Page 14 of The Soldier
“You are eying my cider.” The earl gestured at the mug sitting between them. “Help yourself.”
“I will,” she said, bringing his mug to her lips. “I would have to make another trip down to the spring house to fetch more.” She’d drained the mug, he saw, feeling just the least bit thirsty now that she had.
“You would have done well as an officer’s wife,” he heard himself comment. “They were remarkable women, most of them. Far more stoic than the men and just as brave.”
“I swipe your cider, and you are willing to offer me my colors?” Miss Farnum smiled then hid a delicate yawn behind her hand.
“Those ladies did not stand on ceremony. They were practical, resilient, good-humored, and resourceful. You put me in mind of them.” They were also women who understood the place killing had in the greater scheme of life, and Emmie Farnum, smiling and yawning in the soft summer air, shared that wisdom, too.
She nodded at Red. “Was that one of your mounts?”
“He was too young to have served. I own a stud farm in Surrey, and he is one of three whose training I did not want to see lapse over the summer. His name is Ethelred. Shall I introduce you?”
“I’d be delighted.” She rose without assistance. “It isn’t every morning a lady finds two such handsome fellows on her back porch.”
“He will be happy to opine regarding your grass, I’m sure,” the earl said, walking down the steps beside her. “I think he believes it to be too long and in need of his attentions.” Red looked up as they approached but continued chewing.
“Is he a bit thin?” she asked, holding out a hand for Red to sniff.
“He is. He’s three and a half. He’ll continue to grow for at least another year, and he’s in a weedy stage. Then, too, they all dropped weight on the journey north.” As he had himself.
“Well, aren’t you handsome?” She addressed the horse, the minx. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr…?” She arched an eyebrow at the earl.
“Ethelred,” the earl reminded her, “or Red, which he seems to like better.” Red was making sheep’s eyes at Miss Farnum, sniffing at her hand then wiggling his lips against her palm. “Shameless beggar.” The earl scratched at Red’s ears. “He must like the sugary scent of you.” Without thinking, Rosecroft grasped her hand and sniffed at her palm. “Sweet,” he remarked, “and a little spicy.”
She shot him a quizzical look. “Perhaps I will experiment with making treats for your steed.”
“And wouldn’t you love that?” the earl asked his horse. Red went back to grazing, seeing the introductions were not going to afford any more attention. “Do you ride, Miss Farnum?”
“I was taught,” she said, eyes still on Red. “It has been years.”
“Would you perhaps like to ride, then? The countryside here is nothing if not beautiful, and I’m going to have to find some quiet mounts for Miss Winnie.”
She smiled at him wistfully. “Maybe someday. Winnie loves animals, you know. They’ve been her chief companions for the past two years.”
“Then we will keep her well supplied. I’ve an affinity for them myself, horses in particular. Actually, I am intruding on your morning in hopes you can advise me on a matter related to Winnie.” Well, he amended silently, tangentially related to Winnie.
“Oh?” She stifled another little yawn, and the earl recalled she’d been up all night.
“Come.” He put a hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the porch. “You are tired, and I should not keep you. I wanted only to inquire regarding Winnie’s preferences at breakfast. I need to review the menus now that breakfast will be a necessity, and I thought as you—”
“You aren’t having a properbreakfast?” Miss Farnum turned to stare at him. “For shame, my lord. You wouldn’t expect Ethelred to go to work without his breakfast, would you? My lands, what must you be thinking? Come alongthis instant.” She bustled up the steps and banged through her back door again, leaving the earl to follow in her wake. He found himself in a hallway leading to a large, tidy kitchen as Miss Farnum went to a desk—who put a desk in a kitchen?—and withdrew a piece of paper and a short pencil.
“Breakfast is the best meal of the day,” she informed the earl as she sat at the desk. “Show me a man who doesn’t appreciate his breakfast, and I’ll show you a man who couldn’t possibly be English. Now…” She fell silent as she scratched away. “There.”
She brandished the paper at him, and he took it.
“Winnie loves her muffins.” Miss Farnum nodded for emphasis. “But she needs the variety of fresh fruits and the substance of some butter and cheese to start her day. She is not particularly fond of meat, but one needn’t belabor that point.”
“Not at breakfast,” the earl agreed. “My thanks, Miss Farnum. I’ll take my leave of you and recommend you seek your bed.”
“I will dream of the perfect pastry.”
“Until Monday, then.” The earl couldn’t help but smile at her, so pleased did she seem with the prospect of her dreams. He bridled his horse, mounted up, and rode on home, oblivious to the pair of blue-gray eyes watching him canter off into the shade of the trees.
Rather than take herself immediately off to bed, Emmie wrote out instructions for Anna Mae Summers, the assistant who would show up in an hour so, then paused to consider her previous visitor.
As she shucked down to her skin then washed, Emmie reflected that the earl had a disarming willingness to speak plainly, to put his questions, desires, and aims into simple speech: What does Winnie like for breakfast? Did Helmsley ever succeed in his attempts to bother her? Help yourself to my cider.
