In the end, Eloise stayed for dessert too.
"This is wonderful. Is that vanilla cream?"
"It is! I've been tinkering with a new recipe, but Mr. Palmer has no taste for sweets, and Sergeant Thornton hasn't touched a thing until tonight—so there's been no one to ask. If you like it, my lady, I'll add it to the Blissbury menu with confidence."
"You absolutely should. Could you share the recipe?"
"Ha! In a year, perhaps. If I tell you now, Emily will have something twice as good on the table by next week, and I do have my pride."
"Then I suppose I'll have to follow you around for a full year. I'll come to Blissbury every day and wait with bated breath for your desserts."
"Oh, that settles it—three years now. By the way, my lady, you've been so scarce lately, and I've missed you terribly. As you can see—" Mrs. Parker pitched her voice just loud enough to carry "—Sergeant Thornton is not exactly lively company for an old woman like me."
Ryan gave a dry, rueful laugh.
Then, against his better judgment, he found himself imagining it: Eloise faithfully trailing Mrs. Parker through the halls of Blissbury, wheedling and chattering until the recipe was finally surrendered—at which point she'd probably read it with that familiar expression, all furrow and frown.
According to the Blissbury staff, she had been a frequent presence here long before his arrival. When the summer ball approached, she'd sometimes stayed for several weeks to oversee preparations.
Which meant preparing for the ball was no minor undertaking.
He'd known as much since receiving the documents—he'd been busy with preparations ever since, and there were already numerous points where he'd needed guidance. It would be far easier if she were here, as she apparently used to be, helping to navigate it all...
Ryan shook his head sharply, as though dislodging the thought.
"Sergeant Thornton?"
Eloise was watching him with a startled expression.
"It's nothing. Before you leave, Miss Eloise—if you don't mind, there are a few more points in the documents I'd like to go over."
She let out a small, suffering groan, then sighed and nodded.
"All right. My father isn't here, so there's no one else to interpret the documents anyway. And it's better to settle everything today than to be dragged back again later."
"Oh, Sergeant—don't finish all your business at once," Mrs. Parker cut in, having clearly been listening. "Otherwise my lady won't have any reason to visit again."
Ryan smiled and dipped his head in agreement.
"For your sake, I'm prepared to invent something if I must."
"Wonderful. Then I'll go and put together a few more desserts for Lady Eloise to take home—and you two go on with your business."
Mrs. Parker bustled toward the kitchen, humming to herself.
---
Ryan led Eloise back to the library.
"It isn't Mrs. Parker's request that's brought us back here—there genuinely are a number of unclear points. After what happened with that order, I've learned not to assume things will sort themselves out."
"It's unavoidable, really. The Blissbury Summer Ball is the largest event in the region—something unexpected always comes up. So—what is it you wanted to ask?"
"The seating arrangements for the pre-ball banquet. Last year's plan is still on file, but as I understand it, these things are typically revised each year."
Eloise took the document he offered and scanned it.
Her hand moved, almost involuntarily, to her forehead.
Seating a banquet was among the most delicate tasks involved in hosting. Last year, she and her father had spent an entire week on it alone.
"Yes, that's right. The seats don't shift as frequently as they do at capital banquets, but they do need attention. Here—I've noted the arrangement from two years ago as well."
She pointed to the relevant sections and began to explain.
"The Witkinses should be moved further from the village representatives this year. There was a dispute over warehouse access last winter—feelings are still raw. And the Ogilvys..." She hesitated, then glanced at him. "Do you intend to pursue a friendship with Miss Julia Ogilvy? Or perhaps you have someone else in mind—a lady you'd like to invite to tea?"
The Severton family had always occupied the host's seat.
This year, that seat would belong to Sergeant Thornton. Which made the chair directly opposite his a matter of some significance.
In Albion, when an unmarried host presided over a ball, it was customary—practically expected—to seat across from them someone with whom, as the ladies of Feltham liked to say, *a promising connection might naturally develop.* The placement was never accidental. Everyone at the table understood what it meant.
