Page 29 of Miss Delectable
Like the man himself.
“You begrudge yourself that knighthood,” Ann said.
The colonel sat back and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, a relaxed, informal pose that showed off his physique to excellent advantage. He would age well and soundly, for all his early years had been spent in battle.
“I don’t understand why my name was included on the honors list at all,” he said. “I am in disgrace with my regiment, though I have never been able to ascertain exactly why. The trouble started before the Hundred Days, when we all thought the last shot had been fired, and Bonaparte was buttoned up on Elba.”
Bonaparte had become unbuttoned, as it were, escaping from his island after less than a year of exile, mustering the French army to his cause, and re-entering Paris in a matter of weeks. That entire unexpected coda to years of war had lasted little more than three months and culminated in the great slaughter at Waterloo.
The great victory, rather. “Did you serve during the Hundred Days?”
“I was considered unfit for duty, and as depleted as Wellington’s forces were after nearly a year of peace, I took that to mean I was undesirable rather than unfit. Just when I think the rumors about me are beginning to subside, they start up again.”
Ann took the butter biscuit from his plate and held it out to him. “Gunter’s butter biscuits are not to be missed. I would give much for the recipe. I can come close, but I cannot re-create them exactly.”
He broke the biscuit in half and took a bite. “I generally avoid sweets.”
“Why?”
“I am less apt to miss them, and if I expect my boys to learn some self-restraint, then I must practice limiting my pleasures, too, mustn’t I?”
He passed Ann half of his biscuit, and she was not about to refuse such a treat. “Tell me of the rumors, Colonel. We hear everything at the Coventry, sooner or later. The military contingent doesn’t frequent our tables in great numbers, but we get enough retired officers among our customers to hear what’s making the rounds at Horse Guards.”
He put the uneaten portion of his biscuit back on his plate. “The telling makes for poor conversation, Miss Pearson, and I have taken up enough of your time. My thanks again for being willing to oversee Benny’s apprenticeship.” He rose, the chair scraping discordantly against the flagstones.
Ann rose as well, though she didn’t want him to leave. She liked him, liked his honesty, liked his concern for Benny, liked that he’d share his past with her.
Liked that he’d ask her opinion of his champagne and liked—very much—that he would kiss her.
“I’ll send one of the boys around to take the basket back to Gunter’s,” the colonel said, gathering up his hat and walking stick. “My regards to Miss Julia and Miss Diana.”
He hesitated before descending the garden steps, and Ann spoke rather than hear him apologize for kissing her.
“You should not tie it so tightly,” she said, moving to his side and reaching behind his head to undo the string holding his eye patch in place. “We wear caps and aprons in the kitchen all day, and you would be surprised what a difference a loose bow can make.”
Before he could protest, she had the tie undone and his eye patch off. A pink crease crossed his forehead where the leather had bitten into his flesh. Ann rubbed her thumb along that small discomfort, knowing that she was presuming terribly, but also knowing she was right.
A small, relentless hurt could eventually cause considerable pain.
“The scars hardly show,” she said, winnowing her fingers through his hair. “Do you truly need the eye patch, Colonel?”
He was regarding her out of two clear blue eyes, and he was not smiling. “On bright days, I need the patch to avoid headaches, but I must tell you, Miss Pearson, the sight of you on this pretty autumn afternoon is enough to make me rejoice that I have any ability to see at all. Before I make a complete fool of myself with further excesses of sentiment, I will take my leave of you.”
He didn’t bother to retie his eye patch, but instead stuffed it into his pocket, bowed without taking Ann’s hand, and marched down the steps onto the brick walkway.
“You’ll call again?” Ann asked, wishing she could command him to pay her another visit. “I enjoyed your visit very much, Colonel.”
He paused halfway to the gate. “I ought not.”
He was trying to be polite, drat him. “Limiting your sweets again, Colonel Goddard?”
His smile was subtle, mostly in his eyes, only a touch of humor about that tender, wry mouth. “Exactly so, Miss Pearson. Removing myself from some of the most alluring temptation I can recall in ages.” He saluted with his walking stick and let himself out the back gate.
Ann watched him carefully close the gate behind himself, while she refused to entertain the notion that perhaps Melisande had a point. Perhaps the company of a good man, a family household, and the prospect of friendships outside the kitchen might have something to recommend it.
Ann resumed her place at the table and took up the colonel’s uneaten half biscuit.
Whatever rumors plagued him, they must be very bad. Eventually, they would find their way to the Coventry, and when they did, Ann would be listening for them.
