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“Indeed we must,” agreed Theo. “What would you suggest?”
“I’m afraid Balfour here still cannot ride, otherwise I would suggest that. Same goes for a picnic, for I fear that would be too much of a strain on his leg.”
“Are you to only make suggestions for what I cannot do?” complained the captain good-naturedly.
“What would you wish to do?” she finally asked him, her gaze meeting his, then immediately veering away as her heart gave a tiny, foolish skip. It was only right that she be polite to him, she told herself. Bepolite. He’d made it clear he wished for nothing more. She forced her attention to return.
“I would wish to enjoy some conversation.” His gaze rested on her. “But I fear that those whom I wish to converse with may not wish the same.”
No.No. He meant nothing by that. Nothing at all.
“Have you spoken to the general?” Becky asked.
His lips pushed to one side, and he shifted focus to his niece. “I will speak to him again before we leave.”
“It’s a shame you have that dinner at Lady Bellingham’s on Friday night,” Becky said. “Otherwise—oh! Theo, do you think it might be at all possible for—”
“For a dinner to be held here before your departure? Of course.”
“Oh, thank you. I know it seems most presumptuous for me to ask.”
“Most presumptuous,” Theo teased.
Becky smiled. “But it would be nice to see my friends again.”
“I’m sure it would. I will speak to Mother about it this morning.” She dared to glance in the captain’s general direction again. “Have you decided upon a day to quit the area, sir?”
He nodded. “I received word that I am to present myself to Whitehall, and thus must soon return to London. Now my leg is nearly better, I thought next Monday should suffice.”
“Monday?” Becky’s exclamation echoed the dismay within Theo’s heart.
She tamped it down, concentrated on her young guest. “We shall have your dinner on Saturday night, then.”
“Thank you,” Becky said, tone flat.
Theo knew her lack of enthusiasm stemmed from disappointment about departing so soon, which was reiterated when Becky gave an audible sigh.
The captain lifted both hands as if in surrender. “I know you have no wish to leave, but I assure you that London won’t be nearly as dull as you seem to fear.”
“I don’t think it will be dull,” Becky countered. “But it will be dull to not have anyone to share such experiences.”
Theo patted her arm but said nothing. That was indeed the point. For what was the point of having grand adventures if there was no one to share such adventures with?
She kept her gaze on her hard-boiled eggs, which reminded her of the nest from earlier, of the broken eggs of yesteryear, whose promise of life had never been fulfilled.
Her heart sorrowed. Was her future destined to remain as lifeless as it had felt before the captain came?
Chapter 22
Sometimes Daniel wished the rest of life could be as straightforward as life within the army. Admittedly, not everything within the military was easy. But it was a blessed sight more so than expecting builders to follow simple instructions, let alone other, more personal matters.
He shoved a piece of veal into his mouth and chewed slowly, as much to aid digestion as to avoid unwanted conversation at the Bellingham’s dining table. Military life was also so much easier than this silent expectation that he would know the intricacies of social mores and solecisms, where so many did not say what they truly meant. How he wished he could simply bowl up to a young lady and ask if she wished to further their acquaintance, whether she could see fit to tie her life to his. But such direct speech was not at all the thing, which left him in this muddle of politenesses that never really meant anything.
He was a fool to think on this. He needed to think on his career, on life in London and beyond. But another part of him still questioned if that was enough to satisfy, if perhaps his life was meant for more. A question Lady Bellingham seemed most determined to pursue, at least as far as things went with Musgrave.
The dinner seemed to take an interminable amount of time, all of which he spent ruing that first impulse that had bade him to disguise his identity. Guilt wove with fresh regrets as Lady Bellingham—and her guests—peppered Musgrave with questions about their time at war, occasionally flinging Daniel a question, like one might throw a dog a bone.
He determined to enjoy the meal, and he strove to be polite, but the constant talking about “Balfour” only increased the agitation inside. Musgrave seemed to pick up on this, seemed to take joy in sharing stories that featured himself as the hero, making Daniel fast regret the invitation for his friend to visit.
