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“Uncle?”
He told himself to focus. “Forgive me.”
“You seemed most distracted. We were speaking about Miss Stapleton and Mr. Bellingham, then a faraway look came into your eye.”
What had he been thinking on? Oh. Miss Stapleton. He frowned. Surely she wasn’t enamored of this young man, despite what others might say. And yet why else would she permit herself to be closeted in this way?
“I can’t help but wonder about her. She usually looks so vivacious, but she seems quite drained tonight.”
Concern knotted within. “Perhaps she is ailing.”
“No, she directly told Mr. Bellingham she is well.”
“She has been rather busy.”
“That cannot be it, for she is always so.” She stood and fluffed out her skirts. “I suppose I shall have to return. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” he admonished. “Just be your sweet and charming self.”
A beautiful smile lit her face at his praise.
Good thing she was sequestered here. The girl was fast becoming a young lady, and it would fall to his domain, no doubt, to fend off eager suitors.
The evening passed, and he found his ears straining for the slightest tinkle of laughter, the sounds of joy. How he wished he could be downstairs, joining in on the evening’s entertainment.
A plate of the meal prepared for downstairs was brought to him as well, so he was informed by Robert Brigham, who advised that Mr. Siddons was busy attending to duties downstairs and could not attend the captain up here tonight. “But Annie—that is, Cook—wanted you to have this mutton pie especially,” he said, as if reciting from memory.
“Tell her I am most appreciative.” Daniel cut into the crust and inhaled the meaty aroma.
“Yes, sir.”
He ate the pie and vegetables, again wondering at the lack of recent visits from Miss Stapleton. He had not precisely been lonely, but he had missed her way of brightening each day with smiles and laughter. Which wouldn’t do, he told himself sternly. She was not for him. He would leave, she would stay, and that would be that.
But another part, a deeper part, wondered again if it could ever be possible to have a wife and a home where such things as dinner parties were the norm, where he could exchange private conversation with a handsome woman, and share the jokes and joys that added cream to one’s day. Was such a thing possible? What would happen when he was old and grey?
He glanced out the dark window, frowning. Whatwouldhappen when he was too old for the battlefield? Would he be packed off to some home for old soldiers? Would Becky find it in her heart to take him in? Did he want a home full of paid servants to care for him, without the softer bonds of love and affection?
The general’s rattling laugh travelled up the stairs. Even the general had married, had a family. While this family unit was not quite the norm, Daniel had seen the love between its members. Was such a thing possible for him too?
Lord?
Chapter 13
Candlelight flickered off glassware, the silver epergne spilling with nuts and sweetmeats to enjoy after the second course had been removed. Theo offered a smile to Lady Bellingham, seated opposite her. The servants’ hard work had created such a feast from what had seemed a larder more fit for famine. God was good, and so faithful.
“This is such a lovely meal,” Lady Bellingham complimented Mama.
“It is dear Theo who should be praised,” Mama demurred. “She gave Annie all the instructions, and all I have to do is turn up and receive the accolades.”
“In that case, Mama, it is only fair that Annie be the one to receive the praise, especially seeing as she is the one whose idea it was to dress the pheasant this way.”
“You must learn to accept your share of compliments, Theodosia,” the squire said from next to her.
Theo bobbed her head in acquiescence and glanced in Frederick’s direction. Mama had insisted on seating him next to Becky, and Theo couldn’t help but wonder at the arrangement. Could Becky be trusted to hold her tongue? Extricating herself from Frederick’s persistent attempts to resume the previous conversation had made Theo dangerously aware that her avoidance earlier had only fueled his curiosity. She would have to satisfy him somehow. But what drove his interest? Was he suspicious after she had turned him down? She hardly thought his attempt at an offer of matrimony so genuine that he should take a miff. Had whispers leaked that there was a stranger residing here?
Regardless, she wished this dinner over, so she might speak to him and offer what reassurance she could.
But after the syllabub was consumed, and the ladies moved to the drawing room to wait for the men, her agitation increased. How could she apply herself to the entertainment of the others? She had no interest in playing cards, and everyone knew the squire and his wife were most partial to a game of whist. Could she perhaps steal Frederick’s attention while the others played—for only four players would be needed, and the general held little interest in it—and somehow persuade the young man to drop his enquiry?
