“He might have bragged about that just a little. Perhaps the first time we met.”
“At the Willoughby Ball?”
She nodded. “I’m certain that if my parents could undo one thing in their lives, it would be allowing that introduction.”
“I can’t say that I blame them.” Luke nearly bit his tongue after the admission. As far as he knew, Gil had been loyal to his wife. Luke would allow Gil the benefit of the doubt and believe that marriage had changed him.
Of course, it had changed him. What man wouldn’t be faithful to the woman standing before him? “Perhaps they will change their minds once they’ve met their grandchild.”
“My mother, sister, and brother have all been forbidden to write to me. All my life, I’ve thought I would have my family’s unwavering support. I thought that was what love was about.” She offered the information easily.
“Do you regret it?”
She tightened her jaw, and not for the first time, Luke noticed her hand circling the material of her dress where it caught at the top of her belly. “Never.”
“Is it possible they will see things differently now, knowing you are alone?”
“I think my father will say I invited it.”
Luke couldn’t stop the grunt of disgust at her comment. Each new revelation he gleaned from their conversation reaffirmed his decision to remain here for at least a few weeks.
His gaze landed on one of the puddles from last night’s rain. “Did the roof hold up against the storm?”
She winced.
“I suppose that’s as good a place as any to begin.” He’d barely uttered the words when the door opened and Mrs. Gilcrest’s housekeeper stepped out and then nearly tripped on the floorboard. Words that would have blistered any soldiers’ ears flew from her mouth.
“Perhaps you should start a little lower,” her mistress suggested.
And then he saw it. That hint of a smile. His chest loosened the slightest amount. Hell, if he’d had that smile waiting for him, there was no way in hell he would have accepted another mission. Gil had been an idiot. A selfish fucking idiot.
But Luke wasn’t allowed to think that. He also needed to stop thinking of Gil’s wife in terms of complimentary adjectives.
Because Gil was dead. She would mourn the loss of him.
Luke swallowed hard. “Tools in the stable?”
Her answer was to shrug, almost as though she’d exhausted herself from their conversation. Her grief was a palpable thing.
“I’ll find them.” And with one last glance in her direction, he turned and marched the short distance to the small building set off from the house. If he wasn’t incorrect, it was leaning precariously toward the left. Floor. Roof. Stable. He began a mental list of tasks for himself. All that and he hadn’t yet ventured beyond the parlor.
If he took on the entire estate, perhaps he wouldn’t have to meet with Blackheart for damn near a year or so.
Or he could return to the conflict and avoid the meeting indefinitely.
Chapter Four
“I insist you stop and rest.” Naomi carried a tray with lemonade and sandwiches out to the major. She’d been avoiding him and so was more than a little taken aback when she realized he’d already pulled up every last floorboard that had previously made up her porch. A second glance revealed a wagon drawing to a halt at the end of her drive, loaded with roughly cut planks of wood.
“I thought…” And then her voice trailed off when her eyes landed on him, her mouth having gone dry.
She ought to have considered this, what with the unusually warm temperatures of late.
Because, since she’d abandoned the major to his own devices, he had shed his heavy coat and hat and other military adornment and was now standing in the hole where her porch had once been wearing only his shirt, boots, and tightly fitted breeches.
Sweat caused the white linen to cling like a second skin to thick, broad, and very muscled shoulders. His jacket had not been padded in the least.
Her gaze dropped to where sinewy and tanned forearms peeked out from rolled-up shirt sleeves and then lower to where one booted foot rested on one of the beams.
“My apologies, Mrs. Gilcrest.” His voice brought her gaze back to his face. As he went to reach for the coat draped over the railing, Naomi put out a hand to halt him.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He couldn’t work wearing that heavy coat.
“You’d be surprised at the conditions this coat has emerged from intact.”
And then an image of her husband dying while wearing that uniform wiped the smile from her face.
“I can’t afford to buy wood,” she admitted. It didn’t make sense to keep her circumstances private from this man. He was very determined to fulfill whatever promise he’d made to Arthur.
“You may repay me if you’d like some time in the future.” Naomi hated being in anyone’s debt. “Gil would have my hide if I allowed you to set foot on that porch one more time. You’ve more than yourself to keep safe.”
She couldn’t argue with that, so instead, she turned to observe the two laborers unloading lumber from an old farmer’s cart. She could hardly allow herself to keep ogling Major Cockfield’s chest for heaven’s sake.
She’d been alone in this house for too long. Even before Major Cockfield’s arrival, she’d been missing having her husband in her bed. Ester swore up and down that a lady was most plagued with irregular urges while expecting. Wanting a man’s attention was natural.
Naomi had wondered what her mother would have to say about that.
Luke hopped out of the pit he’d created and strode along the dirt path to the drive. Without asking, he set himself to assisting the men unloading the long pieces of wood.
Naomi hated the voice in her head that reminded her how many times she’d begged Arthur to repair that floorboard.
“I’m going to fall through to the ground one day, Arthur Gilcrest. Then you’ll be sorry.” She’d joked with him.
