Page 4 of The Soldier
“Io and Ganymede.”
The earl’s eyebrows rose, as most children would not know the names of Jupiter’s moons. “Are they friendly?” he asked, getting ready to ring for his damned tart if need be.
“Very.” Winnie nodded vigorously. “At least to me. They don’t like everybody, but I share my cheese with them, so we get alongfamously.”
“And what is the name of this lovely old dear who lets you cozen her cats and steal her pies?”
“Miss Emmaline Farnum,” the child informed him, her air serious. “I call her Miss Emmie. She is my best friend.”
“How sweet.” The earl drummed his fingers on the table, but it occurred to him that since arriving at Rosecroft more than a week ago, he’d not seen one other child. In all likelihood, Winnie had no playmates her own age. Then, too, children could be cruel, particularly to an orphaned by-blow of a penniless and unpopular earl.
“My lord, I beg your pardon!”
The door to the little dining parlor banged open, the apologetic footman rushing in behind a young woman St. Just had not seen before. She was trussed up in a shapeless black bombazine dress covering her from ankles to wrist to neck, an equally hideous black bonnet on her head.
“That is not my tart,” the earl observed to no one in particular.
“Bronwyn!” The woman leapt across the room and wrapped her arms around Winnie, the bonnet tumbling off in her haste. “Oh, Winnie, you naughty, naughty child, I’ve been searching all over for you.”
“Hullo, Miss Emmie.” Winnie beamed a grin, hugging the lady back. “Rosecroft says we’re going to have apple tarts.”
“Madam?” The earl rose and bowed. “Rosecroft, at your service.”
“My lord.” She bobbed a nervous curtsy then swiveled back to the child. “Winnie, are you all right?”
“I had to take a bath.” Winnie frowned at the memory. “But I ate and ate and ate. I am not a gentleman, though.”
“You took a bath?” Miss Farnum’s eyes went round. “My lord? Did I hear her aright?”
“With lavender bubbles,” the earl replied gravely. “And you would be?”
“Miss Emmaline Farnum,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Just how did you get her to take a bath?”
The earl narrowed his eyes, as well. “Perhaps that is a discussion we adults might reserve for later. And as I wouldn’t want to be guilty of breaking my word to a child, may I invite you to join us for apple tarts, Miss Farnum?”
The footman withdrew at the earl’s lifted eyebrow while the child’s gaze bounced back and forth between the adults. Winnie sat, all innocence in an old nightshirt somebody had dragged out of a trunk. Her golden curls gleamed, and on her feet were wool socks many sizes too big.
“Apple tarts sound delicious,” Miss Farnum said. The earl graciously seated her, taking the opportunity to notice that the lady—for all her egregious taste in attire—bore the scent of lemons and meadow mint, a tart, pleasing combination that went well with the summer evening. His gaze happened to stray to her neck as he pushed her chair in, and the smooth expanse of female skin suggested she wasn’t as mature as he’d first surmised.
“Miss Winnie was just telling me about your cats,” the earl began, continuing his assessment of his latest guest. She was a dressmaker’s disaster, but then, what else would one expect in the wilds of Yorkshire? Fading black was seldom a good color for blondes, and she was no exception. “Your cats have interesting names.”
“Gany and Io?” Miss Farnum replied, removing her gloves. At the earl’s discreet signal, the gloves were whisked away, but not before he noticed the tear on the right fourth finger. “They were from a litter of four, the other two were named Europa and Callisto.”
“Somebody enjoyed either stargazing or mythology,” the earl said as the tarts were brought in. He would have to settle for one, he supposed, as the third tart would go to his uninvited guest. “Winnie, may I cut yours for you?”
The question hung in the air just as Winnie reached for her tart with her fingers.
“Bronwyn?” Miss Farnum’s voice was perfectly polite. “His lordship has offered to cut up that delicious tart for you.”
The child sighed mightily but nodded. “Yes, please.” She watched, eyes near crossed with anticipation, as the earl cut hers into small pieces, then slid the plate to her.
“Thank you.”
“Go ahead. Mind you don’t choke, lest I have to turn you upside down and whack at you to save your scrawny neck.”
Miss Farnum looked like she’d take great exception to his comment, but when Winnie only picked up her fork and began taking dainty bites, the lady held her peace.
“I take it you are a neighbor, Miss Farnum?”
