In December she sat upon the rail at the paddocks watching Jacques put the yearlings through their paces. Danielle came running down the pathway from the house, waving her arms frantically. As she leapt off the fence, alarmed, Amanda quickly felt her worried frown slip into an incredulous smile.
Damien was coming close behind Danielle.
Amanda let out a shriek of pure pleasure and raced madly along the dirt path until she pitched hard into her cousin, crying and laughing, shouting his name, crying and laughing all over again. He scooped her up and swung her around and held her close, and at last he set her down.
“My God, how are you here?” she demanded.
“One furlough in how many years?” he teased. Then he sobered. “There aren’t many furloughs these days,” he said grimly, and her heart thundered hard.
The war was not going well, she thought. “Come on into the house. Look at me, I am a disaster!”
“They say you run one of the finest estates in Virginia,” Damien said dryly.
Amanda shrugged, walking up the back steps to the house. “Come into the parlor and have a brandy.” He was looking ragged, she thought. His brass buttons were not shining, his boots barely seemed to have soles, and his coat was nearly threadbare. “Damien! I cannot believe it!” she cried, and hugged him all over again.
In the parlor she served him brandy and felt his eyes upon her. Seated casually in a chair before the fire, he lifted his snifter to her. “Amanda, you are thin and lithe and more beautiful than ever. Your features are ever more delicate and refined. You thrive, cousin, even as a matron.”
“Matron!”
“Well, you are a wife and mother of two. And I am most eager to see my new relations. God knows, there are few enough of us!”
“The twins will be down soon, Damien. Danielle will bring them when they awake. Tell me, what is happening? How is—how is Eric?”
Damien leaned forward, frowning. “The war? Let’s see. A young lad named Alex Hamilton is Washington’s secretary now, and doing a damned good job of it. He knows money better than any of those fools in Congress. What else. Ah—we’ve another young man, a Frenchman. The Marquis de Lafayette. He is a volunteer who rides to death with a smile upon his face—and does wonders for our cause. General Washington is wonderfully impressed with him, and I must admit, so am I. The war, let’s see. There have been so many battles! The British meant to split the colonies, you know. Right down the Mohawk Valley. They did not manage that. In April they attacked Danbury—Benedict Arnold held them back. Burgoyne took Ticonderoga in July, but I am very proud to say that he surrendered on the seventeenth of this month. General Arnold again, with some fine help from Morgan’s riflemen. We lost the Battle of Hubbardton, we won the Battle of Bennington. The Battle of Brandywine—your husband was magnificent at that one. Riding that giant stallion of his…few men are better with a sword. Still, Howe very skillfully turned the American right, forcing Washington back toward Philadelphia. General Howe—with the help of his brother, Admiral Howe—has taken Philadelphia now. This winter, cousin, the British will sit in the splendid homes of Philadelphia. Washington is moving his forces to Valley Forge.”
“But Eric—”
“Eric is alive and well,” Damien said irritably.
Amanda sat back, surprised. “Damien, you used to be so fond of Eric yourself! What has happened?”
Distraught, Damien rose and stood before the fire, watching the flames. “I did not care for his treatment of you,” he said simply.
Amanda sighed, clutching the arms of her chair. “Damien, I was betraying him.”
Shocked, Damien turned around. “What?”
She didn’t want to distress him further, but she had to tell him the truth. “Not when the British came to destroy the supplies here, someone else is guilty of that, and someone will betray the Virginians again unless Eric does believe me and look elsewhere. But, Damien—” She hesitated just a second and then plunged onward. “Damien, Father used to blackmail me with you.”
“Me!”
“They knew all along that you were running arms from western Virginia to Boston and Philadelphia. First he promised to arrest you and see you hanged. He killed your horse, Damien. Don’t you remember? In Williamsburg.”
“Oh, my God!”
Amanda didn’t look at him. “Then you were his prisoner. He promised me that there were all manner of things he could do to you.”
“Oh, Amanda!” He came to her, kneeling down, taking her hands into his. “My God, I am so sorry! I did not know! How could you risk so much for me?”
She touched his cheek. “Get up, Damien. I love you, remember? We have always had each other, and besides, it is all over now.”
He stood and walked back to the fire, and she realized that he was hesitating. “It isn’t really over,” he said at last.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you should be with your husband this winter.”
“But—”
