Cambon.
Ryan remembered it from the journey to Blissbury—a town rather than a city, unremarkable by the standards of anything near the capital, but large enough that when people in this part of the country said *town*, Cambon was what they pictured.
"When are we leaving?"
"Right after breakfast."
"Then we'll need to set out early. I'll ask Mrs. Parker to have everything ready."
"Hm? What breakfast?"
"Won't you eat at Blissbury before we leave?"
He'd been about to say *and shouldn't we go together?* as though that were already settled—but something in Eloise's expression stopped him.
"Why would I go to Blissbury? That's an hour out of the way." She looked at him with genuine puzzlement. "If I take the order list home tonight, there's no reason for me to come here tomorrow at all. The urgent matters are mostly done. A day away from Blissbury won't cause any harm."
Ryan had no immediate answer.
She was right—there was no practical reason for her to come. And yet he'd assumed, without thinking about it, that she simply would. He turned it over for a moment.
"Then who were you planning to go with?"
"Definitely not my mother." Eloise shook her head with feeling. "The last time we went to Cambon together, we were there for nine hours. Nine. She has a personal relationship with every shopkeeper in town and intends to maintain each one at length." She shuddered slightly at the memory.
"And not Emily either. The moment we step into a grocery, she transforms entirely—it's all *oh, let's get this, let's try that*, looking up at me with those eyes. I can never say no, and then I've bought half the market. Better to go alone and be done with it quickly."
"What about coming with me?"
"With *you?*" She looked at him with an expression that walked a careful line.
"You don't have to make that face."
"It isn't a face, it's a question. Why do you need to go to Cambon?"
"I haven't been once since arriving at Blissbury. On the guest list for the summer ball, there are Cambon residents alongside the Feltham families—it would be useful to meet them beforehand. And if you were to make the introductions, Miss Eloise, things would go considerably more smoothly."
"..."
She considered this. He was right that if he arrived at the ball having never met the Cambon guests, the evening would begin with an extended round of formal introductions—polite, stiff, and essentially theatrical. Getting acquainted beforehand would spare everyone that particular performance.
*It really would be better.*
Eloise nodded.
"Where shall we meet tomorrow, then? At the entrance to Cambon?"
"Why make it complicated? The deserter still hasn't been caught—you shouldn't be riding to Cambon alone. I'll come to you in Feltham tomorrow morning."
"You'll come to our house?"
"I've been there once already. I'll find it."
"Right—when you came for dinner that first time..."
The memory arrived before she could stop it: the nude sketch, the moment she'd realized he'd seen it, the absolute certainty she'd formed in that instant that she would never willingly exchange another word with this man for as long as he remained in the area.
*And yet here we are.*
They saw each other from morning to evening now. They talked constantly. They occasionally raised their voices at each other and traded pointed remarks—but when it came to the actual work, she thought, they made a capable pair. And more than capable, if she was honest.
*Even somewhat amusing.*
It wasn't that she'd developed any particular fondness for his temperament. But she had developed a fondness for his stories—the ones about the 57th Infantry Battalion, the small anecdotes about army life that he produced without ceremony, usually over tea in the slow hour after lunch when concentration had begun to slip away from both of them. He mentioned senior officers often, without boasting about the acquaintance—if anything, he seemed to regard most of them with a certain weary skepticism.
*He and Lieutenant Colonel Wilgrave must have gotten along, come to think of it.*
Though notably, Sergeant Thornton had never once spoken disparagingly of the Lieutenant Colonel—not since the beginning. Perhaps he was simply sparing her feelings.
She dismissed that theory almost immediately. A man who cared about the feelings of others would not append *not-your-Ryan-Ryan requests you review this within two hours* to an official document purely to provoke her.
*Maybe he doesn't actually dislike him.*
She turned the thought over idly. Whatever the truth of it, those afternoon stories had quietly become the part of the day she looked forward to most. If she didn't come to Blissbury tomorrow, she would miss one.
*I'll listen on the way to Cambon instead.*
Decision made, Eloise brought a piece of steak to her mouth.
Mrs. Parker had truly outdone herself today.