Page 5 of Miss Delectable
“Let’s start with the clean clothes.”
“But that—”Made no sense. Orion’s protest died aborning as Miss Pearson’s skirts appeared at the edge of the hayloft, followed by her person climbing onto the ladder.
A gentleman did not watch a lady descend a ladder, even in the near darkness of a stable in the evening. Miss Pearson wasn’t strictly a lady—she labored hard for her bread—but Orion had at one time considered himself a gentleman.
He turned his back until Miss Pearson was standing before him in the gloom of the barn aisle. She’d taken off her straw hat, and her cuffs were turned back. She smelled good—flowery and fresh—a contrast to the earthy scents of the stable.
“Benny will be well,” she said with calm conviction. “Clean clothes are the first priority. Bone broth, chamomile tea, light activity, and the malady will ease its grip in a few days.”
“You’re sure?” Orion said, peering down at her. “You aren’t a physician, and the boy was clearly in misery.”Showed evidence of serious injury.
“I am as certain of my diagnosis as I am of my name, Colonel. Fetch the patient some clean clothes, and you and I will talk.”
Orion’s relief was unseemly. He’d worried for Jeanette when food poisoning had brought her low, but Jeanette was an adult, and she’d clearly had Sycamore Dorning to fret for her too. These boys had nobody and nothing, and life had already been brutally unkind to them.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the lady’s hand and bowing. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Miss Pearson ambushed him with a hug—a swift squeeze, followed by a pat to his shoulder. For a small woman, she hugged fiercely. The embrace was over before Orion could fathom that he was being hugged, and that was fortunate.
He’d sooner have taken another bullet than endure Ann Pearson’s affection.
“The child is lucky to have you,” she said, stepping back. “I gather Benny is one of several children in your care.”
“They are hardly children anymore. They eat like dragoons and grow out of clothing almost before it’s paid for.” Orion cupped his hand to his mouth. “Watch the lantern, Benny. I’m off to find you clean togs and scare up the tisanes Miss Pearson has prescribed.”
Benny’s head appeared over the top of the ladder, bits of hay cascading down. “You won’t tell the others?”
Tell them what?
“You are suffering a brief indisposition,” Miss Pearson replied. “Perhaps something you ate disagreed with you. The colonel and I will discuss what’s to be done.”
Some silent communication passed between Miss Pearson and the patient. Benny shrugged and withdrew from sight.
“No more piking off,” Rye called up to the loft. “I don’t care if you have consumption, the Covent Garden flu, and sooty warts. You don’t desert the regiment just because you feel poorly.”
“Yes, sir.” The resentment Benny packed into the two mumbled syllables was reassuring.
“Come, Colonel.” Miss Pearson gathered up her basket and marched down the barn aisle. “I daresay Benny could use some sustenance, and I want a look at your medicinals.”
Orion followed reluctantly. “You’re sure the lad will come right?”
“Benny will be fine. Have you eaten supper?”
“No, and now that I know we won’t be measuring Benny for a shroud, I admit I am famished. The cook/housekeeper usually leaves me a tray on the hob before she departs for the night. You’re welcome to share.”
“Your help doesn’t live in?”
Rye crossed the alley and escorted Miss Pearson into the garden, where crickets sang a slow lament to winter’s approach. A cat skittered up over the garden wall, and fatigue pressed down on Rye like the darkness itself.
“My housekeeper lives around the corner with her daughter and son-in-law. I believe Mrs. Murphy has a follower and would rather see him on her own turf. My maid-of-all-work and man-of-all-work are a married couple—he also serves as my coachman—and they dwell over the carriage house.”
Miss Pearson moved through the night with the same easy assurance Orion associated with her in other contexts. She’d been comfortable in Jeanette’s sick room. In the Coventry’s kitchens, she’d been thoroughly at home.
“You have married servants, Colonel?”
“My former batman and his wife. I value loyalty over convention.”
“I suspect you value loyalty over almost every other consideration. My gracious, your roses are lovely.” Miss Pearson made her way down the cobbled path to the overgrown roses along the stone wall. “These are not damasks, and yet…” She sniffed. “They are marvelous.”
