“Dropping by the Coventry to swill your champagne for free?” Alasdhair added, settling back into his chair.
Each query was the same question in different words: Goddard, what the hell are you doing?
“Fournier and Deschamps both claim innocence,” Rye said, finishing his drink. “Jeanette’s in-laws once had a hand in spreading gossip about me, but the guilty parties are no longer in London. Somebody with a long memory has decided that I need banishing, but I’m still at a loss to know who or why.”
“And if you tarry in Town, the next warning might be to send your warehouse up in flames,” Dylan said.
“I can make more champagne. I cannot make more of the people I care for.” More cousins, more darling old ladies who tatted the most exquisite lace to edge Rye’s fancy cravats, not that he ever wore fancy cravats.
He could not make more dear, courageous boys, who all deserved to have their gifts appreciated and their shortcomings forgiven, even if those shortcomings stank like hell’s privy.
Rye could never make more sisters, when only the one had been allotted to him, and he’d bungled being her brother. God help him, he’d probably miss even Sycamore Dorning.
“So why does it feel,” Dylan asked, “as if you’re choosing the champagne over the friends?” He laced his hands on his belly and closed his eyes, apparently unwilling to absent himself from this wake for a life more dear than Rye had realized.
“Will you write to her?” Alasdhair asked. “To Miss Pearson, I mean. Mrs. Dorning will send her husband to hunt you down if you neglect to correspond with your sister.”
How Rye would miss these friends who’d stuck by him through everything. “Go to hell, MacKay.”
“I might have to, if I want to look in on you. Have another nip?”
Getting drunk never solved anything. Staying sober hadn’t exactly resulted in a quick victory either. “Half,” Rye said. “And then I must be going.”
Otter would be furious at leaving London, but then he’d settle down and accommodate what could not be changed. When Otter had reconciled himself to the inevitable, the other boys would too.
Rye’s list of worries expanded as the fire mellowed: the horses, the cats in the stable—Hannah would fret over them—and Hannah herself, though Jeanette could keep an eye on her. Mrs. Murphy would need a character, and whoever was hired to share warehouse guard duty would have to understand that Nicolas needed looking after as well.
In his head, Rye made a list of tasks to do before leaving, people upon whom he must call, affairs to put in order. He could even in his imagination conceive of how he’d take leave of Ann. A swift, fond farewell, a kiss and a smile, soldier-fashion, and then march off to battle, head held high.
All very well for the part of him that had wrangled recruits, mules, horses, and artillery, but in his heart, he felt as if he would be deserting the regiment, the one betrayal a loyal officer would never commit.
Ann stepped back to admit Orion, and even Miss Julia and Miss Diana for once had no comment. Colonel Sir Orion Goddard in dress regimentals was a sight to strike a lady speechless. His eye patch made him look only more imposing, and his smile… oh, his smile was all the spice and sweetness Ann could have wished for.
“Miss Julia, Miss Diana, good evening.” Orion bowed, then took Ann’s hand. “Miss Pearson, my vineyards at harvest time pale beside your beauty.”
She curtseyed. “And your splendor outshines my most delicate double consommé.”
“Besotted,” Miss Julia muttered. “The pair of you.”
“Oh, to be besotted,” Miss Diana said. “Colonel, you must be very attentive to our Ann tonight. I do not care for these relatives of hers. They never call upon her, and they—”
“Enough, Sister,” Miss Julia cut in. “The young people must be off to display their finery.”
Finery had nothing to do with why Ann wanted to be off. “Don’t wait up for me,” she said. “If the evening goes quite late, I might stay with my aunt.”
Miss Diana looked ready to launch into one of her well-reasoned, politely withering diatribes on the undeserving nature of relatives who never called, while Orion draped Ann’s cloak over her shoulders and fastened the frogs for her.
“Ann, take care of our colonel,” Miss Julia said. “I’ve spent enough time around officers’ wives to know where the worst ambushes come from.”
Orion passed Ann her bonnet. “We are away to enjoy one of the most impressive banquets ever served in London, and that is saying something. Try to contain your envy.”
Miss Julia touched his sleeve. “Young man, you had best get out that door while you still can. Sister and I are quicker than we look.”
Something wistful passed over Orion’s expression, and then he was offering Ann his arm and escorting her to the walkway.
“I borrowed the Dorning coach,” Orion said. “The occasion seemed to call for it. Do you mind?”
The conveyance was splendid, the horses matched grays. “Because we will travel in a closed carriage after dark without a chaperone?”
Had Ann any intention of pursuing the much-vaunted advantageous match, had she any aspiration to socialize with high society rather than to cook in its kitchens, she might have hesitated.
“As I keep telling my aunt, I am not a young lady new to Town intent on attaching the interests of a well-off spouse. We’ll keep the shades down.”
“Will we really?”
“Yes, and if anybody asks, your sister accompanied us, but nobody will ask.”
Orion handed her up and settled on the forward-facing seat beside her. “I will tell John Coachman to let us off before we reach the brigadier’s front door, in case anybody thinks to make a fuss.”
What does it say about me that I like even sitting beside this man? Like watching the light of the coach lamps turn his features stern—more stern—and complicated?
“I hope the guests make a fuss about the sauce velouté I devised for the fish and the sauce béarnaise to be served with the beef.”
Orion took her hand as the coach glided forward, and Ann wished they weren’t wearing gloves. “Are you trying to make me hungry?”
“If you don’t kiss me in the next thirty seconds, I will make you—”
He kissed her. Gently, then with a combination of heat and tenderness that had Ann longing to take off far more than her gloves. She let go of him reluctantly long minutes later, because even she would not arrive at her aunt’s house looking tumbled.
“Are you nervous?” Orion asked as Ann finger-combed his hair back into order.
“Yes. I’ve never partaken of the banquets I prepare or plan. My aunt is right about that. I’m torn between wanting to simply enjoy good food and wanting to keep paper and pencil handy to note any room for improvement.”
“Enjoy the food, Annie. God knows you’ve earned the right. If Melisande is merciful, you won’t be seated too far away from me, and I can enjoy you enjoying your creations.”
Orion’s entrance into the guest parlor was met with some raised eyebrows and a few murmured asides, but then Emily Bainbridge took him by the arm.
“We have an expert, ladies,” Mrs. Bainbridge said, drawing Orion to a group of women. “Colonel, you can settle a dispute. We are debating the meaning of the French verb courtiser. You must translate it for us.”