Love Thine Enemy. Louise Gouge M.

do without him, that only he can manage the Indians, that—”

      “Shh.” Frederick lifted a finger to his lips. “My lady, your voice grows louder. Surely you do not wish Major Brigham to hear this unusual request.” Nor did Frederick wish to hear it.

      She sent a furtive glance toward the open door. “No, no. He must not know.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed the corners of her eyes, smudging the black kohl. “I would never ask such a thing except for the rebellion in Boston. I cannot bear it if Brigham is sent there to fight.”

      Even as understanding welled up in Frederick’s chest, another thought intruded. His brother Thomas, who served in His Majesty’s navy, would be deeply shamed before the admiralty if his wife were to beg this favor.

      “Oh, Moberly.” She lifted her hands in supplication. “Say you will write the letter.” She straightened, seeming to gain a measure of self-control. “In turn, I will write a letter to my father asking him to look with favor upon you.”

      “Me? I did not know Lord Chittenden knew of my existence, much less that I am out of favor with him.”

      “Oh, he doesn’t, and you aren’t. But I have four sisters, each of whom has her own small inheritance.” Her voice lilted slightly. “I know how difficult it is for a younger son to find a bride among his peers.”