“Of course they are.” Gwyneth expected nothing less of either Thad or Arnaud. She hadn’t been surprised when they lit out at midday. They promised they wouldn’t get near the battle itself—they had promised, so she tried to take solace in that—but they had been gone twelve hours, and now Washington was burning.
Congressman Tallmadge had come by at dinnertime, long enough to let them know that their forces had fallen back from the battle at Bladensburg, outside Washington, in disarray. Thad had been helping organize the removal of all of the most precious American documents from Washington, and Arnaud had been tasked with warning the first lady away from the White House. Tallmadge had assured them that the president and cabinet were all evacuated, and he had insinuated that their men would return to them soon.
That was six hours ago, and still no familiar silhouettes.
Gwyneth drew in a long breath. “I have a confession, Rosie.”
The woman looked her way. “Make it a good one, child. I’m in sore need of a distraction.”
She chuckled. Perhaps it was halfhearted, but she would take any ounce of amusement she could find today. “I thought I had fully conquered the insomnia while Thad was in Bermuda, but I have been sleeping even better in the fortnight since he returned.”
Rosie made a dismissive sound. “Lands, girl, that’s one sorry confession. We all sleep better when he’s home. Leastways, I do. Comes of caring for someone and from knowing they care for you.”
Care for. A mild way of putting the joy that saturated every inch of her being when she was with him, that spun over her nerves when he took her hand, that twirled in her stomach when he smiled at her. And the ache that took its place now, when he was not only away from her, but somewhere out there where danger scorched the sky.
A hot wind blew over her face. Was it her imagination, or did it smell of smoke?
Eventually, they moved their vigil inside. Winter put Jack to bed, Rosie made coffee and tea, and they pulled out the remains of a cake. Gwyneth had no appetite, no more than the Lanes or Rosie. She turned her slice into crumbles on her plate and forced a bite past her lips now and then.
At some point she gave in when Mr. Lane urged her to the sofa. She even closed her eyes.
And she jerked awake in a panic when a noise pulled her from the silence of sleep. A panic that flipped to excitement in one accelerated beat of her heart when she realized the noise was Mr. Lane declaring, “They’re here!”
Gwyneth shook the cobwebs from her mind, stumbled to her feet, and charged toward the door. She collided directly into a solid chest. Arnaud’s, given the height of it and the accompanying chuckle.
“Whoa, there. I believe you meant to throw yourself into the arms behind me.” He grinned as he delivered her into Thad’s embrace.
She was laughing as she wrapped her arms around him and nestled in. Dawn, she saw when her face turned toward the window, had crept upon them. “You must be exhausted.”
“A bit. We hunkered down for a few hours when the drizzle started and stole an hour or two of rest.” His hands buried themselves in her hair, his lips pressed to the top of her head. “Sorry to worry you all. We thought we would have until morning to clear Washington of the last stragglers and of anything of import, but the British arrived before dusk and set about burning every public building.”
Winter shook her head. “We saw the glow. Tell me you were not still in the city when they arrived.”
“Not for long.” Arnaud smiled, but it was too weary and worn to look as confident as he must have intended. “Then we headed to the surrounding farms. The army seemed bent on destroying anything they could touch, and most of the farmers were happy to help by destroying first anything the British might try to take.”
Mr. Lane pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there a count yet on how many dead and wounded? Tallmadge did not know when he stopped by last evening.”
She felt Thad shake his head, and his voice came as a rumble in the chest under her ear. “The retreat was too disorderly. Everyone was eager to protect their own homes. All I know for certain is that Barney was injured and taken prisoner. I expect they will parole him, but it was a hard blow.”
Gwyneth closed her eyes. Papa never spoke of the details of war, not when she was near. In this moment, she almost wished he had, so that she might be steeled against it. “You still think they will come here next?”
“I have no doubt. Already we heard a rumor of Annapolis being their next target, but I know misdirection when I hear it. Annapolis has nothing to draw them. Baltimore, though—Baltimore is the center of commerce. If they can cripple us, it may mean the end of the war.”
She tilted her head back and looked up into the face she had come to know so well, treasure so fully. “What if you cannot rouse the people? If they are too disheartened by Washington—”