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frisson of anticipation through her even as a pang of remorse reminded her that it was not and never could be true. It did not matter, she told herself later as they prepared for bed, as he tenderly undressed her, as her skin warmed beneath his touch. She had him. She had his love. She did not need his name or a paper from the church to confirm either.
    The next morning, she woke warm and dreamily sated in a tangle of bedcovers to find herself alone. “Junius?” she called, sitting up and drawing the coverlet around herself.
    â€œI’m here.”
    He sat at a table near the window, pen in hand. Sleet pelted the window and outside the sky was leaden gray, but Junius’s face was radiant as he looked up from his writing to admire her.
    â€œCome back to bed,” she said, smiling. “We won’t be able to sail today.”
    â€œI will, as soon as I finish this letter.”
    Her contentment vanished. “To Adelaide?” He nodded and returned his attention to the page. “What will you tell her?”
    â€œThat I hope she’s enjoying her visit to Brussels and that her family is in good health. I’ll ask her to kiss the boy for me, and I’ll send her five pounds.”
    â€œYou’ll say nothing more? Nothing of our elopement?”
    â€œGood God, no. With any luck, she’ll never know.”
    Mary Ann stared at him for a long moment, then lay back upon her pillow and gazed up at the ceiling, unsettled. But by the time Junius came back to bed, she had summoned up the courage to tell him they must return to London. Before she could speak, his kisses silenced her, and soon thereafter his caresses reminded her that she could never go back, nor did she want to.
    The next morning dawned clear and calm, and they sailed for France. For a fortnight Junius performed in Boulogne-sur-Mer and Calais, but the reviews were not so glowing that he was tempted to linger. Instead Junius decided that he should tour the West Indies.
    Their ship crossed the Channel and stopped at Dover, where, wary of discovery, they went ashore only long enough to stretch their legs and to purchase a little piebald pony they named Peacock. Their ship next stopped at Madeira, an island about three hundred and fifty miles off the coast of Morocco, so enchantingly beautiful that they decided to extend their visit several weeks. But Junius had to earn a living, and as their blissful holiday came to an end, they pondered whether to continue on to the West Indies or to choose some other destination.
    They had not yet settled the question when Mary Ann discovered that she was with child.
    She feared Junius would be angry or disappointed, for a child would change everything, but to her relief, Junius was delighted. He became even more tender and solicitous toward her, albeit increasingly worried about their amorphous plans. When he wrote to several trusted friends seeking their advice, it was the philosopher William Godwin who urged them to sail for America.
    â€œHe warns me that the only way to avoid the scourge of public disapproval is to leave the country,” Junius said.
    â€œWe’ve already left our country,” Mary Ann reminded him. “Must we go all the way to America?”
    â€œOverseas we can start anew.” Junius knelt at her feet and claspedher hands. “In America, no one will know that you aren’t my wife—and even if the secret did come out, Americans are individualists, tolerant and free-thinking. They wouldn’t care.”
    Mary Ann doubted that assumption very much, but Junius did his best to reassure her, and eventually he overcame her objections with the plain truth that they had no better recourse.
    One bright May morning, Mary Ann woke to find Junius much as she had on their first morning together in Deal, at a table by the window writing letters. First he wrote to his father to ask him to call on Mary Ann’s parents and inform them that she was going to