"To Blissbury?"
Eloise, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron, widened her eyes in surprise.
Mrs. Severton gave her a disapproving look, clearly thinking such work belonged to the maids. But Eloise, resolutely ignoring her mother's gaze, turned to Mr. Severton.
"Yes. While clearing out the bookcase, I discovered I'd borrowed quite a few volumes from the Blissbury library. Had there been only one or two, I'd have sent the errand boy, but..."
Mr. Severton hesitated.
Last summer, when the heat had been too oppressive for him to walk himself, he had entrusted several books to a boy who ran errands in the village.
The boy had taken the books and set off at a run.
The problem was that he'd been caught in a summer downpour—and since he had never held a book in his life, he hadn't known what became of them when wet.
Those books had been rare, difficult to obtain even in the capital.
Mr. Severton hadn't blamed the boy. He had only regretted that his own carelessness had ruined such valuable volumes.
From that day forward, he always returned borrowed books himself.
But today, it seemed, he had decided to entrust the task to Eloise.
"I have an appointment in Cambon. It will take approximately two days, and I should like to return the books as soon as possible. Sergeant Thornton may not attach much importance to such matters, but it's best to return them before any misunderstandings arise."
Father was right.
Although Baron Stanford had granted permission to borrow from the library, in Sergeant Thornton's eyes it might appear as though they had been helping themselves to the estate's possessions to adorn their own home.
Eloise swiftly removed her apron.
"Don't worry—I'll go."
Her father had devoted so many years to Blissbury; she refused to let a few books arouse unnecessary suspicion.
Besides, if she were honest, she was glad of an excuse to visit Blissbury.
---
"Dress properly!"
Mrs. Severton's voice followed Eloise as she climbed the stairs.
She would have done so even without her mother's instruction.
Entering her room, Eloise carefully washed the traces of flour from her hands and face, then donned her finest walking dress.
She combed her hair, gathered it into a neat chignon, and settled her bonnet in place. A flawless lady gazed back from the mirror.
*I haven't dressed like this in ages.*
Not since last autumn, when she had gone to Cambon on her mother's arm.
Feeling slightly self-conscious, Eloise adjusted her ensemble once more before the glass, then descended the stairs.
On the table lay several books her father had found, and beside them rested an apple pie she had just baked with Emily.
When Eloise appeared, Mrs. Severton examined her from head to toe. A satisfied smile soon crossed her face. The inspection had been passed.
"Good—modest and respectable. By the way, bring some pie with you."
"But why three whole apple pies?"
They had made six in total: two for the family, one for Emily, and three to share with the neighbors. And now three were to go to Sergeant Thornton?
"Mrs. Parker mentioned that Mr. Thornton isn't eating well. The long journey must have exhausted him in body and spirit—he can barely swallow a bite. In such cases, it's best to eat more sweets to maintain one's strength. Sergeant Thornton will certainly appreciate the apple pie Emily made."
"I baked half of it."
Mrs. Severton's expression froze.
"Which half? It must be removed immediately."
"Mama, I'm not *that* hopeless in the kitchen."
"But the pie you made last time was dreadful. And while we're on the subject, please stop meddling in the maids' duties—"
"I'm going!"
Sensing that her mother's lecture was about to commence in earnest, Eloise seized the pie and fled into the street.
---
Thanks to Mr. Severton's advance arrangements, a servant had already prepared her favorite conveyance.
A light, swift single-seat curricle—ideal for excursions beyond the village.
Having placed the pie in its box and the books her father had given her beneath the seat, Eloise leapt onto the carriage and took up the reins.
From this single motion, the horse—as though understanding precisely where Eloise wished to go—set off.
"Please be polite to Sergeant Thornton!"
Mrs. Severton, who had rushed out after her and momentarily forgotten all propriety, called loudly after her departing daughter.
As if in response, Eloise's curricle moved faster still.
"Honestly..."
Mrs. Severton sighed as she watched her daughter disappear from view.
Her only daughter. That was why she worried so.
Twenty-six years old. In these parts, that was an age when one had not merely missed one's chance at marriage but could scarcely enter the marriage market at all.
