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“Oh, stop! I would rather have Tom any day!”

The humor, and the light, vanished from her sister’s face. “I'm sorry, Cressida. I shouldn’t have teased you so. Forgive me.”

Cressida felt utterly wretched as Callie walked from the room, as composed as ever but avoiding her pleading gaze. Stop, she wanted to cry to her sister, I didn’t mean it! But Callie was gone, and Cressida listened as her footsteps crossed the hall, echoing now that the carpets were gone, then climbed the stairs before fading away altogether.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, praying for patience and more moderation in her speech. How hard would it have been to go along with Callie’s mild teasing, to admit that Major Hayes was almost sinfully handsome in addition to being the possible answer to their prayers? And even worse, to taunt her sister about a man, after Callie had already been married to a son of Lucifer and barely survived it?

With a curse that belied the earnestness of her prayer, Cressida flung the dust cloth across the room. She strode into the hall and seized the broom, sweeping vigorously for several minutes in an attempt to work off her frustration with physical activity. When she threw open the front door to sweep out the dirt, though, an unpleasant sight met her eyes.

Major Hayes was talking to Tom down the lane by the end of the fence, where the sheep had got through the broken gate. Tom leaned against the gate, nodding now and then but saying little. His posture was stiff and uncomfortable.

She’d forgotten all about Tom. Of course the major would want to speak to Tom, who had known Papa for years. He’d said he didn’t have any idea where Papa might have gone, but. . . Cressida hated to admit she wondered. If Tom suspected Papa had gone off to some place. . . inappropriate, he would hardly say so to them. Cressida put down the broom and started forward, worry quickening her step until she was almost running down the lane.

The major saw her when she had covered half the distance. She was too far away to see his expression—or those damnably blue eyes—under the brim of his hat, but he bowed and raised one hand before swinging onto his horse’s back. He said something else to Tom, who nodded. Major Hayes rode off, cantering around the bend in the road without a backward glance.

Cressida slowed to a walk, holding one hand against the stitch in her side. “What did he want, Tom?”

Tom looked troubled. “He said he’s come to look for the sergeant. Asked if I had anything to offer, any suggestion to make.”

“Yes, that’s about what he told us.”

“Hmph,” was Tom’s only reply.

Uncertain, Cressida looked down the road where Major Hayes had disappeared. “Callie thinks it’s the answer to our prayers. Colonel Pickering sent him, it seems.” She turned back to Tom. “I wonder why he was sent to us. One might think coming back from the dead would require all a man’s attention, even if he weren’t a suspected traitor.”

Tom shrugged. He’d gone back to the gate and had a nail between his teeth as he hefted a rail into place.

“What did you tell him?” Cressida knew she was pestering him but couldn’t stop herself.

Hammer in hand, Tom stabbed the nail into the rail. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Well, of course you had nothing to tell him, since we don’t know anything.” She paused, but Tom didn’t respond to the subtle question. “I don’t know what on earth he’s going to do that we haven’t thought of.”

Tom began hammering the nail, sharp blows that shook the gate. He still said nothing.

Cressida sighed. “All right. Thank you, Tom.”

The sound of his hammering followed her back to the house. Did Tom know something? He swore not. He knew how desperate things were. No; Tom wouldn’t keep it from them, if he knew anything about where Papa was. He couldn’t.

Cressida was still worrying over the major’s visit when she almost ran head-on into her grandmother in the hall.

“Granny,” she exclaimed, stopping short. “What are you doing downstairs?”

Granny beamed up at her, wobbling on her feet even though she clutched her cane. “Did I hear a gentleman’s voice in the house, dear?”

Cressida’s face heated, to her disgust. “Yes, Granny.” She hesitated; mention of Papa was often enough to upset Granny to no end, and send her into a fretful decline. But not explaining the major’s visit would let Granny think the intolerable—which her next question confirmed.

“Was he here to see you, or your sister?” Granny had such a twinkling smile. Cressida had missed that smile.

“Erm—both, really.” She put one arm around her grandmother’s frail shoulders and gently steered her toward the sitting room. Granny had become so thin lately, her skin like worn linen over her bones. “Do you remember that we wrote to Colonel Lord Pickering, to see if Papa might have mentioned something about his plans?”

“You did?” Granny was trying to crane her neck and peer around Cressida’s arm, out the open front door. “Well, yes, your father had better come home soon, if young men are coming to call! It wouldn’t do at all, dear, to consider a suitor without your father’s permission. Was he a handsome fellow?”

Cressida bit her lip. First Callie, now Granny. “He wasn’t a suitor. He came because Colonel Pickering sent him to search for Papa.”

The instant she spoke, she knew it had been the wrong answer. Granny’s smile turned into a frown in the blink of an eye, and she drew herself up to her full, diminutive height before turning on Cressida with her sternest voice. “Your father is not lost, young lady. I am sure he’s off doing something very important—he must be, or he would have returned by now. He’ll be home any day, you wait and see. Such a good man, and a good father, too. Hasn’t he brought us to this lovely home? All those years away, he couldn’t wait to be home. And now you dare suggest he’s lost?”

This time she couldn’t hold back a sigh. “Of course not.” She wished Callie were here to soothe their grandmother. Cressida had too much temper for the task. She yearned to ask Granny just where Papa was, if he was so anxious to be home with them, and why he couldn’t have let them know where he was going or at the very least sent money. He must know they didn’t have enough to live on.