Luke pulled in a deep breath.
This precarious state of affairs must be what Gil had avoided discussing with him that last night. Although Gil had probably had the right of it regarding his mother’s reaction, he’d simply had his time cut short. It was no secret that the Countess of Tempest had always been a high stickler. Luke ought to have considered that this might be the case.
But since the insurgents’ attack, he’d had other problems on his mind.
Luke drew his thoughts back to the current problem. Surely, Baroness Barrington would want to be with her daughter at such a time? “And your parents?”
Mrs. Gilcrest was already shaking her head. A hurried elopement had left her more alone than he’d imagined, and yetshe was remarkably composed. He couldn’t help but admire her independence even while his mind searched for solutions.
“I’ll be fine here.” Her voice wobbled but then she lifted her delicately squared chin. He would have smiled at her stubborn expression under any other circumstances. She was fair and had the features of a pixie; he imagined she was often underestimated for it.
As she brushed her hair away from her face, her hand shook, and he wondered if she’d eaten anything at all since he’d left the day before.
“Breakfast at the inn left a good deal to be desired.” He spoke deliberately.
“Oh.” She glanced up. Ah, yes. A little of the life that had flowed out of her yesterday returned as she concerned herself with his wellbeing. “Let me tell Ester.”
“Only if you will eat something as well,” Luke added. “I refuse to eat alone.”
She turned, seemed to consider what he was saying, and then nodded slowly before dropping into a curtsey and drifting out of the room.
Waiting in the parlor alone, Luke made a mental note to send word to the War Office, ensuring that Gil’s pension didn’t get held up. Until Luke was able to speak with Lord Tempest, he couldn’t be certain she had any resources beyond Milton Cottage itself. His gaze flicked over the floorboards. From what he’d seen of it so far, it very well might prove to be more of a liability than an asset.
No, staying here alone couldn’t possibly be a viable option for her.
She was reluctant to turn to her parents. Had they disowned her indefinitely? She and Gil had stirred up a considerable scandal last spring, and before that, Gil hadn’t exactly cultivated a reputation any father would want for his daughter’s husband.
In an unexpected surge of sorrow, Luke’s lungs tightened. He and Gil had sowed their fair share of wild oats together. It seemed impossible that he was gone. They’d had a few disagreements in the more recent past, but all friends were at odds with one another from time to time.
If only Luke had done a second recon. Or taken the longer route around. Why hadn’t Gil simply sold off his commission after he married?
He had a wife. And a baby on the way.
A woman who’d loved him.
By the time she and her maid returned, each carrying a tray, Lucas had decided he would remain in the area until he’d ensured her situation was stable. This afternoon, he could send off a few letters of inquiry. He’d request that Blackheart meet with Gil’s older brother, Tempest, personally. If anyone could convince him to take responsibility for his newly widowed sister-in-law and future nephew or niece, Blackheart could.
“It’s only toast and eggs.” Her apologetic glance stole his breath for an instant. He was a damned miserable person to even consider thinking of her like… He drew his imagination to a screeching halt.
“I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
The maid had set the tray on a low table and dragged it closer to his chair while Naomi poured tea.
Despite feeling more than a little awkward, he took his time purposely. She barely nibbled on her own toast but did manage a few bites of the eggs.
Grief rolled off her in waves, and yet she sat with her shoulders back, her knees together, and when she was finished eating, folded her hands in her lap. And again, he found himself thinking that most people likely underestimated Naomi Gilcrest. She was pretty in a fragile sort of way—even when shewasn’tin mourning.
She’d entranced Luke when he’d first met her.
But she’d fallen for Gil.
Luke couldn’t help but think her beauty, which had captured him last spring beneath glowing chandeliers in elegant ballrooms, was even more apparent sitting in this dull little parlor. Her golden blonde hair was tied back into a simple chignon, several strands having escaped to gently caress her cheeks. And the gown she wore, an unpretentious day dress, complemented her curves, accentuating all of her womanhood.
Luke ignored the voice in his head that found fault with Gil for the circumstances he’d abandoned his wife to. Gil wasn’t here to defend himself. Everyone made mistakes, and Gil had, of course, done his best to take care of her.
He’d simply run out of time.
“Will you be in England for long, Major?” Her question brought him back to his own troubles.
