Mercy tried not to show her relief as she gathered her belongings and placed them carefully into her bag. She thought she’d handled the situation well. She’d held herself at a distance, had batted off most of Andromeda’s personal inquiries.

She’d kept her face impassive when Andromeda tried to charm her, and had mustered outright annoyance when Andromeda deployed her conspiratorial grin, as if asking Mercy to join in on the fun. Annoyance was safer than giving in to the desire to lean in closer to the intriguing woman across from her. To stop fighting against the curiosity—against the undeniable attraction.

No. There will be none of that. There couldn’t be. What she’d had with Jane, and the girls before Jane, had broken her heart. It had broken her. She didn’t remember ever feeling as drawn to them as she was to Andromeda, either. This new desire was too dangerous. Much too dangerous.

She placed the ink into her bag and closed it resolutely. She ignored the tension in her neck and shoulders, the slight twitch beneath her eye. There was nothing to worry over any longer. She would go back to The Grange. There was no cause to ever see the vexing Andromeda again. She should have been elated and yet…perhaps just one more question.

She’d read a few accounts of love from the members of the battalion, and what they had done to gain it. Those interviews had intrigued and irritated her. Elijah Sutton’s behavior was the most confounding of all.

“Your grandfather,” Mercy pulled on her glove. Perhaps the ale had gone to her head. Yes, that was it. “He really stayed behind in a British prison camp after freeing his men? On the off chance he could convince your grandmother to leave with him?”

“Well, of course. He loved her,” Andromeda said, as if that explained everything.

“He barely knew her,” Mercy replied.

“I wasn’t aware that there was a limit on how quickly a person might fall in love,” Andromeda said. “Or on what they’d do to preserve it once they had.”

Mercy felt that acutely. She’d once believed that the bonds of love were the strongest material in the known world. When she’d been young and foolish, of course.

“My parents loved each other like that.” Mercy stared down at her glove and flexed her fingers. “‘Love at first sight,’ my father used to say. When my mother fell ill, he wouldn’t leave her side. And when he caught the sickness too, they still sought each other out even in their deepest fever dreams.”

Mercy remembered checking on them that last time, how the heavy silence had warned her but had not prepared her for their lifeless eyes and the way they held each other. For the realization that their love was so great that they had chosen to leave their only child alone rather than live without one another.

She’d hated her parents for leaving her, but had also wanted what they’d shared so badly. She’d gone from girl to girl, always devastated when things inevitably fell apart. She’d thought she’d found it with Jane—had finally, finally found it. She hadn’t, but she’d learned why neither of her parents had wanted to be left behind. Love was a terrible thing, and powerful—and having tasted that power once, Mercy was certain she wouldn’t survive its loss a second time.

Andromeda’s hand came into Mercy’s line of vision, then rested atop her own, stroking the back of it through the thin material of her glove. “Who took care of you, Mercy?”

God, that touch. Mercy could have cried from the loveliness of it. It was soothing and insinuating and sent both peacefulness and panic racing through her body. She pulled her hand away and looked about the pub, sure everyone would be staring at them after the intimate caress.

“What will people say?” Mercy’s voice shook and her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest. She should have just left without asking any questions. Without revealing anything of herself. Asking about Elijah Sutton had been impulsive, and she’d paid for it, as usual.

Andromeda shrugged, the picture of calm indifference. “Old Bill over there would say thankee for the wedding dress I made for his daughter for a quarter of my usual price. Hamish would tell me how his shop that I helped repair after the fire a few months back is coming along. Bess would tell me not to piddle about with a Miss with a branch up her arse, and to try a real woman like herself.”

That drew a sharp gasp from Mercy; Andromeda smiled in satisfaction and raised a brow.

“No one judges you for…” Mercy moved her head and shoulders about, unable to say the words aloud. “You know.”

“For being damn nigh irresistible?” Andromeda asked. She wasn’t entirely jesting, but Mercy couldn’t call her vain. She was justified in that confidence. “They might judge me. But they know I’m a good person and a good friend, and around here, that’s what matters.”

Mercy couldn’t accept that. She felt a flash of anger at the casual confidence in Andromeda’s tone.

“And I’m sure your family feels the same way.” Mercy thought she’d delivered a line that would surely wipe that smug look from Andromeda’s face, but the vexing woman didn’t bat a lash.

“Oh, you know there were all kinds of people in the battalion.”

Andromeda was right. There was Rachel…Jacobs? No, Mendelson. The woman had dressed in men’s clothing to fight for her country. And a few years earlier, a soldier named John Hunter had arrived for an interview with his business partner. It had been quite clear to Mercy that they were partners in a great many more things, and oh how she had envied them. But still…she hadn’t considered…

“Grandfather always told me that it didn’t matter who a person loved, but how well they treated others and what they did to make this country and this world better. That has been the family philosophy pertaining to the general populace, and I’m pleased to report it also applies to me.”

Mercy felt the words like a blow to the belly. That couldn’t be true. No. Because Jane had said…well, if Andromeda’s words were true, if she lived as she wished and was still accepted, then everything Jane told her all those years ago had been wrong. Lies. Mercy’s tears, her pain—her words curling into ash and her world crumpling in on itself—had all been for naught.

