the course of her life, and the course of the colonel’s too.
“I will take the best care of Hannah, Colonel. She will want for nothing.”
Benny helped herself to a plain crepe, rolling it up and swiping it through the pear sauce on her plate. “’Bye, sir. I get to mix up the batter next time.”
“I am dismissed,” the colonel said softly. He tapped his hat onto his head and donned his coat. “Miss Pearson, good day and good luck.”
Another good-bye. Ann had served him her best pear sauce, and he was walking away. “I’ll see you out.”
“That’s not…” He fell silent. “Very well.” He gave Benny a quick, tight, one-armed hug while she munched her crepe, then followed Ann down the passage and up the short flight of steps that led to the garden terrace. “You will notify me if Benny needs anything?”
“Of course. A journal would make a nice gift from you. Pencils are better than pens for jotting down kitchen notes.”
“I will see to it.” He paused at the door, the wind whipping through the garden audible proof that his journey home would be cold and unpleasant. “Do you know when else I was happy, Miss Pearson?”
“Ann. We’ve cooked together. Please call me Ann.” And please don’t go. How many times was she destined to have that useless thought where he was concerned?
“Do you know when else I was happy, Ann?”
“Tell me.”
“When I was watching you stir that pot, when I was kissing you, when I was listening to you prattle on about when an apprentice is ready to take on desserts and meat dishes. I was happy watching you arrange an impromptu picnic on your terrace, and I will be happy when I recall all of those moments on the dark and chilly nights to come.”
He sent one last glance in the direction of the kitchen. “I will miss her terribly.”
His hand was on the latch. Ann caught him by the arm, though, of course, this man would come and go as he pleased.
“May I bring Hannah to call on you and the boys on our half day?”
Broad shoulders relaxed, military posture eased. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not in the least.”
“The boys and I would be in your debt.” He did not kiss her, but he did smile, a purely charming, delighted smile that banished the wind, rain, and cold as effectively as did the roaring fire in the kitchen’s open hearth.
“Until Wednesday, Colonel.”
He bowed politely and slipped through the door.
Ann watched his progress across the dank and chilly garden. She was halfway through her lecture to Hannah about cleaning every utensil and bowl thoroughly after each use when she realized that, for a man who claimed to avoid sweets, Colonel Goddard had certainly made short work of a plate full of crepes.
Chapter Seven
“Cousin!” The child hurled herself at Orion, and he had no choice but to catch her up in his arms.
“Nettie, mon agneau chéri. Qu’est-ce tu dessines?” His lamb had left behind the toddler’s solid physique for the more coltish dimensions of girlhood. When had that happened?
“She is drawing battles, of course,” Tante Lucille said, motioning Rye into the parlor. “You bring the cold and damp with you, and why did not that useless Marie hang up your coat?”
“Marie took a little package for me to the kitchen.” A sizable package bearing tea, spices, honey, white flour, a half wheel of cheese, and a few other comestibles. “Show me your great battle, Nettie.”
She scrambled out of his embrace. “Devez-vous parler anglaise, Colonel?”
“We must both speak English, child, until you can think as easily in one language as the other.” Though it was never quite that simple. Rye dreamed in French, the language of his mother’s lullabies, while English was the natural choice for cursing.
“I am drawing the great Bonaparte,” Nettie said, retrieving a square of paper from the table by the window. “He was victorious everywhere save Waterloo, and then he was defeated by the treacherous mud.”
The great Bonaparte had erred beyond redemption by trying to best a Russian winter, and he’d made tactical blunders approaching his final battle too—thank the heavenly hosts. Rye shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the back of a chair facing the hearth. The fire was giving off adequate heat, but no more than adequate.
“You have drawn the emperor on a fine steed,” Rye said, bending to kiss Tante Lucille’s smooth cheek and taking a seat at the table. “He looks quite handsome.” Nettie had drawn Bonaparte brandishing his