In the second image, the woman stood in the same brilliantly lit full-length window, her back again to the viewer. She had on a filmy peignoir, and the sunlight pierced it easily, so she might as well have been nude, so clearly were her curves and hollows delineated. Her violin was tucked under her chin, her body curved up as the other hand held the bow poised over the strings. The stillness conveyed in her body, juxtaposed with the sense of the bow about to strike music out of silence, made one want to not only savor the beauty of the painting, but to listen to it as well.

“This one has always been my favorite,” Polly said as she joined North where he stood before the third painting in the ladies’ parlor.

“It’s lovely,” North agreed, slipping an arm around Polly’s waist. They’d had a week since Tobias and Timothy were bound over for the assizes, a week to say good-bye.

Polly cocked her head. “I’ve always thought the cat is particularly good.”

North considered the image of the same woman, curled on her side amid a pile of pillows and blankets. Her face was obscured by the arm she’d flung over her head, but a cat lay nestled in a tidy counter-circle in the curve of her unclothed body. The marmalade cat was arguably the same color as the woman’s hair, but the artist had given the cat’s coat a subtle, muted glow, while the lady’s hair streamed over her body with brilliant glory. Even so, while the cat was clearly contented, the woman was just as clearly exhausted, and again, the contrast made a good painting fascinating.

“Have you seen the one of you and Soldier?” Polly went on, her head resting on North’s shoulder.

“I have.” North turned his face to inhale the scent of her. “I wanted to see these before I left, though. They are brilliant, but you will please not tell Sara I peeked.”

Polly shifted closer. “I’m leaving as well.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Tremaine has asked me to inventory the things he has from Reynard, and I’m going,” Polly said. “I might see our parents while I’m gone, and I might decide to find another post as cook.”

“You’ve had a falling out with Sara?”

Polly smiled slightly. “She asked me to go, probably hoping I wouldn’t be as upset when you left. She’s considering her options as well, but she doesn’t know I’m thinking of not coming back.”

“Polly…” North did not at all like the idea of the three Hunt ladies splitting up. But Polly put her fingers over his lips before he spoke.

“I have been happy here, Gabriel, but sometimes not so happy too.”

“Thus sayeth we all.”

“I will think of you,” Polly said, turning to slip her arms around his waist. “I’ll dream of you.”

“You will forget me,” North admonished. “The sooner the better. If what Tremaine says is true, you’ll soon have some money from selling Reynard’s plunder, and you can reestablish relations with your parents. And you’re lovely, Polonaise. You can have any man you please.”

“Hush.”

“I want you to be happy.” North kissed her forehead—only her forehead. “I need you to be happy.”

Polly shook her head and stepped back. “You need me to let you go.”

“I do.” He surveyed her features warily. “You’ll manage?”

“Of course.” Though her smile was a painful, forced thing. “I’ll not see you to your horse, though. You have other good-byes to say.”

And in the few beats of silence that followed, North wanted to say he’d write, to give her his direction, to tell her something of his plans, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, he was riding to his death, and he would not involve her, nor would he be so unkind as to give her hope.

“God be with you.” He half turned, as if to go, hesitated, then turned back, gathered her into his arms, and settled his mouth over hers. He didn’t plunder, but neither did he content himself with a mere gesture. With his kiss, he let her know he’d dream of her, worry for her, pray for her, and miss her every day and night he had left on earth.

Then he stepped back, gave her a grave bow, and left.

“So when are you leaving?” Allie’s tone was casual, but in her watchful expression, Beck saw the question was not.

“What makes you think I’m leaving?” Beck asked. They were lounging on the fence outside Hildegard’s wallow, watching her nurse her twelve new piglets.

“Mr. North left, Uncle Tremaine left, Aunt is leaving.”

“I have family elsewhere, Allie. Soon they’ll have use for me some place besides Three Springs.”

“We have use for you here,” Allie shot back. “All of us. We have use for Mr. North too, but his younger brother is in trouble.”

“He told you that?”

“He’s my friend,” Allie said, her gaze on the piglets. “He told me the truth.”

“Truth is sometimes uncomfortable,” Beck said carefully, but he’d surreptitiously studied the paintings in the days since North’s departure, and studied the three Hunt ladies with particular care. There were some truths that needed to be aired, regardless of how uncomfortable they might seem.

Allie peered at him. “More like the truth is always uncomfortable, at least at first.”

“I’ll miss you when I leave. That’s a truth.”

“I’ll miss you too. And it will not be comfortable.”

She fell silent, regarding the pig where she lay, piglets rooting at her greedily.

“Mama cries,” Allie said, her voice soft. “At night she thinks I’m asleep, and Aunt is asleep, but Mama cries. I’ve asked her what’s wrong, but she just smiles. I don’t know what to do.”

Beck felt the misery that had taken up residence in his gut spike, hot and painful, up toward his throat. He hadn’t resorted to the bottle yet, but the temptation loomed with enormous appeal as he considered the uncertainty on Allie’s face.

He slipped a hand to her shoulder. “Sometimes people just need to cry, Allemande.”

“She used to cry,” Allie said. “Before we got our house in Italy, she cried a lot. But she didn’t cry when Papa died. I did, though.”

“I cried when my papa died, princess. My brother did too, and he’s bigger than I am. We all cried.”

“Does it still hurt?” Allie asked, regarding him gravely.

“It does, though I don’t think of only the hurt when I think of him. I think of his laugh, and his silly jokes, and the way he’d stay up with a colicky horse, even though he was the earl. I think about the good things, not just the parts that hurt.” To his surprise, his words were the truth. Two months after his father’s death, it wasn’t hurting as much to think the earl had gone to his reward.

“I wanted my papa to be proud of me,” Allie said. “I painted as best as I could, and Papa liked what I did, but Mama yelled at him when she saw what I’d done.”

“Cried over that too, did she?”

“No.” Allie shuddered against Beck’s side. “And it was worse when she didn’t cry. Aunt helped me, though, and I think that made Mama mad too.”

“Seems the two are connected sometimes, loving someone and being frustrated with them.”

“Hildegard doesn’t look frustrated. She looks tired.”

“But at peace.” To the extent the mother of twelve could ever be at peace. “You’re very close to your aunt, aren’t you?” Beck offered the question, knowing he shouldn’t be tempting the child to reveal confidences.

“I love Aunt Polly, and she loves me and Mama. I’m glad I have family, but sometimes…” She scuffed her half boot on the bottom fence board. “I wish you and Mr. North and Uncle didn’t have to leave.”

Beck had nothing to say to that. He wished he didn’t have to leave too.

“You will be back,” Sara assured her sister as they stood outside The Dead Boar waiting for the post coach. “Go paw around Reynard’s treasures, sell whatever you think needs selling, then come back to us.”

“Sara…” Polly eyed her sister and saw a woman holding on by a thread. “I may not come back. We’ve discussed this.”