He was of middle height, perhaps a little more, but carried himself so straight that he seemed taller. His coat was plain and dark blue, but of the highest quality; she recognized in his stancethat peculiar mixture of bearing and ease which belonged to men more at home upon a horse than upon a carpet. His shoulders were broad without being bulky, his frame lean and fit, and his hair—dark and somewhat rebellious—refused to lie as neatly as his careful brushing had clearly intended. There was a faint weathering to his complexion that no London winter would have bestowed, and at one temple she thought she saw the pale trace of an old scar disappearing beneath his hairline.
However, it was his eyes that struck her most. They were a caramel brown that changed hue as the light chose, clear and steady, and just now darkly intent. He coloured slightly when she looked at him, as though caught staring; but the impression remained that this was a man who saw more than he wished to speak of.
“Zounds!” the Admiral exclaimed, suddenly striking his knee with the flat of his hand. “Listen to me, chattering away, and I have behaved like a lubber. My dear, I have not made you known. You must forgive an old man’s neglect.” He turned in his chair with an air of ceremony. “Mrs. Larkin, allow me to present Mr. Leigh—he is down from London to write a story about our sleepy little town.”
The gentleman stepped forward at once, bowing with proper gravity, though his mouth twitched at the Admiral’s description.
“How do you do, Mrs Larkin?”
She rose and curtsied. “Very well, I thank you. I had not understood you were living here, sir.”
The Admiral forestalled any answer. “He is here because I am old and gouty, and my niece is married to a half-pay colonel in Dorset who cannot be trusted to send me more than one letter a month. Sit down, both of you. We must not allow the tea to become quite cold before it arrives.”
As if summoned by his words, the housekeeper entered with the tray. Mrs. Grealey was as much commander of the domestic front as ever the Admiral had been of His Majesty’s ships.
“Tea, ma’am. Sirs,” she said, setting the tray down with practised ease. Elise moved at once to assist, uncovering the little cakes and arranging them upon a smaller dish. The fragrance of sugar and spice rose to greet them, homely and comforting.
“Mrs. Larkin has brought us bounty,” the Admiral declared. “Anything that comes from those industrious young ladies at the school must be excellent. Leigh, sit, sit. You will hover like a ghost if you are not compelled to a chair.”
Mr. Leigh obeyed, taking the straight-backed chair a little aside from the hearth, as though reluctant to place himself too forward where she was concerned. Elise poured the tea—first for the Admiral, then for their guest, and lastly for herself—and offered the plate of cakes.
“Pray allow me, Mr. Leigh,” she said, falling into the slightly more formal mode of address that a room and tea-tray demanded, “to press one upon you. The girls will be vastly pleased to know you approved their efforts.”
“I can hardly expose myself to their displeasure,” he replied, accepting a small, neatly cut piece with a hand that looked capable of much rougher employments than holding fine china. “I am obliged to you—and to them.”
He took a bite of the confection, seeming almost surprised at its lightness, then smiled—a small, unguarded expression which softened the firmness of his features.
“If I live to be ninety,” the Admiral announced, “I shall attribute every additional year to the cookery of that school and the attentions of my two guardian angels—Mrs. Larkin and Mr. Leigh.”
Elise looked towards the gentleman at this pronouncement, uncertain whether she ought to smile. Mr. Leigh did not appear in the least angelic, but he endured the Admiral’s praise with a kind of resigned composure, as though long accustomed to being described in ways that bore only a passing resemblance to truth.
“Sir,” he said quietly, “you are too generous.”
“Nonsense,” the Admiral retorted. “Who was it hauled me upright after I tripped on the parlour rug? Who sorted my accounts when the blasted solicitor lost half of them? Who chased off that tradesman who overcharged me three shillings for lamp oil?”
“That was only yesterday afternoon, sir,” Mr. Leigh murmured, sounding faintly embarrassed.
“Exactly! A Herculean labour. And do not look so modest, my boy—you were sent to me by Providence.”
Elise found herself studying Mr. Leigh more closely. He certainly moved with an easy competence, slipping into the chair the Admiral indicated without fuss, his hands steady as she offered him a slice of cake. Yet he did not seem a servant—nor even quite a secretary. His coat, though plain, was of good cloth; his boots well-kept; his bearing more careful than deferential. There was education in the way he spoke, restraint in the way he listened, and an alertness in his eyes that seemed always half-directed toward the Admiral, as though assessing his comfort, his coherence, his mood.
And yet… there was something withheld too. Something guarded, as though the man he presented was only the outer shell of a truer one kept locked carefully within.
Elise sipped her tea, noting how he balanced saucer and cup with practised ease, then glanced towards the Admiral. “You were speaking of Captain Larkin, sir.”
“Was I?” The Admiral considered this, then nodded firmly. “Yes. One of my best young fellows—as keen as mustard and twice as sharp.”
“I believe I knew him long before you did,” Mr. Leigh said, then turned his attention to Elise with a careful, almost tentative courtesy. “The Charles I knew was a clever fellow, quick with figures. He was quick with everything, in fact.”
Elise’s fingers gripped her own cup. For a moment she thought her breath might show upon the air, the room felt so abruptly thin.
“Mr. Leigh went to school with Charles,” she said to the Admiral, and was pleased to hear only a slight alteration in her tone. “He seldom spoke of his schooldays, but he did own to having survived them.”
A faint smile touched Leigh’s mouth. “That sounds very like him still. He was forever making plans for how he might escape the desk and reach the sea a year before the regulations allowed. He had a way of turning Latin exercises into charts and lists.” He hesitated. “He was much admired and trusted.”
Trusted.
The word was a small, precise blade. Elise felt it slip between two old scars.
