Page 43 of Miss Delectable
“And I always keep my word.” Ann wanted to make a circuit of the study, to handle the three little netsukes on the mantel—an elephant, a tiger, a horse—and to open the delicate cloisonné box on the windowsill to see if it held snuff, mints, or nothing at all.
The usual office accoutrements were in plain sight—abacus, paper, wax jack, pen tray, ink, quill pens, blotter, pounce pot, correspondence—but the small touches made the room as much a haven as a place of business.
The colonel brought her drink to her. “What does that look portend? Does the sight of my slippers offend?”
“Not at all.” His scuffed slippers were tidily placed before the hearth, where they would stay warm until he had need of them. “I’m asking myself why the Coventry’s kitchen has no small touches. Why not display a pretty painted tray on the deal table, or bring in the occasional flower from the garden?” Ann’s own kitchen wasn’t any more welcoming than her place of business.
The colonel touched his mug to hers. “To your health, Miss Pearson.”
“And yours.” Ann cradled the warm mug in her hands, a pleasure in itself, as was the spicy scent. She tried a cautious sip. “That is a powerful brew, Colonel.”
“I’ll fetch the teakettle if you’d like to add some water to yours.”
Ann took another sip. “Warms the innards, which I believe was the point.” The toddy also delighted the tongue with its smooth texture and spicy flavor.
“My grandmother liked hers with a dash of raspberry liqueur and fewer spices,” the colonel said. “Shall we be seated?”
“My imagination will gallop away with that idea—raspberry liqueur and rum—and you will make a sot of me as I concoct my recipes.”
The colonel took one of the chairs before the fire, Ann took the other.
“Raspberry liqueur makes a nice addition to champagne, according to some,” he said. “Others like to blend the juice of oranges with a humble champagne, or even lemonade. I can’t see it myself.”
Ann could taste these ideas and smell them and see the pretty results. “You mentioned cold weather earlier. Can you truly predict the weather with your old injury?”
“Yes. Bad weather bothers both my hip and my head. Do you mind if I remove my eye patch? The day is gloomy enough that I need not fret over the light.”
“Don’t stand on ceremony on my account, Colonel. Tell me about that manor house. The landscape looks like Surrey to me, or possibly Kent.”
“The ancestral home,” Colonel Goddard replied. “I let it out, but the lease is coming up for renewal, and I’m considering selling the place.”
“It’s not entailed?”
“My father broke the entail—with my consent as the heir—because we were in dire financial straits, and Papa was considering liquidating. Then Jeanette bagged her marquess, and disaster was averted for Papa and me, not so for Jeanette.”
The fire blazed merrily, but the dreary weather—a brooding, leaden overcast chased by a chill wind—made the room dark.
“Forgive me,” the colonel went on, stripping off his eye patch and tucking it into a pocket. “I ought not to burden you with ancient history.”
“Your sister’s first marriage was unhappy?”
“Utterly miserable, though I did not know that until I could do nothing for her. Papa bought me a commission with a portion of the largesse Jeanette had earned us, and off I went to play soldier. When I came home on my first winter leave, I realized I had made a serious mistake, but by then, the senior officers had decided my French antecedents were useful. Mustering out was not possible.”
Ann tried another sip of her drink, this taste going down more easily, as did the next and the next. Her immediate superior was overly fond of spirits, and had Ann limitless access to the colonel’s toddies, she might engage in the same folly.
Somebody had, in fact, nearly drained her glass.
“My aunt plagues me,” she said, apropos of nothing. “Wants me to become her companion, to take my place in polite society. She fails to realize that I’ve seen much of that society at the Coventry, many of them not at their best. I like what I do, I make a difference to those who work with me.”
The colonel set aside his drink. “No question of mustering out? Aren’t you ever lonely, Ann?”
“All the time.”
Had the colonel not used her name, she might have scrounged up a reply with pretensions to wit or charm. He’d spoken softly, though, and in his question lurked an admission thathewas lonely, and had been for some time.
“I was an only child,” Ann went on, because with Orion Goddard, she saw no point in dissembling. “I did not realize that most children have playmates, siblings, schoolmates… until I was nine years old, and my grandmother took me to some village celebration. She told me to go play with a group of children kicking a ball around, but I could not ask them for permission to join the game because I knew none of them by name. They knew each other’s names, but I knew no other child in the whole shire by name. Watching them play, I realized my situation wasn’t normal.”
Colonel Goddard rose and took Ann’s mug from her hand. She had no idea what he was about, but when he scooped her into his arms and settled back into his wing chair, she did not protest.
