He made no move to enter the house, and the sight of him—eye patch securely in place, bearing erect, breeze whipping his dark hair—was rendered even more dear by the fact that he held a half-dozen pinkish roses in a small bouquet. His free hand sheltered the flowers from the wind, but their perfume came to Ann nonetheless.
“From your walled garden?”
“The very last of the stragglers,” he said, still making no move to enter the house. “I thought you should have them. Their fragrance speaks more for them than does their appearance, and tonight would see them nipped, I’m sure.”
“Please come in, Colonel. The day is too brisk to chat away the morning on the doorstep.”
Humor lit his gaze, as if he knew that pragmatic speech for the sop to Ann’s dignity that it was. The scent of the flowers was luscious, even if they weren’t awash in glossy foliage, and that the colonel would bring them to her…
“I’m supposed to declare that you shouldn’t have troubled to bring me flowers,” Ann said, taking the bouquet from him, “and pretend eight more such offerings are already wilting in my conservatory, but this was very sweet of you, Colonel.”
“I have an ulterior motive.” He peered around, ever the reconnaissance officer, though Miss Julia’s and Miss Diana’s housekeeping exceeded even military standards.
“Which you make it a point to once again announce. You have little talent for subterfuge. Come to the parlor with me, and we’ll find a vase for these blooms.”
He accompanied her to the parlor, and Ann was glad that the older ladies were fanatical about the domestic arts. The room was warm, tidy, and as well lit as a parlor could be on such a dreary day. Though with Colonel Goddard on hand, the space seemed smaller, the ceiling lower.
“You trimmed the thorns,” she said, filling a vase half full of water and setting the flowers on the windowsill. “Considerate of you.”
He stroked the cat, who rose to encourage more such cosseting. “Who is this grand fellow?”
“Boreas, named for the Greek deity who brought the autumn storms. He offers us an expired rodent just often enough to maintain his credentials as a mouser. Shall I take your coat, Colonel?”
He passed Ann a gray wool scarf of exceptional softness, then set about undoing his buttons. “My grandmother knitted that scarf. The wool is from Ouessant—Ushant, to the English. A delightful little breed of sheep has called that island home since antiquity. When I was in Spain, I might have misplaced my telescope or my flask, but I would never misplace that scarf.”
Ann took a whiff, finding his signature lavender scent beneath the predictable aroma of wool. “And is your grandmother still knitting you scarves, Colonel?”
“She went to her reward before the Hundred Days, and I considered that a mercy. Most of my French relatives were enthusiastic supporters of Bonaparte, until his mad venture to Moscow. Half a million soldiers killed in a single campaign rather put a damper on the populace’s interest in further warfare. Unlike the English army, which maintains itself mostly through recruitment, the Continental forces practice conscription, which has drawbacks.”
Ann took his coat and arranged it over the back of the chair at the desk, inside out, the better to absorb the fire’s warmth.
“Your hair,” she said, winnowing her fingers through his locks. “The wind has disarranged you.” That, and she wanted any excuse to touch him. Such a longing was novel and not entirely welcome—she had menus to plan—but she suspected her preoccupation with the colonel would not fade anytime soon either.
The memory of a short nap cradled in his arms plagued her. He’d spoken honestly about having no untoward designs on her person, but when his affection was so generously given, he didn’t need untoward designs to put her into a complete muddle.
Aren’t you ever lonely, Ann?
All the time.
Her admission had left her restless and discontent, also resentful of Aunt’s demand for menus. “Shall I put together a tea tray?” Ann asked.
“Might we be seated?” came from the colonel in the same instant. “No tea,” he said. “You spend all day toiling in a kitchen for others, and I did not come here to add to your work.”
She gestured him into one of the two wing chairs by the hearth. The sisters spent many an evening in those chairs, swaddled in shawls, reminiscing. Ann knew that only because one day a week the Coventry was closed, and thus she was free to join her housemates by the fire.
“A tea tray is not work,” Ann said.
“It’s not a frolic either.” Colonel Goddard filled the chair, his long legs reaching nearly to the hearth’s fender. “I had supper last night with your employer.”
“Was that a frolic?”
Again, the brief humor came and went in his gaze without touching his mouth. “Hardly. How well do you know Mr. Sycamore Dorning?”
“This is your ulterior motive? To quiz me about my employer?” Drat and perdition. “I don’t tell tales out of school, Colonel.”
The cat leaped down from the desk and appropriated a place on the colonel’s lap.
“He’ll get hair all over you.”
“Lending me protection from the elements. Have you ever considered the origin of that phrase, about telling tales out of school? I think of the boy who’s bullied, of which there are too many. He’s to value the privilege of being abused by his peers above the protection his elders might afford him if he tattled.”
“Or he’s to refrain from gossip. Mr. Dorning bullies nobody, though he can be both charming and emphatic. Why do you ask?” Very charming and very emphatic, which was fortunate when somebody had to jolly Jules Delacourt out of a surly mood.
“I put a matter to Dorning in confidence, and I am concerned he’ll nose about and make a bad situation worse. When I realized that trusting to his discretion might have been ill-advised, my next thought was, I wish I could discuss this matter with Miss Pearson. She is a woman of great good sense, and she will hear things at the Coventry that might bear on my circumstances.”
Ann had been valued for her ability to concoct rich sauces, for her subtle use of spices, for her hard work, though not nearly often enough. To be valued for her great good sense called to the girl whose papa hadn’t valued her for anything.
“What exactly is your situation, Colonel?”
“Should we have left the parlor door open?”
“Miss Julia and Miss Diana are off on their weekly trip to the lending library. They will stop at a tea shop and, if the weather stays dry, a yarn shop. This is their version of patrolling the perimeter, Colonel, for all the best tattle is to be had over books, tea, and knitting. You need not worry that we’ll be interrupted or overheard.”
The cat arranged itself in a perfect feline circle of contentment, the tip of his tail resting over his pink nose. The colonel gently stroked the beast’s back, and Ann envied the idiot cat those caresses.
Sorely.
“I am not concerned about being overheard,” the colonel said. “I was more worried about the proprieties. When last we met, I took liberties with your person. I have been prattling away over here, burdening you with my business, and all the while trying to figure out if an apology is in order.”