When I first reached the Thames, I felt that a bit of air would, indeed, set me to rights almost at once. It was not the kind of air that should have made me feel well. Though the summer was hot, it was half over, and that gave me a measure of relief. For summer was not a pleasant time to stay in London. Already the smell of fish should have overwhelmed me, and the boatmen’s coarse shouting should have been grating to my ears. But in truth, anything was preferable to the din inside my shop. For every well-bred person who passed through, there was a leech like Larissa, someone with no breeding and far too much leisure.

My sympathy with my country’s rebellious colonies rose within me once again. To read the papers’ take on their strange system of governance, financial instability and foreign wars made the life of the residents rather horrid. However, I could not help but feel that the House of Lords, with or without voting reform, was thoroughly ridiculous. Who would want the brother of someone like Larissa to hold political office? As long as the seats were handed down, the most hardworking people in society would have to answer to the laziest.

I spied several couples from a distance, and as they approached, I decided that they certainly fell into the category of “lazy” in my eyes. The women were holding large parasols, the gentlemen sporting colorful coats that I could tell had been made either by my own hands or by some of my most skilled competitors. And yet, they were uncommonly picaresque, and just as I despised them, I found myself longing for their situation.

Most days I was far too busy to think about how my life would be if I were a lady of leisure. Every time I found myself dreaming of a life that had nearly been mine, I filled my day with more tasks. If I thought about how I would love to have the luxury of not rising early, perhaps taking breakfast in my bed, I would decide that one of our pots required a good scrubbing and go straight to work. If I felt cold on a winter’s day when I had to go out and deal with merchants, I began to walk more quickly before I could remind myself that some people were able to have roaring fires made before they even began to notice a chill.

But walking by the Thames, looking at the colorful ladies and gentleman walking toward me, I could not shut out the vision of what a summer day might have been for me if I were very rich indeed.

My day would not even have to begin in London. Instead, I could rise in silence, breathing in fresh country air. I could walk off into the forest, with nobody to insist that I occupy myself or that I earn a single farthing. Perhaps I would have a horse, or a pack of dogs to keep me company. Or perhaps I would be completely alone, a state that would likely be unfamiliar to nearly every Londoner. After all, I was never alone. If I sought to walk on the street during one of the wee hours of the morning, when nobody else was about, I might be robbed or killed, leaving nobody to provide for my family. Mama was an excellent seamstress, but I was the one who got all of the supplies for our shop, the woman who charmed the clients into thinking that money almost did not enter into any of our transactions. And so I never knew a single day in which I was not in close proximity, not only to my family, but to dozens of strangers.

All of my visions of a carefree life seemed borne out by the couple that lead the party I had been watching. The woman looked as if she might easily be at least my age, likely older, but she had an elegant walk and an even more elegant light blue jacket. The man walking with her looked portly but healthy, and their conversation was plainly a lively one. If I were in a long and happy marriage, would I look just as happy as that lady? I imagined that at home she ate well, cared for some great number of children only when the nanny was otherwise occupied, and had any number of leisure hours that she could fill as she wished. And the nearer I got to her, the more I found myself wishing that I was she, that our positions in society were perfectly reversed. Instead of resentment, I felt only wonder. I was so enthralled by that particular couple that I did not see the couple that walked some yards behind them until we were quite near to passing by each other.

The woman looked young. So young that she was probably about the same age as young Larissa, the girl who had inspired me to go out to the street in the first place. And so young that she apparently could not walk on the arm of a handsome man without her whole face bursting into a beautiful, sunny smile.

This might have irritated me, but I was so focused on the face of the gentleman that I had no more than a passing glance at the lady. He was not hidden by a parasol. His features were in full view, and if I had raised my head only a little bit more, he would certainly have gotten a very good look at my own features as well.

In fact, it was the bonnet that my mother had made with her own hands that saved me. It may not have fit well with the fashions for spring, but it hid my face so well that nobody could have possibly recognized me. And that was what I required, because the man was none other than Luke Barlow.

After ten years of hiding successfully, ten years in which I had come to believe that I would live out the rest of my days as “the widowed Mrs. Allen,” I had come nearly face to face with my husband.