“Thanks to you.” It was simple truth. His help stood between her son and starvation. She could deny this man nothing.
The sergeant busied himself about speaking with the waiter, unable to meet her eyes after her thanks. When the man bustled away, he stared down at the table, as if he felt as uneasy as she did.
After several uncomfortable moments during which Esther racked her brain for something to say, Sergeant Marsh asked, “Is he keeping you up nights?”
“Not unduly. He wakes to eat, greedy little thing that he is, and…” she stumbled over her words, and her cheeks burned, suddenly embarrassed to be discussing night time nursing with this strange man. The sergeant appeared to be studying the wall behind her.
She was spared further conversation by the arrival of steaming bowls of stew and—saints be praised—hot mugs of tea. While the beefy aroma of the stew made her mouth water, she couldn’t resist savoring a sip of tea first. She shifted her baby up onto a shoulder and reached for the mug with a shaking hand. Sergeant Marsh was out of his seat like a shot.
“Let me.” He reached for the baby, and she let him. “You eat. Then we’ll talk.” She ought to refuse; the boy wasn’t his responsibility after all. Polite refusal would not come out of her mouth, and he sat back down with little Douglas tucked in the bend of his arm.
Hunger got the better of her, and she dug into her meal, knowing well that “tea” didn’t being to describe this lunch, especially when the waiter returned with sweet bread slathered in butter. Ravenous she might be, but she cast surreptitious glances at the man across the table, staring like a besotted parent at the infant sleeping in his arms.
All too soon, she finished her meal and drank the last of her tea, only to have Marsh reach over and refill it. When he rose and handed the baby back; Esther was pleased to see the boy hadn’t left a damp spot on his arm.
“I suppose you wonder why I asked you here.” He had finally begun to eat his meal.
Asked?“I admit to curiosity,” she said.
“You can’t go on like you have,” he said between bites. “The boy will need more.”
True enough. She waited, unable to respond.
“You need work.”
She braced herself. Here it comes. He’s going to ask me to be his mistress, and I’m going to say yes. Another thought struck her.Do men of his class take mistresses, or do they merely…
CHAPTER7
What the devil is going on in that woman’s mind? She looks like she tried to swallow a mortar shell. If her eyes got any bigger, they’ll cover her face.
“Have you looked for work?”
The question wasn’t what she expected.He wondered what nonsense caused her puzzled expression and almost laughed at her quizzical expression.
“I don’t know where to start; I don’t have any practical skills except stitching, and I don’t know what I’ll do with the baby,” she complained.
“Winny Potter has been stopping by, I gather.”
She nodded, still looking puzzled.
“Her oldest girl watches their brood,” he went on. “She seems to believe one more wouldn’t be a problem. Aunt Edna thinks—”
“Aunt Edna?” she interrupted him. She had the baby up on one shoulder, patting his back while she studied him carefully, listening to every word.
Doug’s discomfort caught up with him, and he had to clear his throat. He had been managing her life—or so Aunt Edna said. They—the lot of them at Marsh’s—had been talking behind her back, and he’d had her investigated.Damn it all, but I’m ogling her like a total bastard, too. It would serve him right if she sent him away with a flea in his ear. He alternately feared she would and feared the only reason she wouldn’t was because she couldn’t manage without the pitiful reserves of food he sent.
He explained his aunt, their living arrangements, and the shared ownership of the candle works that would be his soon enough.
“You’re caring for your elderly aunt?” she asked, admiration warming her tones.
“When she’ll let me,” he grinned. “She and Uncle Horace were nothing but kind to me. I owe her care at the very least.”
Esther nodded approvingly. “Not all returning soldiers have been fortunate enough to come home to a family and a ready-made business,” she said.
“Not by a long shot!” It was out before he could blink, and he was off like a runaway horse telling her about his efforts to employ as many as possible. “…so the earl takes as many as he can,” he finished without thinking.
She blanched. “Which earl?”