Eloise herself, insisting she was perfectly comfortable and happy, thought nothing of it—but Mrs. Severton's heart remained uneasy.
*I wish I had raised her in the capital.*
Moving in high society, surrounded by people, she would have had friends and known many gentlemen, even in her later years.
In this village, an unmarried woman was inevitably destined for an increasingly quiet existence as she aged.
Would Eloise, who couldn't endure a single day indoors, be able to bear such a life? And more importantly...
---
Mrs. Severton turned her head. She observed her husband emerging from the house, coughing.
He had told Eloise he had a meeting in Cambon, but she knew he was actually going to see Pastor Harrison.
*It's difficult for him to walk.*
Her husband had grown noticeably weaker over the winter. Perhaps he had been so pleased to meet Sergeant Thornton because his duties as manager had become burdensome.
Mrs. Severton approached her husband and took his arm.
From this small gesture of support, Mr. Severton understood his wife's concern and patted her hand.
Mrs. Severton's heart grew heavy. Both she and her husband would leave this world before Eloise.
Who would remain by her side then?
Though she had relatives with whom she maintained correspondence and close friends in the village, it would be difficult for any of them to care for Eloise as family. Therefore...
"It would be pleasant if Eloise became friends with Sergeant Thornton..."
"What brings this on so suddenly?"
Mr. Severton regarded his wife with surprise at her unexpected remark.
"I hadn't realized you had your eye on Sergeant Thornton." He paused. "If so, why did you share all the information about him with the village ladies?"
"I did so in the hope that one of our local girls might secure Sergeant Thornton."
"And you don't claim him for Eloise?"
Mrs. Severton shook her head at her husband's words.
"Consider Sergeant Thornton. Tall, handsome. They say he comes from a collateral branch of Baron Stanford's family, so he has reliable support... Frankly, a man with such qualities is unlikely to..."
She couldn't bring herself to finish—*unlikely to agree to an unequal match with her daughter.*
"So I'm thinking of inquiring about Sergeant Thornton's other acquaintances. Apparently he's highly respected in the army as well... Perhaps some of his gentleman friends might visit Blissbury this summer?"
"Ho-oh."
Only then did Mr. Severton grasp his wife's ambitions.
Indeed, Sergeant Thornton was too fine a prospect. Even without considering their daughter, he would be in great demand on the capital's marriage market.
So his wife had resolved not to pursue the unlikely Sergeant Thornton himself, but to search among his acquaintances for a suitable gentleman for Eloise.
"It seems you have grand plans."
"Naturally. Did you imagine I had entirely abandoned the notion of seeing Eloise married?"
Mrs. Severton smiled and murmured, as though in passing:
"Although, of course, it would have been better still if she had married Sergeant Thornton."
---
## — Restless Nights —
"Ha!"
Ryan's eyes flew open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He blinked several times at the now-familiar ceiling, then drew a deep breath.
"Ha-ahh... again..."
In his dream, he had been back in the thick of the Battle of Ingona. The command's idiotic orders. His comrades staring at him with despair in their eyes. The shelling commencing. Blood and flesh flying in all directions. And the groans.
Then suddenly, everything had fallen silent. He had raised his head and seen the glittering eyes of the war council members fixed upon him in the darkness.
Among them had been one pair of eyes, sharper and more brilliant than the rest.
Ryan knew to whom they belonged.
*To the one who had most desired his death in that battle...*
"Damn it..."
Just as his mood threatened to sour again, he threw off the blanket roughly and rose.
The sweat from the nightmare had left his entire body clammy.
He walked to the window and drew back the heavy curtains. He was momentarily blinded by sunlight so intense it seemed almost tangible.
Closing his eyes briefly, he surveyed the landscape beyond the glass.
Before him stretched the same tedious rural vista as yesterday.
After standing at the window for some time, he turned away.
Stepping into the corridor, he noticed a food cart positioned before his door. Breakfast—brought by Mrs. Parker, who fretted over how little he ate.
Swallowing his guilt, Ryan continued down the hallway.
*As always after a nightmare, he couldn't stomach a single bite.*
---