The light from the candle on her grandmother's bedside table became a beacon in the darkness. Taylor felt rather than saw the lady's maid cross in front of her. She waited until she heard the click of the door as it was closed, then called out, "Why is it so dark in here, Madam? Don't you wish to see the sun today?"

"I do not wish to," her grandmother replied. "I'm dying, Taylor. I know it, God knows it, and so does the devil. I won't make a fuss. It wouldn't be ladylike. I won't be accommodating, however. Death is going to have to stalk me in the dark. If fortune stays on my side, he won't find me until all of my business here has been concluded to my satisfaction. Light might give him an advantage. I fear you're ill prepared for the tasks ahead of you."

The switch in topics took Taylor by surprise, but she was quick to recover. "I beg to differ with you, Madam. You have trained me well. I am prepared for any eventuality."

Lady Esther snorted. "I left a good deal out of your training, didn't I? You know nothing about marriage or what it takes to be a good wife. I blame my inability to discuss such intimate topics on the times, Taylor. We live in such a restrictive society. We must all be so very prim and proper. I don't know how you came by it, but you have great compassion and love inside you, and I will tell you now, I'm thankful I wasn't able to take those qualities away from you. You never caught on that you were supposed to be rigid, did you? Never mind," Lady Esther continued. "It's too late to change. You're a hopeless dreamer, Taylor. Your infatuation with those dime novels and your love for the ruffian men is proof enough."

Taylor smiled. "They're called mountain men, Madam," she corrected. "And I thought you enjoyed listening to me read the stories."

"I'm not saying I didn't enjoy the tales," Lady Esther muttered. "But that isn't the issue now. The stories of Daniel Crockett and Davy Boone would entice anyone, even rigid old women."

She'd mixed up the names. Taylor thought it was done on purpose so that she wouldn't think Madam had become as fascinated by the mountain men as she had. She didn't correct her again. "Yes, Madam," she said, guessing she wanted to hear her agreement.

"I wonder if I'll meet up with those mountain men in the afterlife."

"I believe you will," Taylor replied.

"You're going to have to get your head out of the clouds," her grandmother warned.

"I will, Madam."

"I should have taken the time to teach you how to train a man to be a good, caring husband."

"Uncle Andrew explained everything I need to know."

Lady Esther snorted again. "And just how would my brother be knowing anything about that topic? He's lived the life of a hermit all these years in the Highlands. You have to be married to know what it's all about, Taylor. Don't pay any attention to anything he told you. It's bound to be wrong."

Taylor shook her head. "He gave me sound advice, Madam. Why didn't Andrew ever marry?"

"Probably no one would have him," Madam speculated. "The only thing my brother was ever interested in was his giant horses."

"And his guns," Taylor reminded her. "He's still working on his patents."

"Yes, his guns," Madam agreed. "I'm curious, Taylor. What did he tell you about marriage?"

"If I wish to turn a rascal into a fine husband, then I must treat him very like a horse I'm trying to train. I should use a firm hand, never show him any fear, and dole out affection only sparingly. Uncle Andrew predicted I would have him eating out of my hand within six months. He will have learned to value me and treat me like a princess."

"And if he doesn't value you?"

Taylor smiled. "Then I should borrow one of Uncle's fine guns and shoot him."

Madam's smile was filled with tenderness. "There was a time or two I wanted to shoot your grandfather, but mind you, child, only a time or two."

Her mood turned from jovial to melancholy within the space of a heartbeat. Her voice shook with emotion when she said, "The babies are going to need you. Dear God, you're little more than a baby yourself. How will you ever get along?"

Taylor hurried to soothe her. "I'll do just fine," she insisted. "You think of me as a child, but I'm a fully grown woman now. You've trained me well, Madam. You mustn't worry."

Lady Esther let out a loud sigh. "All right then, I won't worry," she promised. "You have given me your love and your devotion all these years while I… do you realize I have never once told you I love you?"

"I do realize it. Madam."

A moment of silence followed Taylor's acknowledgment. Then Lady Esther changed the topic again. "I wouldn't let you tell me why your sister was so desperate to leave England. I'll admit to you now it was because I feared what I would hear. My son was the reason Marian left, wasn't he? What did Malcolm do to her? I'm prepared to listen, Taylor. You may tell me now if you're so inclined."

