are not betrothed?’ Sir James asked, bringing a betraying flush to her cheeks. ‘Your uncle said it had not yet been thought of.’
‘I see no reason why you should wish to know that,’ Babette said, raised to a quick anger by his impertinence. He had no right to question her on such a subject. ‘My father was to have arranged a betrothal just before he died—to Andrew Melbourne.’
‘Lord Melbourne’s son?’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Drew is my cousin once removed. I descended through the female line, but one of my ancestors was a Melbourne—her name was Catherine. Drew was once my good friend, but we have not spoken since before the Battle of Edge Hill. I regret the breach, for we were once good friends, but it was inevitable.’
‘Drew is for the King, of course.’ Babette’s head went up, her stance certain and proud.
‘Yes.’ Sir James looked at her, a brooding expression in his eyes. ‘Have you heard from him since your father died?’
‘No.’ Babette licked her lips nervously. It was one of the reasons she had cried herself to sleep each night before she came here. Although she had only met the handsome young man once, she had been excited by the thought of marrying him. She had thought he would come to the castle to claim her when he heard of her father’s death, but he had not. Indeed, she’d heard nothing of him since that date and supposed that he considered himself free to marry where he chose, since the betrothal had not actually happened.
‘I thought not,’ James said, a strange look in his eyes. She thought that he had more to say, but withheld it for some reason of his own. If he had news of Drew, in his arrogance he would not tell her. ‘Thank you for your ale, mistress. Your uncle has said that I may use the blue chamber while we stay here. I trust my presence in the house will not cause you sleepless nights?’
‘Should it?’ She frowned at him, annoyed that she had told him more than she’d intended of her life. He was an enemy and nothing to her, nor could he ever be. ‘I see no reason why your presence should make any difference to my life.’
‘Indeed, it should not,’ he replied, a smile playing across his mouth. She wondered why her eyes were drawn to his mouth. It was not as if he was likely to kiss her. Why had that thought entered her mind? Babette was horrified. She did not wish any man to kiss her unless he was her husband—and she certainly would not wish to marry a Puritan, though perhaps this man was more a soldier than a man of religious fervour.
This was ridiculous! Her heart was racing wildly and her cheeks burned as the foolish thoughts chased through her mind.
Babette withdrew her eyes hurriedly, collecting the empty plates and jug on to her tray. She picked it up and left before he could speak again. He had gone back to his contemplation of the garden and she sensed a heaviness in his mood that intrigued her.
Why should the contemplation of her garden make him sad? She was sure that he hid a secret sorrow behind that mask of indifference but could not imagine what it was—or why her garden should remind him.
* * *
James continued to gaze into the garden after the girl had left him. His mind was confused, for on first seeing her something had arrested his speech, suspending his thought for an instant that seemed like an aeon of time, and taking his breath. What it was about the young woman that should render him so he could not tell. He had believed he could never feel any true human emotion again, certainly not the softer feelings that he’d known when his sweet Jane was alive.
Surely he could not be attracted to a woman he had met only this day? No, it was foolish, ridiculous...a betrayal of Jane. And yet there had been something the moment he saw her, and, as he’d watched her working, his first feeling had not been reversed that here was a remarkable young woman.
A woman who might help him to live again, perhaps?
Even as the thought entered his mind, he crushed it ruthlessly, a wave of such intense grief sweeping through him that he gasped. What a rogue he was to contemplate caring for a woman when his beloved lay in her grave.
‘Forgive me, Jane,’ he whispered. ‘I shall never love any other woman, for you were my heart and my soul.’
In time he might marry, for a man could not live his life alone, but he would choose a widow who wanted only a home and comfort. He could not give more...even to the girl whose eyes had seemed to pierce the shield he had built to shut out his grief and despair.
Chapter Two
Babette glanced out of the kitchen window, though she was not precisely sure what she sought or why. Captain Colby, for such his men called him, had been out with her uncle and half of his men all that afternoon. As she stood at the window, she saw they were returning, her uncle and the rebel captain riding side by side as they entered the courtyard. One of the men was driving a wagon filled with sacks and leading two bullocks at the back of the cart. Clearly their expedition had been successful, though she could see no sign of the horses they needed, but then, most of the neighbouring farms had only the horses they used for riding or work in the fields. Her father had kept a fine stable at the castle, but Babette had brought only her favourite mare when she’d come to the manor house.
As she watched, Captain Colby dismounted, and a servant took his horse. He glanced towards the kitchen, as if seeking something, and Babette’s heart leapt. How foolish! He did not look for her. Why should he? Besides, she did not wish him to notice her. He was too arrogant—her enemy.
She and her aunt had been busy baking all the afternoon, for with so many extra guests they would need to provide more bread and pies if they were to feed hungry men. Angelina had made some custard tarts, but her task was mainly peeling and chopping the vegetables that would go into the stewpot. The big black pot hung on a tripod over an open fire and the main ingredient in this night’s meal was mutton, cooked long and slow to make it tender, with bacon, onions, dried beans, herbs, carrots, leeks and turnips, cooked out to add thickness to the gravy. Also large dumplings made from flour and suet, which were filling and would satisfy hungry men.
Babette had sipped the gravy and she knew that the food tasted delicious. In winter she would also have added potatoes to the mix towards the end of the cooking time, but their stores of those precious roots had been used before the spring was out and there would be no more until the next harvest this autumn.
For pudding there were stewed plums she had picked that day from the orchard, custard, pastries sweetened with honey and a quince preserve. Besides these dishes there would be fresh bread, butter and soft white cheese from their own cows. It was truly a feast fit for any man. Aunt Minnie bemoaned the fact that she had no pig pies or trotters to offer as delicacies, but Sir Matthew never killed a pig unless there was an R in the month, for the meat would spoil too soon.
Glancing through the small-paned kitchen window again, Babette saw the rebel captain washing his face and hands beneath the pump before turning to walk up to the house. She averted her head quickly, her heart’s strident beat bringing a flush to her cheeks. Rather than let him think she had been watching him, she loaded a tray with bread, cheese and butter and took it through to the parlour, setting it on a side table of oak. Earlier, Angelina had laid places on the long refectory table for the family, their female servants, Jonas and the captain.
Babette straightened a chair, casting her eye over the fare laid out. The cold food would be close at hand and either she or her aunt would serve the men with the hot dishes before sitting themselves, while the servants waited to serve themselves once the family were seated. Babette had found her uncle’s habit of eating at the same
