looking for employment?"
Her aunt colored. "Well," she answered slowly, "he is only a younger son." Her voice trailed away.
"Out with it, Aunt Agatha. What have you done?"
The dear lady stiffened, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I could not allow one of our dear casualties of war to starve. Especially when I had a job available."
"He is not on the point of starvation!" Sophia snapped.
"Well, I fail to see how you could know that. After all—"
"Aunt! Why is he here?"
Aunt Agatha looked down at the lacy tablecloth, her expression too innocent. "We, um, had a long conversation yesterday."
"Regarding?"
The older woman lifted her gaze until her light green eyes were flashing irritation at her niece. "Regarding your ridiculous refusal to see him. Goodness, Sophia, you have practically gaoled yourself in this house."
"I have not!"
"Excuse me, Lady Agatha," interrupted the major's deep voice. It was so unexpected that Sophia nearly jumped out of her chair. "The gardener wishes to speak with you," he continued. "Shall I bid him wait?"
Sophia frowned at their erstwhile new butler, showing every ounce of displeasure available to her. "It is customary to wait until we bid you to speak, Major. My aunt and I were in the middle of a discussion." Her tone was haughty, almost rude, and she had the satisfaction of seeing the major's face flush with the effort to hold back his response to her words.
Taking advantage of the man's temporary silence, Sophia turned back to her aunt. "Surely you can see he is not fit to be a butler. A general, certainly, but not our butler."
Her aunt did not respond. She simply gave her niece a serene smile as she turned to the major. "I will see the gardener directly. Thank you." Then, with a slight nod to her niece, she stood and withdrew from the room, the delicate wave of her pink ribbons her only good-bye.
Which left Sophia alone with her increasingly cold breakfast and her suitor.
Sophia was not by nature a confrontational person. She preferred polite inanities to open arguments. In fact, it was one of the things she most disliked about the major—that whenever she was with him, even in the hospital, they seemed to descend into heated debates about one thing or another.
Here again, she thought with a deep sense of injury, he was forcing her into a clearly adversarial relationship. Well, she would not stoop to that. She would speak to him reasonably, calmly, like a rational adult. He would just be made to see he could not get around her by becoming a servant in her aunt's household.
She lifted her chin and pinned him with her steady regard. "What are you doing here, Major?" she asked, her voice cool yet civil.
He looked up, his expression completely bland, his tone clearly deferential. "I am clearing your aunt's dishes. Shall I return at a later time for them?"
Sophia kept firm control of her temper and focused on speaking calmly, rationally. "No, you should not return," she said. "You should not be here at all."
He raised his eyebrows. They were thick, arching over his dark eyes. She found the sight oddly mesmerizing. "Is there something wrong with my service?" he asked, his manner excruciatingly polite. "Perhaps I should lay the dishes out on the sideboard in the mornings. Would that be satisfactory?"
Sophia shook her head. She knew he was being deliberately obtuse. She had to focus on the meaning beneath his actions. "I suppose this is what is meant by a flanking maneuver," she grumbled.
"I beg your pardon, my lady?"
She sighed, feeling the strain on her control. It was clearly time to be blunt. "Why are you here, Major?" she asked again.
He frowned and gestured to the dishes.
"That doesn't fadge, and you know it. I cannot credit that a man of your standing, an earl's son, no less, would stoop to become our temporary butler."
She did not see how it happened. One moment the major was across the room, bowing his head and looking very servile. The next moment he was towering
Her aunt colored. "Well," she answered slowly, "he is only a younger son." Her voice trailed away.
"Out with it, Aunt Agatha. What have you done?"
The dear lady stiffened, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I could not allow one of our dear casualties of war to starve. Especially when I had a job available."
"He is not on the point of starvation!" Sophia snapped.
"Well, I fail to see how you could know that. After all—"
"Aunt! Why is he here?"
Aunt Agatha looked down at the lacy tablecloth, her expression too innocent. "We, um, had a long conversation yesterday."
"Regarding?"
The older woman lifted her gaze until her light green eyes were flashing irritation at her niece. "Regarding your ridiculous refusal to see him. Goodness, Sophia, you have practically gaoled yourself in this house."
"I have not!"
"Excuse me, Lady Agatha," interrupted the major's deep voice. It was so unexpected that Sophia nearly jumped out of her chair. "The gardener wishes to speak with you," he continued. "Shall I bid him wait?"
Sophia frowned at their erstwhile new butler, showing every ounce of displeasure available to her. "It is customary to wait until we bid you to speak, Major. My aunt and I were in the middle of a discussion." Her tone was haughty, almost rude, and she had the satisfaction of seeing the major's face flush with the effort to hold back his response to her words.
Taking advantage of the man's temporary silence, Sophia turned back to her aunt. "Surely you can see he is not fit to be a butler. A general, certainly, but not our butler."
Her aunt did not respond. She simply gave her niece a serene smile as she turned to the major. "I will see the gardener directly. Thank you." Then, with a slight nod to her niece, she stood and withdrew from the room, the delicate wave of her pink ribbons her only good-bye.
Which left Sophia alone with her increasingly cold breakfast and her suitor.
Sophia was not by nature a confrontational person. She preferred polite inanities to open arguments. In fact, it was one of the things she most disliked about the major—that whenever she was with him, even in the hospital, they seemed to descend into heated debates about one thing or another.
Here again, she thought with a deep sense of injury, he was forcing her into a clearly adversarial relationship. Well, she would not stoop to that. She would speak to him reasonably, calmly, like a rational adult. He would just be made to see he could not get around her by becoming a servant in her aunt's household.
She lifted her chin and pinned him with her steady regard. "What are you doing here, Major?" she asked, her voice cool yet civil.
He looked up, his expression completely bland, his tone clearly deferential. "I am clearing your aunt's dishes. Shall I return at a later time for them?"
Sophia kept firm control of her temper and focused on speaking calmly, rationally. "No, you should not return," she said. "You should not be here at all."
He raised his eyebrows. They were thick, arching over his dark eyes. She found the sight oddly mesmerizing. "Is there something wrong with my service?" he asked, his manner excruciatingly polite. "Perhaps I should lay the dishes out on the sideboard in the mornings. Would that be satisfactory?"
Sophia shook her head. She knew he was being deliberately obtuse. She had to focus on the meaning beneath his actions. "I suppose this is what is meant by a flanking maneuver," she grumbled.
"I beg your pardon, my lady?"
She sighed, feeling the strain on her control. It was clearly time to be blunt. "Why are you here, Major?" she asked again.
He frowned and gestured to the dishes.
"That doesn't fadge, and you know it. I cannot credit that a man of your standing, an earl's son, no less, would stoop to become our temporary butler."
She did not see how it happened. One moment the major was across the room, bowing his head and looking very servile. The next moment he was towering
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