Taylor's stomach immediately tightened into a knot. She took a deep breath before answering. "I'm not so inclined, Madam. It all happened such a long time ago."

"You're still afraid, aren't you? Even the mention makes your voice tremble."

"No, I'm not afraid any longer."

"I gave you my complete trust and helped Marian and that worthless husband of hers leave, didn't I?"

"Yes, Madam."

"It was difficult for me, knowing I would never see them again. I certainly didn't trust Marian's judgment. Look at the man she married. George was only slightly better than a street beggar. He certainly didn't love her. He latched onto her for her money. She wouldn't listen to reason though, would she? I disowned the both of them. It was a spiteful thing to do. I realize that now."

"George wasn't worthless, Madam. He just didn't have a head for business. He might have only married my sister for her money, but he stayed with her after you took her inheritance back. I think he learned to love her, if only just a little. He was always good and kind to her. And from all the letters he sent us, I also believe he was a wonderful father."

Lady Esther nodded. "Yes, I, too, believe he was a good father," she admitted grudgingly. "It was you who convinced me to give them some money so they could leave England. I did the right thing, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did the right thing."

"Did Marian want to tell me what happened? Dear God, she's been dead eighteen months and I'm only just now able to ask you that question."

"Marian wouldn't have told you," Taylor insisted, her voice urgent now.

"But she confided in you, didn't she?"

"Yes, but only because she wanted to protect me."

Taylor paused to take another breath in an attempt to hold onto her composure. The topic was so distressing, her hands started shaking. She didn't want her grandmother to know how upset she was. She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice when she spoke again. "You showed your love for her by protecting her without demanding reasons. You helped her leave. She and George were happy in Boston, and I'm certain Marian died at peace."

"If I ordered you to bring her daughters home to England now, would they be safe?"

"No." Her answer was quick, forceful. She softened her tone when she added, "The little girls should be raised in their father's country. It is what George and Marian both wanted." And not under Malcolm's guardianship, Taylor silently added.

"Do you believe the cholera has taken the babies as well? We would have heard by now, wouldn't we?"

"Yes, we would have heard. They're healthy and well," she said. She made her voice as emphatic as possible and said a quick prayer that she was right. The babies' nanny, Mrs. Bartlesmith, had written with the tragic news. She hadn't been at all certain cholera had killed George, and since the physician refused to expose himself to the possibility of catching the disease by coming to the house after George had died, no one could be sure. The nanny kept the babies away from their father while he was so ill. She protected them as best she could. God had already taken Marian, and now George, and He wouldn't be so unmerciful as to take the two-year-olds as well. It was too upsetting to even consider.

"I trust you, Taylor." Madam's voice was weary now.

"Thank you, Madam."

"Did I protect you growing up?"

"Oh, yes," Taylor cried out. "All these many years you've protected me."

Several minutes passed in silence. Then Lady Esther said, "Are you prepared to leave England?"

"I am."

"Boston is a world away from us. Tell the babies kind stories about me, even if you have to make them up. I wish to be remembered fondly."

"Yes, Madam."

Taylor tried desperately not to cry. She stared at her hands and took several deep breaths.

Lady Esther didn't seem to notice her granddaughter's distress. She went into detail once again about the money she had had transferred to the bank in Boston. Her voice was weak with fatigue by the time she finished her instructions.

"As soon as Sir Elliott returns, he'll announce I've had yet another miraculous recovery. He may be an imbecile but he knows who is buttering his bread. You'll attend the ball tonight and act as though everything is as right as ever. You will laugh. You will smile. You will celebrate my good health. You will stay until the chimes strike the midnight hour. No one must know you're leaving at first light. No one."

"But, Madam, now that you're so ill, I had thought to stay here with you."

"You'll do no such thing," her grandmother snapped. "You must be away from England before I die. My brother, Andrew, will keep me company. I won't be alone. Malcolm and the others will be told that you've gone after you've set sail. Agree with me, Taylor. It's your duty to make this old woman die content."