Elise sat beside him, adopting the gentle manner one used with the very young and very old. “It will be mended, sir. The roof can be rebuilt and walls repaired. Your home is not lost.”
He shook his head. “Brick and timber, yes, but the memories—Charles spent a fortnight there before joining theNeptune. Your husband was like a son to me.”
The mention of Charles hit her like a soft blow: warm, painful, tender.
“I know he admired you greatly, sir,” Elise said.
The Admiral’s eyes softened. “A fine man. The Navy lost more than a sailor when it lost him.”
The truth of that made Elise’s throat thicken.
She set out the bowl of broth and helped him to take a cautious sip.
“It will take time to repair your cottage,” she said, “but you may stay here as long as you like. The girls adore having you. They are already arguing as to who shall read aloud to you this afternoon.”
He perked visibly. “Aha! I shall enjoy being fought over.”
Mrs. Grealey humphed. “You always did.”
Elise smiled. “Rest now before supper. Afterward, we shall gather in the drawing room. Mr. Leigh has promised the girls a story.”
The Admiral brightened immediately. “Ah, yes! The man tells a surprisingly good tale.”
Elise inclined her head politely, though privately she resented how readily her pulse quickened at the name Leigh. She had invited him into the drawing room out of courtesy—and necessity—and yet some part of her… anticipated the gathering.
She rose. “I shall leave you to your rest.”
The Admiral caught her hand briefly. “My dear, you run this place with the precision of an admiral yourself. Charles would be proud.”
The words both warmed and wounded her.
She managed a smile. “Thank you, sir,” she said, quickly leaving before her composure faltered.
The lamps were lit, casting warm golden light over the familiar room. The girls, a dozen of them, piled onto stools, cushions, footstools—wherever they might perch without appearing impolite. The storm had shaken their nerves badly, and Elise thought they would enjoy an evening of calm entertainment.
Mr. Leigh stood near the hearth, speaking quietly to Jane. He looked surprisingly at home: his coat freshly brushed, his hair tamed but still bearing that unruly curl at the temple, his manner respectful but relaxed.
Elise’s stomach dipped without permission. Ridiculous. She crossed the room. “Mr. Leigh, thank you again for all your toil today.”
He bowed slightly. “I have merely done what I could, ma’am.”
She raised a brow. “Such modesty, sir—I fear the girls will hear none of it.”
At this, several of the girls giggled, and one whispered (far too loudly), “He lifted a whole barrel by himself!”
Mr. Leigh coloured faintly, clearing his throat. “It was not full,” he murmured.
Elise hid a smile. “Regardless of that, the assistance was appreciated.”
He met her gaze. She looked away quickly, irritated by the heat in her cheeks.
A soft shuffle sounded in the hall, followed by a firm, familiar tap-tap of a cane. The Admiral appeared in the doorway, descending under his own power with grim determination. Mrs. Grealey hovered a pace behind, ready to intervene. “You see?” the Admiral declared, as if the sight of him upright were a public lesson. “A little storm cannot keep a man of the Service in bed.”
Elise rose at once. “Sir—you ought to have taken your supper tray.”
“I did,” he said promptly, as if to forestall Mrs. Grealey’s inevitable reprimand. “I ate every morsel. And now I require company. One cannot convalesce in solitude.”
Mrs. Grealey muttered something about stubborn old sea-captains and the folly of stairs, but the Admiral only waved her down and took the largest chair with the air of a monarch reclaiming his throne.
