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shut for one moment more. She could imagine him strolling along the dirt roads of her hometown. He wouldn’t bumble so much in the easy society to be found there, and he would enjoy settling in around the fire of an evening and talking philosophy with Father and Freeman.
    Or perhaps he would be one of the kind who came pounding on doors in the middle of the night, torch in hand. He could be one of the men who demanded that all others believe as he did or pay the price for it. He could even be the kind to hurl rocks into windows and steal family heirlooms, all because of differing politics.
    Winter opened her eyes again to the crowded, crowding buildings of Smith Street and Hanover Square. Much as she hated the city, Oyster Bay had become no better since the war began. Other parts of Long Island may be given to Patriot politics, but not their town. Father and Mr. Townsend had both been abused and threatened for their views.
    Robbie’s father had bent his knee to the Crown to avoid further problems. Hers had taken up the colors and joined the rebel army. If he hadn’t, if he had been home when Mother died…
    Then she would not be here now. Would not be surrounded by these people she could never call true friends.
    Would not be able to help the cause she so believed in.
    â€œI am so glad we ran into you today, Mr. Lane,” Mrs. Parks said as they all turned the corner onto Queen Street. “I have been meaning to issue you an invitation to dinner at your earliest convenience. My husband and son would greatly enjoy your company.”
    A blush crept up Mr. Lane’s face again. “Your…yes. The Misters Park. I would…sometime…”
    The matron batted her lashes. “I suppose it is too much to expect that you would be free on such short notice as to join us tonight?”
    â€œAh…”
    Clearing a chuckle out of her throat, Winter figured she could spare him this embarrassment easily enough. “I am afraid my grandparents have already claimed his company for us at Hampton Hall this evening, Mrs. Parks.”
    Mr. Lane nodded and pulled his arm—and therefore her—closer to his side. “Quite true. And tomorrow I have engaged with the Knights.”
    Mrs. Shirley sniffed, her brows arching toward her gray-powdered widow’s peak. “I have seen you with the young Mr. Knight. Given your many years away, you may be unaware that his family is, shall we say, unequal to yours. In your mother’s absence, I feel compelled to bring that to your attention, Mr. Lane.”
    His spine went straight, his shoulders rigid, and his arm tensed under Winter’s fingers. ’Twas as if the lady’s disapproval burned the nerves right out of him. “I cannot fathom what you mean, ma’am. The Knights are right respectable folk, abounding with charity and of an honest profession. Perhaps their means may not be as great as some, but who are we to judge anyone for such as that? Mine was not so great a few short months ago and could fall away again just as quickly if the tides of fortune pulled against me.”
    Mrs. Shirley didn’t appear chastised. “Their means are not my grounds for complaint, good sir, but rather their loyalties. ’Tis a known fact that the elder Mr. Knight was of decidedly Whiggish bent before the British won New York, and he even tried to evacuate the city when Washington fled.”
    The muscle in his jaw ticked, as if he clenched his teeth hard before opening his mouth again. “I imagine I would have fled at that juncture too, Mrs. Shirley, had my primary residence burned as his did.”
    â€œBut his opinions—”
    â€œOpinions.” He shook his head, his gaze so intent upon the matron that surely she felt it as physical force. “There is a very large difference, ma’am, between an opinion and its execution, especially an opinion several years old. Perhaps Mr. Knight would philosophize on what