“Would that be experience speaking, ma’am?”
She met his gaze then. For a heartbeat, neither of them looked away.
He saw, far beneath the composed exterior, the shadow of nights spent waiting for letters that did not come, the memory of uniforms brought home without their owners.
“I have known enough men to come back with scars—and some who did not come back at all.”
Larkin.
He wanted to say something that might lift that shadow, however briefly. Instead, he sat silently while she smoothed a strip of linen over the wound and tied it with a neat, firm knot just above his temple.
“There,” she said, stepping back. “You should do very well now.”
He inclined his head. “I am indebted to you.”
“I am indebted to you for carrying the Admiral out from under his collapsing roof,” she replied.
The faintest warmth stirred in his chest—something that had little to do with gratitude and a great deal to do with the curve of her mouth as she said it. “We shall allow ourselves to be equal.”
The giggle of a girl at the doorway cut across his thoughts.
“That bandage makes you look quite brave, sir,” whispered a young girl with large blue eyes, peering round the door-case before being gently herded away by Miss Archer.
“Out of the sickroom, Miss Sims,” Jane said in mock severity. “Mr. Leigh cannot be expected to recover if you and the other girls stand about and make a hero of him.”
The child cast another wide-eyed glance at the stranger in their midst. “Is he going to die?”
“No, nothing so heroic as that,” she said as she shooed the girl away.
Edmund felt the faint, absurd urge to straighten his shoulders, as if he were in uniform.
“Pay them no mind,” Mrs. Larkin said, faint amusement threading her tone. “They seldom see gentlemen in the house, save for the Admiral. You will furnish them with conversation at breakfast for a week.”
“Then I had better make myself useful,” he replied. “Idle heroes are of no use to anyone.”
Her brows lifted a fraction. “You are not obliged to do anything further today. You have done more than enough.”
He looked towards the window, where a fallen branch lay across the south lawn and pieces of shattered gate still littered the gravel.
“On the contrary, ma’am,” he said, “the Admiral’s house will not repair itself.”
“That will take a crew of experienced men to fix—or have you experience of mending roofs?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “You have taken us in when we had nowhere else to go. At least allow me to reduce the damage within your view.”
Her gaze followed his. For a moment, he thought she might refuse out of principle. Then she inclined her head.
“Very well. If you are determined to help, I shall put you in Miss Archer’s hands. She has a list already forming in her head.”
“I am terrified,” he murmured.
“As you should be.” A spark of mischief lit her eyes. It was the first real crack in the wary exterior she had when in his company.
He rose, the bandage tugging slightly at his skin, and followed Miss Archer out into the corridor and then into the ruined garden.
The air was raw and damp, smelling of salt, bruised leaves, and splintered wood. The dawn had brightened to a pallid mid-morning; the sky hung low and heavy, as if still considering whether or not to resume its assault.
“Large branches first,” Jane announced, hands on her hips as she surveyed the wreckage. “The girls shall soon be out here to help. If anything is too heavy for us, it must wait for men with axes to come from the town.”
