Page 28 of The Untamed Heart

Quick, light footsteps announced their mistress.

“Oh, that looks splendid, Mrs Wainwright. What a feast!”

Marcus got up as Eustacia entered the room, a sudden charge of something electric prickling over his skin at the sound of her voice. He glanced at Neil, who was staring at him, and gestured for the boy to stand.

“A gentleman always rises when a lady enters the room,” he told him in a low voice.

Neil shot to his feet.

Eustacia smiled at them as Marcus pulled out her chair. He nodded approvingly at Neil, who hurried to do so for his mama.

“Why, what a little gent,” Mrs Wainwright said fondly, making Neil turn a dull red. “Well, tuck in, then. Don’t let it get cold.”

They took her at her word, and silence reigned for a while as they all savoured their delicious repast. Marcus wondered somewhat giddily what they might have for dinner. Not that he would stay, that would be a dreadful imposition, he reminded himself. Besides which, people would talk. Seagull Heights might be remote, but some busybody was always watching in a place like Little Valentine.

Marcus cleared his plate in an embarrassingly short time, but Mrs Wainwright only encouraged him to help himself to more vegetables and passed him the gravy boat. Even Neil, who was all skin and bones, ate so much that Marcus could only wonder what he did with it. The lad must have hollow legs.

He glanced at Eustacia, rather startled to find her watching him. She flushed and turned back to her empty plate, placing her knife and fork neatly side-by-side.

“That was truly marvellous, Mrs Wainwright. Your pastry is always a thing of beauty, but the suet pudding was as light as a feather, and the meat… well, it melted in the mouth.”

“Indeed. It was best thing I’ve eaten all year,” Marcus replied sincerely. “And the most.”

Mrs Wainwright beamed. “Well, it’s a pleasure to see you enjoy it so, Colonel. It makes my day, it does.”

Marcus huffed out a laugh, a little taken aback by her enthusiasm.

“Now, would you like a nice bit of cheese and some pickles? Or I’ve more apple pie, or—”

Marcus held up his hand in surrender. “I could not eat another bite, I promise you.”

“Hmmm.” Mrs Wainwright appeared sceptical on the score. “Well, I’ll send something up later. Keep your strength up.”

“Does Mrs Wainwright believe I am about to go into battle?” Marcus asked Eustacia as they made their way back to her studio. “She seems to think I need vast stores of energy, going on how she feeds me.”

Eustacia chuckled. “It’s her way of showing affection, and it is her art. She has a talent, not only for food but for cosseting and making a home. I adore her.”

“It appears to be mutual. She said you saved them, or something of the sort.”

He watched a shadow pass over her expressive face.

“Oh, nothing so dramatic. Her husband was a brute, is all. He was hanged at Tyburn for murder. After that, no one would employ her, as if she had committed the crime herself. Anyone looking at her could see that she… well, she had been ill-used.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said, meaning it with all his heart. That any man could hurt the kindly and obviously affectionate woman he was coming to know, made him sick to his stomach.

“As was I. It was pure luck that I came across her and Neil in the street close to where we lived. She was obviously at her wits' end, and so I invited them to take tea with me. She never left and I am more grateful than she’ll ever know.”

They had reached the top of the stairs, and Eustacia turned to face him. “You must never tell her I told you. I have only done so because I know you are a man of honour, and not the kind to hold it against her.”

“Indeed, I would never—” he began, horrified that any man could do so.

She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “I know,” she said gently.

Marcus stared at her, rivetingly aware of the light touch which seemed to blaze through layers of wool and linen and brand him in some strange way. The moment stretched on a little too long and she snatched her hand away, hurrying on towards the studio, talking as she went.

“Poor Neil feels the weight of it. He fears he has bad blood, and nothing his mama or I say helps. Sebastian has done a great deal for the lad, and has taught him to read and write, but even he can’t lift the cloud the boy seems to live under.”

“You worry for him,” Marcus observed.