She couldn’t discuss it any further.

“You should return to the shop now,” Mercy said as she fastened her cloak and drew herself up, preparing to leave. She couldn’t stay a moment longer, with her thoughts scattered as they were.

She was met with silence.

Andromeda was examining her, head tilted to the side. It was the longest the woman had been quiet, and it made her nervous. Mercy knew her cloak was as unfashionable as her dress; her hair was done in two simple cornrows instead of a stylish bouffant; she was a plain woman. Andromeda was probably cataloguing her faults: priggish, frumpy, boring.

“Be sure to tidy behind the counter,” Mercy reminded her curtly. Somewhat impolite, but better than Stop reminding me of what I can’t have.

“An unprovoked parry,” Andromeda murmured. The chastisement seemed to amuse her. “I do have work to finish, but…” Her head tilted even more, and Mercy realized the vexing woman was scheming. Yes. That tilt, that grin, the way crow’s feet bracketed her eyes, highlighting the mischief in them. “What are you doing with the rest of your afternoon?”

“Returning to The Grange, of course,” Mercy said. She began making her way through the tavern, which was quieter and less crowded given that much of the lunchtime crowd had come and gone.

Yes. That is it. That is all. You have achieved your task and should return home.

“Isn’t today your day off?” Andromeda asked as they stepped into the street. She kept pace with Mercy’s strides easily.

“It is my day of rest and I’ve yet to do that. I visited at the orphanage before I came here and I’m fatigued.”

That soft, pitying look came over Andromeda’s face again and Mercy wished she hadn’t revealed that. She usually sent her donations in, but had stopped by on a whim. She had resisted returning to the orphanage for years, sure that it would be painful, but it hadn’t been. Not very. She’d been happy to see that the facilities had improved, and to speak to some of the children. Her visit hadn’t brought emotion crashing down about her ears.

She hadn’t even flinched when the director of the orphanage mentioned how Jane had been in to visit with her husband and children a few months back. She was glad that her friend had gotten the life she wanted. In that moment, Mercy realized she’d never asked herself what she herself wanted in the years since Jane’s decision had brought her dreams crashing down around her. Why was that?

Because you were too busy focusing on what you should not want.

“What did you do at the orphanage?” Andromeda asked, interrupting Mercy’s introspection.

“I helped the children with their letters,” Mercy said.

“So your entire day of rest has been spent in the service of others.” Andromeda tsked, and the sound drew Mercy’s attention back to the exasperating woman’s mouth. It was a mouth that inspired queries: were her lips as soft as they looked? Would she kiss how she spoke, brash and unrelenting? It wouldn’t be so terrible to find out, would it?

Questions that should remain unanswered, and further proof that Mercy should return home as quickly as possible.

“You can catch a later hackney,” Andromeda said suddenly, as if she and Mercy had been in the middle of a discussion. She then nodded in agreement with her own assessment. “And if it gets too late, I can take you back myself. I’m quite the rider.”

“Pardon?” Mercy wasn’t quite sure what decision had been made on her behalf.

Andromeda took her by the elbow and flagged a passing coach, trundling her in, then climbing in after her. “Thomas Street, please,” she called out. “The Grove.”

This was unexpected. Mercy didn’t like unexpected. She had planned to go home, to get away from Andromeda and the raucous feelings the woman and her self-assured charm aroused, and now everything was being thrown into confusion.

“Where are we going?” Mercy demanded as the cab began to move.

“Thomas Street,” Andromeda repeated slowly. “The Grove.”

“Are you in the habit of dragging women along on your adventures, without a care as to whether they wish to accompany you?” Mercy’s face felt hot and her breath grew shaky. The muscles at the back of her neck felt uncomfortably taut. She had been so close to reprieve from the emotions Andromeda stirred in her, and now she was in even closer confines, stuck with the woman for who knew how long and going Lord knew where. “You can’t just do with me as you desire!”

She gasped in a breath, balled her fists in her lap, and focused on the press of her nails into her palms instead of the tide of emotion trying to knock her legs from under her.

“Why must everything be such a drama with you, Mercy? And you wonder why I prefer Charles.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and wished she could fling herself out from the carriage instead of further embarrassing herself. She tried to rein in her emotions, tried to avoid the awful breathless feeling that was closing in on her.

“Oh dammit, I’ve done it again,” Andromeda said. “I can stop the coach. I will if you want. But I think you’ll enjoy where I’m taking you, and I’ll ensure that you get back to The Grange safely. Do you want to leave? Truly? Are you not the least bit curious?”

Mercy thought about what awaited her if she left that moment. A long ride back up to Harlem. More work. Mrs. Hamilton. Angelica. Perhaps John come to visit, needing her assistance with the biographical work his mother had handed off to him.

Mercy scoffed at Mrs. Hamilton’s obsession with her late husband, but if she looked back at the past few years, her own life had nothing to show for it besides that same work of preservation. And perhaps she’d had reason to immerse herself in someone else’s life, their joy and grief. It had allowed her to ignore her own.

