Andrew ducked into the backdoor of the apothecary, almost knocking the mortar and pestle from Mrs. Carter’s hands.

“Excuse me! So sorry.” He folded his trembling hands around hers to steady the set. But her hands were trembling, too.

He saw her. He saw Jenny.

She glanced at his hands then his face. “You’re as shaken as I am. I’m mixing this for my nerves, and I have enough for two. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost—an angel.” He kissed her cheek.

“Get away with you.” Her giggle followed her to the front of the shop.

“So. You’ve seen Jenny. Has she seen you?”

Montclair stood behind him.

Andrew slowly turned to face him. “Yes, I’m certain she saw me.”

“Well, you’ve been here all of three days, and finally got what you were seeking.”

No, I’ve been seeking to hold her, to be with her, not simply see her from a distance. Every night since he’d arrived, he had been watching the house where Jenny and her mother were staying. Seeing Jenny move past a curtain, wondering if it was she who lit a lantern or a candle when a soft glow illuminated a window, was driving him mad. His body ached to hold her. His heart swelled at any sight of her or even a hint of her presence. But he had to be cautious. He could not put her at risk by simply walking up to her front door.

“The Suttons are under suspicion. You can’t go to her, for any connection between you could alert the British.” Montclair’s gaze bore into his.

Andrew ran his hands through his hair. Hiding in the back room of the apothecary shop allowed him too many hours of thinking, of longing. Today when he heard Jenny’s voice in the front room, he almost burst in … but then that British officer appeared.

Instead, he listened at the door, pressing his finger to his lips to signal silence to Zachary. The boy saluted and sat quietly. Then the table crashed, again Andrew wanted to run into the room. Was Jenny all right? Had the officer accosted her? A tug on his sleeve pulled him back. Zachary stood with his finger to his own lips. Andrew grinned. He slipped out the back door and stood at the corner of the shop, waiting for the door to open. Waiting for a glimpse of his Jenny. To be this close was deliriously painful.

When she came out of the shop, she was smiling at the officer. Andrew’s heart dropped. She put her arm through the man’s and they turned in his direction. She caught sight of him, her eyes widening in recognition. She stumbled and the officer caught her, steadying her with an arm around her waist.

Though he hated seeing her with the man, he supposed she was trying to throw off any suspicion she was under. But having that officer around was going to make it almost impossible to meet with her. Which he intended to do despite Montclair’s warning.

Jenny paced the room. Stopping by a front window, she eased back the shutter and peered into the evening. Surely, Andrew was out there. Right now. Watching for her. It was all she could do to resist running out into the night, her roiling impatience a prod for action. But she had promised Father she would take Mother safely away. If Andrew were here, how could she leave him again?

“Child, what is the matter with you?” Mother’s fingers stilled over her embroidery.

“Nothing, Mother. Nothing.”

Mother dropped her handiwork to her lap. “I believe there is something. What is it?”

Jenny took a seat in the chair beside Mother. How could she burden Mother any further? Her face was pale and drawn with grief. She moved through the day like a ghost, ethereal and slow. Sometimes she didn’t respond to Jenny’s conversation but stared ahead, eyes misted with sorrow. They hadn’t even discussed fleeing to Boston yet as she had promised.

How could Jenny leave now?

“Do you remember my mentioning Uncle Jonathon’s brother-in-law? A young man named Andrew?”

“I believe you mentioned him in every letter.”

“Of course I did not.” Jenny’s face warmed with her blush.

“I’ve saved the letters. Shall I show you?”

One corner of Jenny’s mouth lifted in a smile. Mother softly pressed a finger to her cheek.

“Oh, that dimple, Jennifer. An angel poked a finger there to see if you were done.”

Tears sprang to Jenny’s eyes. “That was what Father always said.”

“Yes. He also said that dimple would be the undoing of many a young man.”

Jenny felt the heat deepen as she remembered Andrew kissing said dimple, claiming it melted his heart.

“You miss Andrew?” Mother’s voice was soft.

She nodded. Now the tears were not for Father. She leaned forward, dropping her voice. “I saw him. Today. At the apothecary shop.”

“He was in the shop?”

“No. I saw him outside. He was hiding along the side of the building. I think he knows I saw him.” A small cry escaped from her throat. “He’ll be imprisoned if he’s caught.”

Mother’s gentle smile had disappeared. A crease formed between her brows, her lips drawn with apprehension. “Laurence must know he is here. Did he say anything to you today?”

“No. I didn’t see Mr. Montclair today, just Mrs. Carter. Oh, I’m so sorry. In my confusion in seeing Andrew, I forgot to give you this.”

She rose to retrieve the amber bottle. Uncorking it, she pulled out a small piece of parchment. Puzzled, she turned it over and over. It was blank. Handing it to Mother, she started at a knock on the back door.

Mother pocketed the paper and motioned for her to remain in the parlor. She hurried out to the hallway, which led to the back of the house.

Jenny’s heart raced. Could it be Andrew calling at this hour? She dared not hope, but her heart betrayed her, leaping in her chest, blood rushing through her veins. Was that voice his? Unable to restrain herself, she ran to the door and peered down the hall. Her heart dropped. This man was shorter than Andrew, and his hair was dark. His clothes were dark. He could easily disappear into the night unobserved.

He glanced at Jenny, pulling his hand back into his cloak.