“Just step around it.” He’d sent her a cocky grin, his cinnamon eyes shining with mischief and then chased after her, patting her on the bum. “I’ve never known a woman better at worrying than you are, Naomi. It’ll still be there tomorrow.”
And then he’d lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bed. How could she complain when his highest priority had been loving her?
He’d been rather good at that.
A shiver ran through her when she realized she was still holding the tray of sandwiches while staring at Major Cockfield again.
“You’ve more than earned a break, Major,” she hollered across to him as he piled the last board on top of a neat stack. Glancing over his shoulder, he met her gaze, and then… He winked. She could almost believe she’d imagined his audacity when he again exchanged a few words with the older of the two gentlemen and then shook each of their hands. As they drove off the property, he turned to jog back across to the house.
“Might as well eat in the kitchen. Go around back and I’ll meet you there.” Naomi didn’t expect him to climb through the nonexistent floor to enter the parlor.
It was darker in the kitchen, and she might be a little less distracted there. She also had chores she could tend to. And Ester would be underfoot. Naomi could hardly sit and take lemonade with him alone.
She was a married woman.
And then she felt like something struck her.
Because she wasn’t.
She was a widow.
She lowered the tray onto the table and herself onto a chair because she felt like her knees were going to give out on her.
She’d just barely begun to think of herself as a wife. She and Arthur had joked with one another, calling each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife.’
All too soon, she was Mrs. Gilcrest but without a mister.
“Mrs. Gilcrest?” The words spoken aloud echoed the name in her mind. She shook her head.
Major Cockfield stood just inside the door, sun streaming in behi
nd him.
This man had returned so very alive. It wasn’t fair.
“Come in,” she managed. “Sit down.”
Inside now, she noticed droplets of water on his face and in his hair. He must have stopped at the well to clean up before joining her.
Without asking permission, he poured lemonade into one of the glasses and lifted one of the sandwiches to his mouth but then stopped. “Aren’t you eating?”
Had she eaten? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall apart completely. But she deserved to fall about, didn’t she? When her husband had gotten himself killed?
But there was not only herself to consider. She couldn’t afford to fall apart.
“You need to eat.” He narrowed his eyes.
Ester chose that moment to step out of the pantry and set a plate in front of her. “I’ve been telling the missus that for two days now.”
Naomi hadn’t really eaten anything since she’d taken breakfast with the major yesterday morning. Had that been yesterday? Time was losing all meaning.
Naomi reached for one of the sandwiches and took a bite. She didn’t want to enjoy the flavorful chicken and spices Ester had cooked the night before. She didn’t want to savor the texture of the freshly baked bread.
“It’s delicious.” He’d eaten nearly half a sandwich already.
How could he take such enjoyment in it? Hadn’t he lost his friend as well?
“How can you eat at all? Knowing you’ve led men to their death?” Naomi spoke the words aloud without thinking through them first. It was an inordinately cruel thing to say. But there he sat, enjoying his lunch almost like nothing had happened. Ester froze across the room and the look on her face sent shame washing through Naomi.
He stopped chewing but, after a moment, finished his bite and swallowed.
“Seventeen,” he said, his gaze locked on her as his frame suddenly stiffened with tension. “The first was three years, two months, and eight days ago. Lieutenant George Platt. He was not yet nineteen. Mourned by six sisters and his mother. Hit by a sniper in a routine march along the coast. He lived for an hour after he was injured. I had all but convinced myself he was going to make it. Left his side to write up my report and when I returned to the tent, he was gone.”
Naomi immediately felt horrible, but she didn’t know what she could say. An apology wasn’t going to erase her snapping cruelty.
“The second man, Second Lieutenant Bart Goulding. I hated that I’d lost even one man on this march but losing a second made me the worst sort of failure. Goulding was seven and twenty when debris from an explosion ripped him to shreds. He had a family awaiting him at home. The year before, he’d lost his crops from a flood. He only joined up so he could send money back to his wife.”
Naomi held up a hand. “I’m sorry.”
Cobalt eyes burned as they stared across at her, his shoulders set like steel, on alert, expecting another attack.
Naomi reached across the table and clasped the wrist of his hand that clutched the blasted sandwich. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please… forgive me?”
How stupid and thoughtless could she be? How sorry he must be that he’d ever promised Arthur he would help her.
And then, with a deep exhale, he relaxed his jaw and nodded.
“The thing is, Naomi…” He used her given name but she couldn’t exactly chastise him at that moment. In fact, she didn’t want to. “I am still alive. You are still alive. Your baby is still alive. We don’t know what the future holds so we are beholden to make the most of the days we have now.”
“I had no excuse to say that to you.”
“But you do. Take another bite and savor it. I haven’t had homemade bread in months.” He removed his hand from beneath hers but instead of raising the sandwich to his own mouth, he extended it across the table.
Too confused to decline, Naomi took it from his fingers and then bit into it. The chicken tasted of hints of rosemary and the bread was soft and yeasty. Ester had just removed the bread from the oven before Naomi put the sandwiches together. The combination of savory meat and spices was good. It was delicious even. Before she could swallow, the major was pouring out a second glass of lemonade and sliding it toward her other hand.
As she took a sip, the little miracle inside of her chose that moment to kick.
“Thank you.” The food ought to have gone down like sawdust.
Before she could give him back his sandwich, he’d already claimed a second one off the tray.
“How did the wood get here so quickly?” If possible, she wanted to prove to herself, maybe also to him, that she could continue on like a normal person. She could make normal conversation without falling apart. She hated that she’d been so out of control—taken over by her emotions.
“I purchased it yesterday. It was just a matter of time before someone broke an ankle.”
Naomi nibbled at the sandwich and watched as he made quick work of his own. She wanted to apologize again for insulting him but kept remembering how angry she’d been that first day when he’d told her he was sorry over and over again.
It didn’t make sense.
“When will you return to the conflict?”
“I’ve been allotted a month before I’m due to travel south again. I have two sisters in Sussex who will skin me alive if I don’t visit while I’m on leave, though. And of course, my brother will want to see me.”
And at that moment, he was suddenly no longer the random soldier whose sole purpose in life had been to destroy hers.
“How old are your sisters?”
“They are recently turned nine and ten. Twins.”
Naomi shook her head. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to carry and then deliver two babies. “Do they look the same?”
“Identical. Before I joined up, I was able to differentiate between them for the most part. Since I no longer live at Crescent Park, it has been more difficult each time I come home.” He took another bite and shrugged. “Before this past spring, I was away for three years. They turned into young women while I was away.”
She’d realized military life would be difficult for any man with a family. Whenever she’d discussed Arthur selling his commission, he’d changed the subject. Would he have sold out as he had promised?
“The worrying is worse than I had imagined it would be.” Imagining that he was in danger… wondering if he was ever coming home.
There it was again. That giant weight on her chest—that strangling feeling.
That wondering if she was going to be able to go on.
“This will pass.” His voice penetrated the swell of despair. “It’ll never go away completely, but the terror, the explosion of pain, it will subside into feelings that you can eventually live with.” And then the cold glass she’d been drinking from was pressed into her hand. “Drink up.”
She did as he said.
“And breathe. In and out. Tell me to go to hell if you think that will help.”
She couldn’t stop the ironic chuckle that he had come so close to reading her mind.
“He left in August. We’ve been apart for almost three months now,” she managed, “And although I know he isn’t coming back, there is a part of me that still believes he will return.”
Major Cockfield nodded in agreement. “It’s no simple concept. Don’t expect to know how to handle everything right away. Focus on caring for yourself. And your baby. And in the meanwhile,” He slid his chair back, reached for the last of his lemonade, downed it and then pushed the chair back in, “I’m going to see what progress I can make on that porch before I lose the sunlight.”
Before he could disappear outside again, Naomi remembered her manners. “Thank you, Major.”
He turned and stared at her thoughtfully. “No need to thank me. That’s what friends do.”
“Still, Major…”
“Luke. Will you call me Luke while I’m here?”
How could she deny him when he’d been so ridiculously kind? “Luke.” At his raised brows, she added, “And you may call me Naomi.”
Chapter Five
Over the first few days that followed, Naomi remained in her bed long after the sounds of others being far more productive than she was prepared to be—Luke pounding his hammer on the porch or sawing in the stable, and Ester banging around in the kitchen below.
All Naomi wanted to do was sleep. What was there to wake up for? She reasoned with herself that she wasn’t hurting the baby by hiding from the world. The tasks she’d undertaken before, sewing the drapes, mending the cushions, and polishing the furnishings and wood, had all been to make their home more welcoming for Arthur’s return.
She managed to rationalize herself into believing this for two days before the guilt set in.
“The major is finished with the porch and the trim. He even repaired the cupboard doors that didn’t close properly. But now he has a few questions for you.” Ester had entered the room without permission and was frowning down at her. “About the roof.”
Leaks tended to appear with no rhyme or reason. The stains around her window, case in point. And just a few weeks ago, Naomi had spotted one in the room she intended to use for her baby’s nursery.
The reminder was a gentle nudge.
Arthur may not be coming home, but her baby would be here soon enough. And she wanted to have a welcoming home for her baby, didn’t she?
Reluctantly, she forced herself out of bed and doubtless, nothing could have made Ester happier. Standing in front of her wardrobe, however, another conundrum presented itself. “I can’t wear any of these.” Because most of the gowns she’d brought with her were pastels. If they weren’t pastel they were an even less appropriate color: canary, jonquil, pomona, and puce.
As a newly widowed lady, she couldn’t wear any of them in public.
Ester withdrew a pale primrose and then a dull lavender muslin. “We can dye the lighter ones.”
When her father’s mother had passed, it was what her mother had done. Naomi remembered her mother had winked at her and said it would give them all an excuse to purchase the newest fashions when their mourning was complete. The memory was a bittersweet one. Naomi swallowed hard as she contemplated adding the cost of dye to her growing bill at the mercantile.
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