“Hampton.”
Arnaud rolled his eyes. “Since Miss Hampton arrived. You have hardly seen any other…non. Not her. Thad, of all the ill-advised, ill-fated, ill-timed—”
“It is not.” He sighed and set the fork softly down. “At least not for becoming acquainted. She is…I am…I have never felt drawn to anyone like this, Alain.”
His friend’s laugh sounded half angry, half incredulous. He shook his head as he leaned forward onto the table. “Nearly twenty-nine years you have gone without falling in love. And you tumble that way now, of all times, with…with a…” He shook his head again. “Of all the young ladies you know. All you have met the world over. The one you married, and this is the one who steals your heart? The one who is half daft with grief and who cannot see beyond her canvas when a brush is in her hands?”
Why, years later, did guilt still swamp him? He laid his hands flat against the table surface. “I cared for Peggy. You know I did. But I cannot help this.”
Arnaud’s head shake seemed sorrowful now. “Sometimes I wonder if, for all your ability to divine what people are thinking and feeling, you really understand matters of the heart. My soul still aches for Marguerite. Every day. Every…single…day.”
“I know.” The words had to squeeze past a throat gone tight. “And I think…I think Gwyneth is the one the Lord intends for me. It is too soon to know how or why or when, but I…”
“There you go again with the ‘God told me to’ business.” But Arnaud’s lips turned up. “You must tread carefully, Thad, or you could ruin it. With all she has been through…”
Wise words indeed. He nodded.
Arnaud tapped the table. “And your own heart needs guarding as well. You must be absolutely certain your motives are what they ought to be, that this is really love and not some imitation that will fall to pieces in another month.”
Now he was just trying to rile him. “I am no adolescent to need that particular lecture.”
“But in love you are untested.” Not giving him time to argue, Arnaud stood. “We had better away. I have my doubts that Mrs. George got Jacques into bed, and you should get home so that Miss…Hampton can rest.”
Thad pushed to his feet too, but then he sat down again. “Turn your back, quickly. And take one step to your left.”
Arnaud obeyed without hesitation, blocking the line of sight between Thad and the door. His posture went tense. “Who is it? Did someone come in?”
“Hmm. Mercer.”
“Mercer?” Arnaud sighed and rolled his eyes. “You had me worried.”
“Well, I would avoid him if I can. One moment…there, he headed toward the back. Quickly.” Thad slid out of the booth and jammed his hat low on his head.
Arnaud fell in beside him as he strode for the door and chuckled. “The only man in all of Baltimore you actively avoid.”
“Better avoidance than your habit of snarling until you provoke him to argument.”
“Is it?” His chuckle deepened as he pushed open the door onto the balmy evening. “My way seems much more satisfying.”
“You may have a point. I…” He halted in the middle of the street when the tingle swept over him. Stopped and listened, though he never knew if it were an audible sound or one in his spirit he ought to be waiting for.
Then it came. The Masquerade. He angled toward the waterfront.
Arnaud’s questioning gaze was illuminated by the last rays of sun. “Where?”
“My brig.”
“Do you need me?”
He didn’t think so, not just to pick up a communication from the place in his cabin where Tallmadge’s courier always hid them. He shook his head. “I’m going to see if Mr. Bolton has been in touch.” After taking a step, he stopped and pivoted toward Arnaud again. “When will you leave?”
A sigh seeped out. “Early on the fifth, I suppose.”
“Good. Bonsoir, mon ami.”
“Et à toi. And, Thad? Tread lightly.”
He waved him off and followed the slight downward slope of the street to the bay’s edge. The faces he passed were all familiar, the usual bored sailors who still populated the harbor for lack of anything else to do. He nodded here, waved there, and called out a greeting when one was required. And soon he had the pleasure of setting his boots upon the boards that signaled home every bit as much as the ones in his house.
Masquerade welcomed him with a gentle bob, seeming to sigh her satisfaction at his coming aboard. He ran a hand along the rail and sighed right back. “Soon, old girl. Soon this blasted war will be over and we shall ride the waves again.”
Her answer was a creak that said, “Not soon enough.”