Mother patted his arm. “Mr. Gordon, may I introduce my daughter, Jennifer? Jennifer, Mr. Daniel Gordon.”

He bowed. “I am your servant, Miss Sutton.”

Jenny approached, hand extended. He bent over it then shifted his gaze to Mother.

“Jennifer is aware of our mission.”

He hesitated then drew a folded letter from beneath his cloak. Mother exchanged the parchment Jenny had just passed to her for his letter.

Gordon tucked the paper into his cloak, tipped his black cocked hat, and opened the back door, a murky shadow slipping into a velvet night.

Mother grasped the letter and took Jenny’s hand, leading her into the small office across from the parlor. A desk sat diagonally in one corner, positioned to catch the morning sun from windows on either wall. This was the room from which Mother ran the household. Stores of dry goods and spices lined the shelves that ran to the height of the high ceiling. She pulled over a stool, climbed on it, and reached for a leather box tucked into the highest shelf. Placing it on the desk, she drew out a key ring from the petticoat pocket hidden beneath her skirt. With a small brass key, she unlocked the box and revealed jars containing the most expensive spices used for cooking their meals.

Jenny inhaled the blended aromas that transported her back to the apothecary shop. Then she recalled applying salve to the ugly wound that took Father’s life. She took a ragged breath. Mother’s touch brought her back to the present.

“This is what we need,” Mother said softly as she lifted out a small glass bottle. Laying the parchment on a metal tray, she tipped the bottle over it, letting a few drops spill onto the paper.

Neatly written words emerged as the liquid spread over the once-blank paper.

Mother pursed her lips as she studied the message. “This is most urgent. I must get this to Laurence immediately.”

Jenny peered over Mother’s shoulder, reading the text. It made no sense. It was a combination of numbers and letters that appeared to be a recipe for a curative.

Mother glanced at the darkened windows, shutters pulled tight. “I must go out tonight.”

“Mother, you cannot leave at this hour. It is much too hazardous.”

“Jennifer, we must put fear of our own safety aside. Powers are at work here that will decide the future of our nation.”

“You sound like Uncle Jonathon.”

“This is what your father sacrificed his life for.”

Jenny’s face flamed, heat spread through her. “I will go.”

“No.” Mother shook her head, a lock of hair escaping from her cap. She grabbed Jenny’s arms.

“As Father’s wife, you are already suspect. I am newly arrived and fairly unknown. Please let me run this errand. Let me do it for Father.”

Mother was silent.

“Do I take this to Mr. Montclair?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have a perfect excuse. You are in desperate need of more elixir. If I am questioned, I am the frantic daughter of an ill mother. What reason would you have for being out at this time of night?”

Mother nodded, still holding her arms. She lessened her grip and her hands fell away. “You are right.” She inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh. “Yes, it must be you.” She rolled the paper up and placed it in the amber bottle. “You must keep this safe. The message is revealed now.” Handing the vial to Jenny, she smiled. “You are fiery and spirited, like your father.”

“And my mother.” Jenny kissed her cheek.

Andrew jumped when the shutter opened slightly in the front window across the road. A glimpse. Just a glimpse of ebony hair. Jenny. His pulse quickened. He mustered all his restraint to keep from sprinting to the house. She was a matter of yards from where he stood, yet she might as well have been an ocean away.

Though Montclair had directed him to stay away, he had to see for himself that Jenny was safe. But he couldn’t put her in peril. If Jenny were caught, like her father, she, too, would die. He squeezed his eyes, shut trying to block the image of Jenny in gaol, or worse, hanging from gallows. Digging his fists into his eyes to banish the thought, he backed into the shelter of an ancient oak.

He scanned the windows, hoping for another glimpse, another reassurance that Jenny was inside and safe. Hearing someone approach, he ducked behind the tree. Two British officers walked along the other side of the road. He couldn’t hear their conversation until they were in front of the lantern that lit Jenny’s front door.

“This is the one that bears watching, Lieutenant Ashby,” said the shorter man.

“Yes, sir.” The younger officer studied the house. He was taller than Andrew, slender, with erect posture, as if constantly standing at attention. He looked familiar. Of course—he had escorted Jenny from the apothecary shop that afternoon. How unfair that this cur could walk with Jenny out in public and he had to stay away from her.

Andrew wasn’t sure he could disarm both men and prevent them from entering Jenny’s house, but he was willing to try if necessary. He raised his rifle. If he fired at them, other soldiers would apprehend him. That would also draw attention to Jenny’s house. He lowered his rifle and his hand slid to the knife tucked in his boot.

“Sutton was a rebel sympathizer. We have reason to believe his wife will carry on with his seditious dealings.”

Ashby shifted from foot to foot. He glanced around, then back at the house.

“Don’t be nervous, Lieutenant. We keep a watchful guard on those who oppose us.”

“Yes, sir.”

They continued walking. Lieutenant Ashby looked back at the house. Soon they were out of sight.

Andrew paced as bile churned in his gut. He returned the knife to his boot. The British were watching her mother’s every move. Soon, they would suspect Jenny of possible treason as well. He had to get her away from here. Quickly.

He leaned against the enormous trunk and prepared to spend the night guarding the house. He pushed off the tree at the sound of a soft neigh, then a whispered, “Shhh.” Someone leading a horse was skulking along the side of Jenny’s house. Andrew crept along the roadside until he was directly across the road from the horseman.

His heart stopped.