Eloise lifted the apple pie from the basket.
There were three whole pieces inside.
No matter how she thought about it, three was too generous.
"It's not as though Mrs. Parker is a poor baker."
She was clearly trying her best to impress the new guest. And Eloise understood that — she truly did. She was proud of Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave herself, in the way one feels pride for someone they consider almost family.
"Where else would you find a lieutenant colonel who cared so much about his soldiers' meals?"
The memoirs of men from other battalions were full of grim accounts — rations that were half-rotten, supplies that never arrived, officers who dined well while the ranks went hungry. But the memoirs of men from the 57th Infantry Battalion told a different story entirely.
When provisions ran short, Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave shared his own. When soldiers noticed he'd gone days without eating properly and dared to ask about it, he would simply wave a calm hand, say everything was fine, and walk away.
*And compared to such a man — this sergeant, who refuses to eat even when there is plenty...*
"Even though they're both named Ryan, they couldn't be more different," Eloise muttered.
She drew her horse to a stop, lifted the pie from the basket, and made her way toward a large shady tree at the foot of the hill.
The timing was bad regardless. If she went to Blissbury now, Mrs. Parker would insist she stay for lunch. And if she happened to run into Sergeant Thornton in the process...
The mere thought made her shudder. She closed her eyes briefly, steadied herself, then sat down in the grass and opened the basket.
*Bon appétit.*
She said a quick prayer, opened her mouth wide, and took an enormous bite of the still-warm pie.
Her mother would have been horrified. *Ladies do not eat like that, Eloise.* But what did it matter? No one was watching.
*Crunch.*
The crust shattered pleasantly between her teeth — perfectly baked, golden all the way through. The apple filling flooded her mouth with sweetness.
Following her mother's advice to clear out the pantry before summer, she'd used the last of the apples from the previous autumn and added a generous hand of cinnamon bought in Cambon. The result was something almost unfairly good: the deep, warm spice winding through the soft filling, the crisp pastry cutting through the sweetness just before it became too much.
She finished the first piece without pausing.
She reached for the second.
Opening her mouth wide and taking another great bite, Eloise smiled in spite of herself.
*Delicious.*
She had only meant to have one slice — just enough to pass the time. But sitting here in the cool shade with the pie warm in her hands, she was beginning to think she could finish all three without much trouble at all.
She licked her lips and squinted thoughtfully toward Blissbury in the distance.
"Maybe I really should eat everything."
It seemed a shame to surrender three perfectly good pieces. Though perhaps she could manage two, with some effort, and leave the third for the servants at Blissbury...
"You could have at least left me a piece."
*Ow!*
The voice came from directly beside her. Eloise startled so violently that the pie flew from her hand.
It landed squarely against her dress.
A dark smear of apple filling spread across the cream-colored fabric — wide, wet, and immediately obvious.
"My dress!"
She snatched a cloth from the basket and scrubbed at the stain, but the damage was already done. The brown mark sat stubbornly against the pale fabric, perfectly visible.
Under any other circumstances, she would have gone straight to the river, hiked up her skirt, and dealt with it properly. But she was not about to do that in front of this man.
Daredevil though she was, even Eloise knew there were limits.
*If I don't rinse it immediately, it'll set...*
She was still looking around helplessly when Ryan, who had been watching her without a word, calmly picked up the cloth she'd set aside. He walked to the river, soaked it, wrung it out, came back, and held it out to her.
"Wipe it with this."
"Th — thank you..."
She had expected him to stand there and laugh. Instead, he was perfectly composed. Caught off guard, Eloise took the cloth with a slight wariness and pressed it to the stain.
The damp fabric lifted the filling cleanly. The mark faded to a pale ghost of itself.
*If I wash it properly at home, it should come out entirely.*
She exhaled with relief — then looked up to find Sergeant Thornton staring fixedly at the remaining apple pie sitting in the grass beside her.
He glanced at her. The meaning in his expression was entirely clear.
*Well? Are you going to offer, or not?*
Eloise cleared her throat.
"Would you... like a piece?"
Mrs. Parker had been so worried he wasn't eating.
She assumed he'd decline.
"Thank you."
He dropped down onto the grass next to her without ceremony.
*That isn't what I meant.*
---
Ryan caught the look on her face — the undisguised confusion she hadn't quite managed to hide — and a quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
*She expected me to refuse and leave.*
That had been his intention. He didn't want to speak to anyone. When Eloise had come down the hill, he'd retreated silently behind a tree and waited for her to sit for a moment and move on to Blissbury.
But she hadn't moved on.
She had settled herself comfortably in the grass, pulled an apple pie out of a basket, and — without a plate, without a fork — picked it up with both hands and taken an enormous bite.
*Crunch. Crunch.*
The sound of the crust carried clearly in the quiet air. With it came the scent: warm butter, sweet apple, and the deep, heady note of cinnamon.
Ryan swallowed without meaning to.
A sudden, sharp hunger opened up somewhere beneath his ribs.
He watched her, unable to look away. She ate with her eyes half-closed, completely absorbed, utterly unaware of being observed. With the first piece she was careful — tasting slowly, paying attention. By the second, she seemed briefly uncertain what to do with the rush of sweetness. And by the third bite, a broad, unguarded smile spread across her face.
Watching her, it was almost difficult to believe she was eating a simple apple pie.
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then he stood up and walked over.
*He wanted to taste what she was eating with so much happiness.*
It was the first thing he had genuinely wanted since arriving in Blissbury.
---
*She must have turned Blissbury's pantry inside out cooking everything she could think of for him.*
And despite all of it, he was barely eating.
*He seemed perfectly normal at dinner, though.*
When Sergeant Thornton had dined at her family's table, he'd eaten tidily, no different from anyone else. Perhaps he simply didn't care for Mrs. Parker's cooking?
*He should eat what he's given. What kind of soldier doesn't appreciate food?*
The thought pulled her attention, almost on its own, toward Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave.
Among the many articles she had read about him, one had stayed with her — the published memoir of a man who'd served in the 57th Infantry Battalion.
Supply shortages were common during wartime. On the front lines, where enemy raids on supply trains were constant, soldiers often went days without adequate food. But that hardship was rarely shared equally. High-ranking officers, the memoir noted, typically brought personal cooks and dined well regardless of conditions.
*In our battalion, such a thing was unthinkable. One day, Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave took all the food that had been prepared for the senior officers and distributed it among us. And it was not only that once — we rarely went hungry. Whatever happened, the lieutenant colonel made certain his men were fed...*
Mr. Severton, reading the paper alongside her at the time, had laughed warmly and said he couldn't quite tell whether it was a war memoir or a tribute to Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave.