Ruined

by Anders, Annabelle

  Of course, carrying the baby would affect other appetites as well.

  “Luke?” Her voice broke through his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry. Woolgathering, I suppose.”

  “I was asking if you thought it could be repaired. Will I have to choose a different room to turn into a nursery?”

  If he could keep her smiling, he’d erect an entirely new roof if necessary. “I’ll make it tight as a drum for your spud.”

  Two days later, crawling along the apex of the roof, one rope around his waist and the other around a questionably stable chimney, Luke wondered if he wasn’t going to have to do exactly that. He’d lingered here for two weeks and his primary reason for remaining was nearly concluded. A rational man would be in a hurry to tie things up and make his departure and yet he had no desire whatsoever to do so.

  Apparently, he couldn’t lay claim to rationality.

  His nightmares had subsided, and yet a new disturbance disrupted his sleep.

  The never-ending guilt over losing men under his watch was now compounded by guilt over lusting after his recently deceased friend’s wife. In his dreams, he’d done far more than lust after her. He’d given himself legitimate reasons for significant remorse.

  Thinking to squash his inappropriate designs, he had since spent most of his time at Milton Cottage on the roof. It was easier when he didn’t run into her at every turn. Because when he worked in close proximity to her, he found himself leaning in to inhale her fragrance hoping some of her hair would brush his face, far too often. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was placing his hand on the small of her back or brushing his arm casually along hers. On one occasion, after explaining a particularly complicated fix to shore up her crumbling house, he’d nearly dropped his hands onto her shoulders to loosen the muscles that had visibly tightened before he’d caught himself.

  Whenever she was seated, he caught himself watching carefully for when she wanted to rise and then he’d rush over and assist her.

  But he’d kept himself more distant from her ever since the morning she’d fled from the nursery.

  Even if she hadn’t been one of his oldest friend’s widow, he’d resist the attraction developing between them. A woman was expected to mourn her husband for at least a year. It wasn’t written rule, and it mattered even less in the country, but it was the decent thing to do.

  Luke didn’t imagine the ideas he’d been getting were what Gil had had in mind when he’d extracted his promise to look after her.

  He was safe from all of that on the roof. He was safe from her.

  And she was safe from him.

  Bam!

  He pounded the hammer into the nail with one final blow. Instead of sinking deeper into the wood, however, the metal bent, ruining the third one in a row. Luke exhaled loudly and drew his arm across his brow to wipe away the sweat.

  Settling back on his haunches, he patted the envelope he’d tucked into his pocket that morning. The letter that had arrived from the War Office wasn’t exactly good.

  Gil, the blighter who’d cashed in his chips sooner than he should have, had failed to first turn in the paperwork informing the proper office that he’d married. Luke wanted to believe it had been an oversight, but Gil’s wages for September and October had, in fact, been collected. By Captain Arthur Gilbert himself.

  Damnit, Gil!

  He needed to speak with Naomi before returning to the inn tonight. He should have sought her out earlier, when he’d heard her chatting in the kitchen with Ester.

  Balancing carefully, he lowered himself off the edge and climbed down the ladder. He’d worked on the house for nearly a fortnight now. Although his muscles had initially protested, the battles in his mind weren’t quite as obnoxious. This kind of labor didn’t cause his soul to decay the way deployments did.

  Yet another conversation he would like to delay indefinitely if possible. That with his commanding officers, and then there would be the even less-anticipated one with his brother.

  With his feet now on solid ground, he sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

  “Did you find more trouble up there?”

  Luke hadn’t realized Naomi had been standing in the shade of the eaves, leaning against the side of the house. Even wearing a floppy garden hat, her cheeks flushed and dirt on her hands, she affected him.

  There was nothing he could do to cool the warmth that surged through him at the sight of her.

  “Nothing new,” he reassured her.

  She tilted her head. “I wondered if you would…” She winced. “Grant me a favor? In addition to everything else you have done.”

  “All you need do is ask.” His voice emerged huskier than usual as he locked his eyes with hers. Her lips parted and her cheeks flushed. Was she thinking the same thing he was?

  She dropped her gaze to her belly and raised a hand to circle it. When she lifted her chin again, she averted her gaze to the stable.

  “I wondered if you’d be willing to drive me into Hull Crossings? I would drive myself, but I’m not very capable and Ester’s been called away. Her niece has injured her ankle and, what with seven children to care for, is going to require Ester’s help for a few days.”

  Luke could not refuse Naomi anything. He was also well aware that the bench on the small cart she owned was narrow and he’d have no choice but to sit pressed close to… Oh, to hell with it. “Of course. I need supplies myself. Allow me to clean up, and I’ll hitch the horses up and bring the cart around.

  She was wringing her hands together almost nervously. “You’ve already done so much for me, for us. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay –“

  “My time is a gift, as are the supplies. Gil would have done the same for me if our circumstances were switched.”

  Would he though?

  An uncomfortable sensation settled in the pit of Luke’s stomach that such a thought would cross his mind.

  And God help him, but for about the thousandth time, he couldn’t stop thinking how pretty she was. She was a contradiction of attributes. Although her appearance lent one to believe she was fragile, she accomplished tasks no lady ought to do in any condition, let alone while expecting—such as painting and cleaning and climbing ladders when she thought no one was around to stop her. She bristled at times, not one to suffer fools gladly, and yet when it came to other, particularly important matters, she could be incredibly naïve.

  She was a gentleman’s daughter and a gentleman’s widow, living on next to nothing. Luke couldn’t relinquish the nagging suspicion that Gil hadn’t done his best by her. Which reminded him of the issues with the pension.

  “I received word from the War Office this morning.” As her eyes widened, Luke took her arm and led her to the bench he’d built for the porch.

  In between tackling various repairs on her home, he’d set himself to doing whatever he could to decrease her distress. He could do nothing to ease her grieving but he would do his best to prevent her from worrying.

  Not removing his hand from her arm, Luke inhaled.

  “Gil failed to send his change of status paperwork. He must have forgotten or been distracted.” Luke ran his other hand down his face because those excuses seemed pretty damn weak in his own ears.

  “So… that’s why I haven’t received anything—even before…”

  “Right.”

  She was staring straight ahead as she absorbed the information.

  “Arthur… could be irresponsible at times.”

  Luke nodded. Still—blast and damn--the care of his wife and unborn child wasn’t something a man neglected. “I have the necessary paperwork for you to complete in my bag. And you’ll require your marriage certificate. The payments will be delayed but... You shouldn’t have any difficulties.”

  Although the military could be leery of claims such as hers. Since the deceased officer wasn’t there to prove or disprove it, they would go over her paperwork with all due diligence.

  She lifted her gaze and stared at h
im, her eyes looking stormier than usual. He struggled not to lose himself in them, especially when the depths conveyed such innocent faith.

  She trusted him.

  “I can’t keep you here forever. Surely you have other business to attend to. Those sisters of yours likely are ready to string me up for keeping you from them so long.” Naomi didn’t sound happy about his departure though.

  “I can wait.”

  “And your brother? Won’t he be upset?”

  At the thought of Blackheart, Luke merely shook his head. “That’s somewhat more complicated.”

  “Why? You know so much about my problems and I know nothing of yours. Do you not get along well with your brother?” she asked gently.

  Emotion tightened his chest. “We get along too well. Which is part of the trouble. He’s just been so damn proud of my service. And I…”

  She sat quietly. He’d not discussed this with anyone. It was shameful, really. And yet these missions increasingly eroded something deep inside, leaving what he could only imagine to be a black void.

  Apprehension warred with the dishonor of resigning.

  “Blackheart sent me to Oxford, but schooling wasn’t for me. So, I quit. After I returned home in disgrace, my brother and I decided I should enter service to the church. I was miserable at it and quickly learned I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. Fortunately, or unfortunately, however one cares to look at it, the bishop agreed.”

  She squeezed his hand.

  “So, Blackheart purchased my commission. And in less than six years, I’ve experienced considerable success.”

  “You are young for a major. I remember Arthur telling me that.”

  “Blackheart jokes that I’ll be the first general in our line.” Luke’s heart squeezed tight. Would she regard him as a coward?

  “You don’t want to continue fighting.”

  Her words sounded so simple and yet resigning his position was frustratingly complicated. “Six men died over the course of my last mission. Six men lost under my watch. It’s senseless.” Luke explained that with each advance, he was coming to realize they weren’t fighting to protect England or righting wrongs, but they were occupiers. The missions had nothing to do with good vs. evil. They were necessary to expand the kingdom. Expand and then subdue leftover resistance to “open up trade.”

  Luke had followed every order he’d been given.

  “An officer isn’t supposed to question the cause,” he finished.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, hating that he was telling her this but somehow unable to keep himself from doing so.

  She squeezed his hand again. “For as long as there are men, there will be wars.”

  “Cockfields aren’t quitters,” he continued. “or cowards.” He came from a long line of gentlemen who’d made a difference in the world. And yet even his own father had joked that Luke would end up like his mother’s younger brother who lived the indolent lifestyle of a dandy.

  Luke didn’t know how many more killings he could participate in before nothing good remained in him. Military men accepted their losses and moved on. Those who didn’t were considered weak.

  Accepting human losses was something he’d failed at from the beginning.

  “You intend to resign?”

  “I want to but I haven’t decided yet. It’s why I’m in no hurry to travel to Crescent Park.” He glanced up, bracing himself for the disappointment he would surely see.

  She was staring at him, and since they were sitting so close to one another, he could see both the cobalt and silver flecks in her eyes. The disdain he expected was noticeably absent.

  Instead, he saw understanding. And he saw… admiration.

  “Dearest Luke.” She tilted her head. “You are no coward. When we first met, Arthur spoke of you with more than a little awe. Almost as though you were too good of a person to befriend such a rogue as him.” She smiled fondly. “He was particularly impressed with one particular incident--a schoolhouse that had caught fire in the small town your unit occupied. He said everyone had given up on two small children who’d been unaccounted for, but you ran in and saved them.”

