husband tell you to do, ma’am?”
“He’d tell me to risk offending Rye by offering support before it’s needed, except if I do offend my brother, he will never ask for my help. I am not Sycamore, to take six rejections as evidence that I must apply myself harder on my seventh try.”
“Then don’t offer your help,” Ann said, rising. “Apologize for being the reason he was sent to war. He won’t see that coming.”
“I was the reason he was sent to war.”
“Tell him that, and go from there. I must return to my duties at the Coventry, but thank you for the tea.”
Mrs. Dorning rose, her smile slight but mischievous. “And for the shortbread?”
“Especially for the shortbread. Good day, ma’am.”
They exchanged curtseys, which felt curiously appropriate, and Ann returned to the kitchen just in time to see Jules bump into Hannah’s bucket of pea pod shells. The mess went everywhere, Jules went off into a flight of French insults, and Henry’s gaze became a careful blank.
“No matter,” Ann said, sailing forth before she’d even removed her cloak. “Your clumsiness is easily remedied, Monsieur, and we will have the mess you’ve created cleaned up in a moment. These little blunders are nothing to be upset about.”
Henry blinked, Jules fell silent mid-curse, and Hannah scurried off for a dustpan and broom. Ann set the bowl of shelled peas on the counter—Jules had doubtless been aiming to spill those too—and knew that war had been declared in the kitchen.
And if he hadn’t been before, Jules was surely her enemy now.
Chapter Eleven
Orion Goddard showed up on Ann’s doorstep on her half day exactly as he’d promised, and she nearly sent him away.
“Something has vexed you,” he said as Ann closed the door behind him. “Tell me.”
He made no move to take off his greatcoat, but stood in her foyer, hat in hand, gazing down at her. He looked as if he’d wait until spring, did she ask it of him.
“I fear I will be poor company today, Colonel.”
“Rye. The war is over, I’m told. I will leave you in peace if that’s what you want, but allow me to pass this along first.” He withdrew a bottle from one inside pocket and a paper-wrapped parcel from another. “A token of my esteem and a snack.”
“Brandy?” Excellent brandy, judging by the label, the kind Mr. Dorning kept in his office rather than behind the bar. “And gingerbread, still warm.” The aroma alone gave away the nature of the snack.
“The weather turns disagreeable, and you have a professional’s interest in fine spirits. I thought Miss Julia and Miss Diana might appreciate the occasional nip as well. The gingerbread is because I found the scent enticing on such a chilly day.”
“The ladies do have a medicinal dram,” Ann said. “Nightly, when Miss Julia’s rheumatism is acting up. Thank you.” The cordiality of the gestures—brandy and warm gingerbread—interrupted the rhythm of Ann’s bad mood, as did the colonel—Orion’s—delicacy.
He had the gifts of silence and patience.
“I am at peril for losing my post,” Ann said, taking Orion’s hat from him and hanging it on a hook. “I have failed to be meek and submissive, failed to treat the addition of one needed apprentice as the great imposition on Jules Delacourt’s generosity that it isn’t. Your coat, please.”
“Just because I am here doesn’t mean you have to receive me, Ann. For the past two years, my own commanding officer has been out when I call upon him. This is your home, not Delacourt’s kitchen.”
And that was why she wanted Orion Goddard to stay, because she needed a reminder that life wasn’t all about Jules’s moods and tantrums, because she needed fresh gingerbread she hadn’t had to make herself.
“Surrender your coat, sir. I have looked forward to your visit, and you are right: This is my home, and here at least I should be safe from the drama at the Coventry.”
He passed over his coat, so much heavier than the cloaks Ann and her housemates wore. She took a whiff and smiled. Lavender, gingerbread, horse.
“How is our Hannah?” Orion asked when Ann had shown him into the parlor. “And no, you need not get out the tea tray. The gingerbread is for you and the ladies. I’ll pick up another loaf for the boys on my way home. Greetings, your highness.” He offered Boreas a friendly scratch on the shoulders and left the cat purring on the desk blotter.
“Our Hannah is a hard worker,” Ann said, setting the brandy bottle and