said, leaning toward Katherine suddenly and grasping her hand. "If you love Richard, why are you showing so much interest in my brother?"

"Because Richard is very good at getting what he wants," Katherine said miserably, turning her face away, but allowing Elizabeth to hold her hand.  "And Richard wants you."

* * *

"Surely we can spare an hour and still be home before sunset," Julian was saying.

Richard glanced at the sky and back toward the sleigh, and resettled himself in the saddle. "The temperature's dropping," he pointed out.

"Well it won't bloody well matter to us, will it? We aren't the ones chasing a ball around on the ice barefoot. I'd like a chance to win back some of what I lost the day before yesterday."

The wind rose around them, riffling the grasses over the frozen marsh, but Julian seemed oblivious to the weather.

"It's a damn exciting game, this lacrosse," Julian added. "I don't wonder the Indians call it Little Brother of War—a full—fledged battle couldn't make men move as fast, I'd warrant. I bet Lizzie would like to see it."

Richard had been letting Julian ramble on, but now he laughed. "I can't imagine that."

"You don't know her very well, do you?" Julian said dryly. "Lizzie was the most awful tomboy. Drove the aunt distracted, pulling her out of trees and off horses. She was a better jumper than I ever was, until Merriweather found out and put a stop to it. And then she'd go off for walks and be gone for the day."

"Elizabeth? Your sister?" Richard shook his head. "I can't see it."

"Oh, yes, she's a great one for sport, at least she was until she started reading. Although I don't know what she'd make of the dancing."

Richard's face stilled. "You were at the long house for the dancing?"

"I spent the whole day. Don't look at me like that, old boy. Who wouldn't be drawn in, with all the drums and that singing, the men leaping around with those masks—makes your skin rise. I enjoyed it, all except the prayers. They do seem to drag on, Christian or heathen. Say——" He turned in the saddle toward Richard. "Is it true what they say about the women?"

Richard kept his gaze focused on the horizon. "What do they say?"

Julian grimaced. "As if you didn't know. They tell me old Sir Johnson had wives in every Mohawk camp. A generous people, if you get my meaning."

"That was years ago," Richard said dismissively. "Generosity wears thin if it's taken advantage of."

"Oh," said Julian. "Damn shame." Then he glanced back at the sleigh, and waved.

"Was there somebody in particular caught your eye?"

Julian shrugged. "Well, you've got to admit that Bonner's sister—in—law is a rare one. Never seen the like. Many-Doves , they call her. At the dancing—" Julian broke off, and cleared his throat.