  Luke waved a hand through the air, shaking his head. “Anyone would do that.”

  “But no one else did. And what you did mattered. It meant the world to their mother. You are no coward.”

  He smiled grimly, uncomfortable discussing himself.

  Running into that fire hadn’t cost him anything, whereas he’d cost others so much.

  “I’m surprised Arthur had anything good to say about me back then.”

  “Why?”

  Was he really going to tell her all of this right now?

  He stared straight ahead, not really seeing the autumn splendor but remembering springtime in London. “Do you remember when we danced? At the Willoughby Ball? And then when I rowed the two of us around the lake at Lady Chamberlayne’s Garden party?”

  “I remember that you were quite charming. The ladies didn’t stand a chance against so many handsome officers last spring.” She glanced down at where her hand rested on. “Of course, I remember, Luke.”

  He sat silently considering the wisdom of yet another embarrassing admission. Likely by the time he finished talking with her this morning, she’d be anxious to send him on his way.

  And yet her comforting presence him had him telling her anyway.

  “Later that evening, following the garden party…” Luke turned his head and caught her gaze. “I informed Gil that I was going to court you. Of course, you’d already given Gil permission to do so. We nearly came to blows over it… over you.” He’d been disappointed. He hadn’t known her long enough to be devastated.

  In the end, Luke had stepped away. He wasn’t the sort to thwart a friend like that.

  A pretty blush turned Naomi’s cheeks a gentle rose color.

  “And the rest is history.” Luke smiled grimly.

  She remained unmoving on the bench, looking stunned but not angry or disgusted.

  “You should fetch your wrap.” Having made something of a fool of himself, Luke rose and then reached down to help her stand since doing so was sometimes awkward for her. He hated to see her struggle even a little.

  But then he quickly dropped her hand and stepped back. Best to end this conversation before he poured any more of his heart out to her.

  “I’ll bring the cart and horses around shortly.”

  He shouldn’t have told her.

  Chapter Seven

  Naomi climbed the stairs to her chamber, her mind caught up in a whirlwind of sensations. This was the first time Luke had told her anything about himself, and she was warmed that he had. No doubt, Luke Cockfield was the most compassionate person she’d ever known. Of course, she’d never experienced battle. She couldn’t begin to comprehend the violence or the ensuing devastation. But she’d overheard stories told by a few of her uncles who had fought at Waterloo.

  Gruesome, harrowing stories.

  And this man, the second son of one of England’s most enigmatic dukes, possessed a heart of gold. He did not require awards or medals to prove it. He’d exhibited his exceptional character from the moment he climbed off his horse to give her word of Arthur’s death in person.

  He hadn’t been required to deliver such news in person. Most widows were only afforded a brief letter; some discovered the loss of their loved one by reading it in the Gazette.

  Drawing the edges of her shawl around her shoulders, she stared into the small looking glass over her vanity.

  Upon reflection, she had recognized his goodness last spring.

  Had she deliberately blinded herself to Arthur’s failings? The question was an awful one and it made her feel disloyal and guilty.

  Was she allowed to be angry with her dead husband? How could he have been so irresponsible that he would forget to inform the proper office that he had a wife? He’d promised her he would do it first thing. He’d promised her she’d not have to worry over finances.

  He�
��d promised he would fix the damn porch. And the trim! And the roof!

  But this.

  This oversight was unconscionable.

  Even dead, he was breaking promises he’d made to her.

  She hated that she wanted to yell at him, that he couldn’t answer to her or defend himself. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair! What would she have done if Luke had never come?

  She would have sat around waiting until she had no money for food or to pay Ester. Would she have been forced to go begging to his family? Or to grovel to her own, pleading for forgiveness?

  She brushed away some stray hairs that had escaped the knot she’d tied at the back of her head earlier, met her own gaze, and pondered Luke’s second admission.

  He wanted to court me.

  She had been attracted to the very young major and she certainly hadn’t been the only lady. Naomi remembered experiencing an almost giddy feeling when she’d danced with him.

  It had been a waltz.

  And later that week, she’d been flattered when he’d offered to row her around the small pond behind Lady Chamberlayne’s elegant mansion.

  Luke wanted to court me.

  She’d had no idea. So many fresh debutantes had vied for his attentions. Ladies younger than her—prettier than her.

  What if she had known?

  Should she tell him that Arthur hadn’t asked to court her until the morning after the garden party? Her eye twitched. With each passing day, Arthur’s failings were becoming more apparent.

  Jolted from such disloyal thoughts by the sound of Luke bringing the cart around to the front of the house, she pinched her lips together.

  She didn’t want to think about last spring anymore. She’d made her choices, and she would live with them. She snatched up her reticule and bolted down the stairwell.

  Attentive as usual, Luke assisted her off the porch and then onto the Bench of the cart.

  Along with his hat, he’d donned his jacket again, not his uniform, but a simple black one that he’d worn more recently while working on the repairs.