The Soldier Read Free Page A

for the first time.
    “Heavenly days,” Miss Farnum expostulated on a soft breath. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was moving in a slow caress over the bite of apple tart. “Where on earth did you find your chef? This is the best dessert I can ever recall having.”
    “Better than your gran’s plum cake?” Winnie asked between bites.
    “Better. I must winkle the recipe out of your cook, my lord.”
    “I can write it down for you,” the earl said, polishing off his own serving. “It’s not very complicated, provided you get the crust right.”
    “You expect me to believe you know the recipe for this apple tart?” She aimed her smile at him, and he had to push the last bite of tart down his throat with a concerted swallow. Despite the awful black clothing, despite her hair being scraped back into a nondescript bun, despite the complete lack of anything approaching feminine adornment, that smile charmed . It made him aware her mouth was generous and her lips were full. Her eyes, he noticed, were a soft gray blue, and her features were actually pretty.
    Not classically pretty—her nose was by no means small, but rather would be accurately described as giving her face character. Her chin was cast in the same, probably Teutonic, mold, and her jaw followed suit. But graced with that smile, the whole was pleasing, winsome, and utterly, arrestingly feminine.
    “Start with a clean, cored apple,” the earl recited, “and one quarter of a piecrust, preferably made with butter, not lard, and white flour twice sifted, a dash each of cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, and salt added to the flour. Shall I go on?”
    “You know a recipe,” Miss Farnum said, her smile softening into a muted glow. “I own I am impressed.”
    “I can count to ten, as well, provided I am not interrupted. Winnie,” he waited until the child raised her eyes to his, “you need not sit here and listen to me boast of my culinary and arithmetic talents. Would you like to go up to bed?”
    Winnie’s gaze locked on his. “I can sleep here?”
    “You are more than welcome to sleep here. You are Helmsley, after all.”
    “Where? The stables are hot, up in the haylofts, anyway. Down by the river in the trees, it’s cooler, but the cows like to go down there, and my feet would get dirty.”
    “Child, you will sleep in a bed, with clean sheets, pillows, and a nice cup of peppermint tea to aid your digestion.” Ye gods, had no one taken any interest in this girl?
    “Will I have to take another bath?” Winnie searched his gaze, and the earl knew she was alert for warning of when he would start lying to her.
    “Not until you are dirty again, though it being summer, one can find oneself in need of frequent ablutions.”
    Winnie’s expression was wary. “What are blutions?”
    “Bubbles.” The earl signaled a footman. “If you would fetch the tweeny who was so helpful at bath time, she can escort Miss Winnie up to the bed. Now attend me, Winnie. When you want to leave the table, you inquire of your host, ‘May I please be excused?’”
    “Are you my host?”
    “I have that great honor.”
    “May I please be excused?”
    “Well done. You may, but don’t forget to wish Miss Farnum good night before you go. I gather she was concerned about you.”
    “G’night, Miss Emmie.” Winnie hopped down from her chair, scampered over to the lady, and gave her a tight hug around the neck. “G’night, Rosecroft!” She inflicted the same affection on St. Just, grabbed the footman’s hand, and pattered out, leaving the earl an unobstructed field upon which to upbraid Miss Farnum.
    “Miss Farnum, shall we adjourn to the library for a cup of tea, or perhaps you’d prefer a cordial?”
    “The apple tart was quite sweet enough,” she replied, seeming to realize the child’s absence meant matters were no longer going to be so neighborly. “If you could just answer a few questions for me, then I will be going, though I’ll collect Winnie in the morning,