"Why do you ask?"
"I was considering placing Julia there—across from you."
"Is there something particular about that seat?"
Eloise looked at him with genuine surprise.
"Have you attended banquets in the capital?"
When he'd declined the attentions of every eligible girl in the village, Feltham had consoled itself with the theory that a man so striking must have left a trail of sophisticated conquests in the capital—that the local girls simply couldn't compete. The mothers, stung on their daughters' behalf, had hissed at the gossips, though notably none of them had disputed Sergeant Thornton's looks.
Eloise hadn't disputed them either.
She found him personally disagreeable—that was her own considered opinion and she stood by it—but objectively, he was a rare sort of handsome: tall, well-built, the kind of face that didn't go unnoticed. It was no mystery why Feltham had been thrown into such a flutter.
Looks like his wouldn't have gone unremarked in the capital either. She assumed he'd been invited to enough events to understand how these things worked.
"I've attended a few—mostly under orders, so I left immediately after dinner. There were private invitations as well, but..."
"Was the seat opposite you ever occupied by an unmarried young lady?"
Ryan paused. "...I think so."
A moment passed. Then understanding settled over his face, and he exhaled slowly.
"Now I see. Good God—how did I not realize."
"Yes. It's the seat reserved for someone they hope you'll come to know better. It seems you were invited rather often."
Though he'd despised those evenings, Baron Stanford had deployed orders with the same precision he applied to military campaigns, and Ryan had attended. He'd eaten well and departed the moment it was polite to do so. He'd noticed, vaguely, that the daughter of the house tended to watch him from across the table—but that was no different from the attention he drew anywhere, and he hadn't thought much of it.
As it turned out, it had meant rather a great deal.
*I'll have words with him when I return to the capital.*
The Baron had almost certainly introduced him to these hosts as his protégé—which was the only explanation for why a relative stranger kept ending up in that particular chair.
After mentally delivering a thorough dressing-down to Baron Stanford, Ryan turned his attention back to the seating plan.
Last year, just as she'd said, the Severtons had held the host's position. He confirmed it—then, almost without meaning to, let his gaze drift to the seat placed directly across from Eloise.
"Andrew Ogilvy?"
The name was plainly masculine.
He recalled Julia's voice—half-listened to at the time, now surfacing with unexpected clarity. *Five children in our family. My eldest brother lives mostly in Cambon. He taught at a school there. He was married, but his wife passed away from fever. He's lived alone ever since...*
So this was the brother she'd mentioned.
At the sound of that name, something shifted in Eloise's expression—a warmth that hadn't been there a moment before.
"Yes—the most handsome man in Feltham. He has the most wonderful soft blond curls, and when he smiles, it's as though the room itself brightens. There isn't a soul in Feltham who doesn't love Andrew."
Ryan felt, inexplicably, as though Mrs. Parker's excellent dinner had lodged somewhere in his chest.
"But Andrew is so beloved," Eloise continued, her voice carrying that same gentle fondness, "that he doesn't have much time to spare for just one person."
He stared at her. She was calling this man the most handsome in Feltham. She was saying everyone loved him. And her tone—
"He must have a great deal of affection to distribute," Ryan said.
"He does. He gives that wonderful smile of his to everyone he meets."
"Is that so." Ryan paused. "According to Miss Julia, he walks around Cambon all day looking rather mournful..."
He stopped himself. It was discourteous to speak that way about a gentleman he had never met.
Eloise turned to him with a slight frown, as though he'd said something entirely nonsensical.
"What? Cambon? Looking mournful?" She shook her head. "You must be thinking of Edward."
"Then Mr. Andrew Ogilvy is..."
At the name, Eloise smiled—the uncomplicated, affectionate smile of someone picturing a perfectly familiar face.
"Andrew Ogilvy is the youngest of the Ogilvy children. He just turned five."