She opened her eyes. Andromeda was looking at her expectantly, hand raised to rap on the cab and make the driver pull the reins on his horse.

Mercy shook her head, and Andromeda lowered her hand. She still looked concerned, and—for once—uncertain.

“I don’t like surprises,” Mercy said, trying to brush away the panic that had almost overtaken her. There was nothing to fret about; she could leave when she wanted, and if she was honest with herself, she did not want to go back yet.

Are you not the least bit curious?

She was, despite knowing better. That stubborn, hopeful part of her stretched behind her rib cage like a cat awakening from a long nap, ready to scrounge about for scraps.

“Don’t like surprises? Perhaps you haven’t received a good one before,” Andromeda said, venturing a smile. “But if you do not like them, this shall be the last.”

Mercy wanted to remind her that they’d never see each other again, anyway, but she didn’t. She let that thought calm her. It wasn’t as if anything could come of a few hours more in this woman’s presence. Her life would go back to normal as soon as she got back to The Grange.

And that is most definitively what you want.

Andromeda reached out and placed a hand on Mercy’s knee. Her fingers stroked soothingly, but her touch sent a shivering thrill up Mercy’s thigh, where it settled between her legs.

“I am impulsive, but I wish to give you pleasure, not cause you distress.”

The thrill between Mercy’s legs resolved into an ache, but then Andromeda pulled her hand away and smoothed out the creases in her own skirts. She began rattling something off about the pleats in her dress and Mercy received a shock when she realized that Andromeda was nervous, too. That calmed her a bit, to know that even someone brash and beautiful might feel anxious—and that perhaps she was the cause of it.

They pulled up in front of a squat brick building, and Mercy stared through the window in awe of what she saw. Other Negroes milled about, couples mostly, though there were groups of friends and families as well. They were all shades and from all walks of life, but all seemed to partake in a shared excitement about their destination as they all filed through a door at the ground floor level of the building. After paying their driver, Andromeda took Mercy’s elbow again, and they followed suit.

They passed through a small, dark apartment, and for a moment Mercy was sure she had been dragged into some foolishness, but then they stepped out through a door leading to the backyard and Mercy gasped.

It wasn’t quite beautiful—not yet. It was clearly a work in progress. The tables and chairs arranged around the large yard were worn and mismatched, and the ground was packed dirt. The sparse trees had only the beginnings of blooms on them and loomed somewhat menacingly in their skeletal state. But most tables were occupied by Negroes of every station, and they all faced a stage. And on the nearly bare stage were players, also Negroes. They were dressed in common clothes, and one or two held manuscripts. When they opened their mouths, out came the words of the Bard.

That sharp, sweet joy that Mercy had denied herself for so long spread through her as she watched the players strut about. She didn’t take her eyes away from the stage, even as they were led to a table and seated, even as Andromeda ordered them refreshment.

“A fellow from the Caribbean just opened this pleasure garden and theater. They’re going to have musical performances, dance, and put on plays.”

Mercy nodded, leaning in toward Andromeda a bit even though she still watched the stage. She had been wrong—the Grove was already beautiful.

“I’m making the costumes for the players—today is just a rehearsal, as the show doesn’t start in truth for another month or so,” Andromeda said in a low voice. As low as she could manage, that is. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it. The boy says they’re already in the second act, and I’m sure you can’t stay to the end. But I thought…”

“Shh!”

Andromeda looked hurt, and Mercy shook her head. “You misunderstand. You have many things to apologize for, but not this, so hush. I am…” She swallowed against the emotion that buffeted her about although she was still in her seat. Andromeda had known just the right place in the teeming heart of New York to bring Mercy. No one had ever known before. No one had ever endeavored to know. It had always been Mercy fumbling about trying to please others, all for naught. “I am delighted. Thank you for bringing me with you.”

She expected Andromeda to grin or make a sly remark, but instead the woman gave a small nod and sat back, her gaze turning toward the stage. Mercy followed suit, then caught sight of something in her peripheral vision.

Andromeda had reached her hand out, gaze still on the players. Mercy trained her gaze back on the stage, too, but she felt the first contact of Andromeda’s fingers with the metal chair back, the vibration as they curled through the ornate iron bars. The slow brush against the fabric of Mercy’s cloak and then a final vibration as Andromeda gripped the metal tightly.

Mercy exhaled and then leaned back, telling herself it was perfectly all right that Andromeda’s knuckles pushed gently into her back. Four of them in a line. Four points of pressure connecting her to the woman beside her.

She did not move away.

“We that are true lovers run into strange capers,” one of the players recited, and Mercy let the beauty of the words overtake her.

They watched in silence, and at act four Andromeda walked out with her to hail another hackney, one that would take her back to The Grange. Mercy couldn’t think of past betrayals or pretend that she hadn’t enjoyed herself. Her heart and her head were full of words that had nourished her—she hadn’t realized she’d been starving until she heard them, and she held them close as she parted ways with the woman who could be the ruin of her if Mercy wasn’t careful.

It wasn’t until the coach was approaching The Grange that she realized she hadn’t said goodbye.