Ryan accepted the plate Eloise held out to him, his expression faintly sour.
It bore the evidence of her eating — scattered crumbs, a smear of apple filling along the rim. Under ordinary circumstances, the sight of someone else's leftovers would have made him set it aside without a word. But the memory of how she had eaten, so thoroughly absorbed, so unguardedly pleased — it only made him hungrier.
He took a piece and bit into it.
His mouth filled with exactly what the smell had promised — warm, sweet, the deep burn of cinnamon through soft apple. Beside him, Eloise watched with an expression of open disbelief.
*They told me he doesn't eat anything?*
If the rumours she had heard were true, there must be an entirely different Ryan living at Blissbury. Because the man beside her, who had just demolished a piece of apple pie in five bites, could not possibly be the one described as refusing all food.
He reached for another piece. Four bites this time.
Then another.
Then another.
He ate without pausing, without ceremony — as though he were tasting apple pie for the very first time. When the last piece disappeared, Eloise found herself wondering whether it would be inappropriate to applaud.
"Thank you. That was excellent."
He handed the plate back and added, mildly:
"I'm glad Mrs. Severton's parcel found its intended recipient."
Eloise blinked. A moment passed.
"Since when were you listening?" she said, with a sigh.
He already knew. The pie she had so generously offered him had been meant for him from the beginning.
"From the moment the cart stopped."
His answer was perfectly calm. Entirely untroubled. Eloise stared at him.
"You have a remarkable talent — hearing everything at that distance without making a sound. I imagine you put it to good use in the army."
"Yes. Very useful. It earned me a commendation and considerable trust from the command."
She had meant to be cutting. He received it as a straightforward compliment, confirmed it without hesitation, and even elaborated. Eloise found herself with nothing to say.
Then, before she could stop herself:
"Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave as well?"
---
She had regretted how that dinner went ever since.
If their first meeting had been unremarkable, or if it had never happened at all — if the evening had been pleasant but dull, like any number of other visits — she might have found a natural moment to ask about the lieutenant colonel. Sergeant Thornton clearly bore him no fondness, but a stranger wouldn't go out of his way to say something cruel from the very start.
In a better atmosphere, she might have learned something small. What tea he preferred, perhaps.
*Was it foolish, standing up for him like that?*
No. Even thinking it over again now, she couldn't regret it. The lieutenant colonel had been blamed unfairly, and she had felt it keenly.
---
Ryan brushed the last crumbs from his hands.
The moment the conversation turned to the army, he noticed it immediately — the shift in Eloise's eyes. Green, and bright with it, the kind of colour that was easy to keep looking at. When they lit up like this, they were harder still to look away from.
As he expected, she had begun talking about Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave again, hands moving, barely able to contain herself.
Listening to her, he felt something he couldn't quite name.
She understood the Battle of Ingon with a thoroughness that was almost startling — as clearly as if she had stood in the middle of it. And when she said that his decision had ultimately saved the 57th Infantry Battalion, something in Ryan's chest loosened.
Many people had told him it wasn't his fault. That it had been inevitable. Their words had given him something to hold onto — but at night the dark thoughts always returned.
*Do they mean it? Or are they simply being kind to your face?*
*Is there anyone among them who put their name to a denunciation in private?*
He had gone into the taverns of the capital with his face hidden, and heard the verdict there. Everyone, without exception, condemned him. And once — only once — he had seen one of his own men there. A man who had looked him in the eye privately and said: *it wasn't your fault.* In the tavern, that same man was the loudest voice against him.
*Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave disgraced us. I'm ashamed to say I served in the 57th.*
After that, Ryan had assumed the worst of everyone. That everything said to his face was performance, and the truth lived only behind his back.
And now this woman — with no connection to any of it, in the middle of nowhere — was defending him more fiercely than anyone who had actually been there.
He was curious.
*What if he told her, right now? That the man she had praised so admiringly — that it was him?*
She would be surprised, certainly.
And then? Happy? Disappointed, perhaps, that Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave turned out to be the same man she had taken such an instant dislike to?
He turned the possibilities over, then set them all aside.
*What does it matter? He would be leaving soon. They were unlikely to ever meet again. This may well be the last time.*
He looked at her — as he had found himself doing since their first meeting. She always seemed so thoroughly, stubbornly alive. Eyes alight, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. It was difficult to believe she had come to the countryside for her health and stayed because of illness.
"Sergeant Thornton?"
He had been staring. Eloise was frowning at him faintly.
Ryan looked away.
*He had meant to dismiss her quickly. Instead he had sat here staring like an idiot.*
"So Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave praised your accomplishments in person?"
She leaned forward slightly as she said his name, as though she couldn't quite help it.
*Of course.* She was one of the capital's admirers, transplanted to the countryside. Perhaps she simply hadn't heard how the mood in the city had turned. Or perhaps she believed that she, unlike all the others, saw clearly what the rest had missed.
The dark thoughts were already moving again. It wasn't even nightfall yet.
He stood up, brushed the remaining crumbs from his palms, and said:
"So you came all this way for a pie delivery? In that case, you needn't have troubled yourself going to Blissbury at all. You can go straight back."
He turned away.
---
Eloise said nothing.
He wasn't going to tell her anything about Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave. That much was clear.
*He thanked me — through his father, at least — for defending him. And now this?*
Perhaps that had only ever been politeness. A way to smooth over an unpleasant evening. Perhaps he still despised the lieutenant colonel just as much as before, and nothing had changed at all.
The thought settled sourly.
"I still have other business."
She walked to the carriage and pulled a bundle of books from beneath the seat, setting them down in front of him.
"These are books my father borrowed from Blissbury's library. I'll mention — he had Baron Stanford's standing permission to borrow from it whenever he wished. But I brought them back so you wouldn't find anything missing when you look around the estate."
She said it all in one breath, then turned to face him with a bow — precise, unhurried, every inch the well-mannered caller.
"I wish you a restful stay in Blissbury until your return to the capital, Sergeant Thornton. With your permission."
She turned on her heel, climbed up onto the cart, and urged the horse forward without looking back.
In the corner of her vision, Sergeant Thornton stood where she had left him — motionless, as though he hadn't quite decided what expression to wear.
*Until that man leaves Blissbury, I am never going back there.*
The whip snapped. The wheels kicked up a clean arc of dust as she turned toward Feltham and did not look back again.