A Regency Officer's Wedding. Carla Kelly

‘Poor man. It’s not his fault that he has such sisters.’

      ‘I suppose it is not,’ the chef said, busying himself in the pantry now. ‘They order me about and tell me what to do in my own kitchen! Me!’

      Sally tisked several times and frowned. ‘Not any more, Etienne. I am here.’

      ‘You think you can stop them?’ he asked, waving his hands about.

      ‘I know I can,’ she answered simply, mentally shouting down every qualm rattling around in her brain. ‘There are no limits to what I would do to preserve the sanctity of your kitchen.’

      Dupuis stopped and blew a kiss in her direction. He looked at the admiral. ‘Sir! Wherever did you meet such a gem?’

      ‘In a hotel dining room, Etienne. Where else?’

      The chef laughed and smiled in conspiratorial fashion at Sally. ‘He is such a wit.’ He made a shooing motion with his hands. ‘Zut, zut! Upstairs now!’ He drew himself up. ‘Etienne Dupuis will produce!’

      Sally clapped her hands. ‘You are everything my darling husband said, and more! In future, perhaps you would not mind showing me at the beginning of each week what you plan for meals? Just a little glimpse.’

      He bowed elaborately this time. ‘I will bring my menus upstairs to your sitting room each Monday. And you might be thinking of your favourite foods.’

      Lately it has been anything, Sally thought. I am just partial to eating again. ‘An excellent arrangement,’ she said. ‘This, sir, is your domain.’ She nodded to him, turned on her heel and rejoined her dumbfounded husband. ‘Come, my dearest, let us return to the terrace. I believe I saw some wrought-iron chairs there.’

      With a smile, Bright held out his arm to her. ‘Amazing,’ he murmured. ‘My dearest?’

      ‘He is French and we are newly married. Do you have a better idea?’

      The admiral glanced back at the chef, who was watching them, and put his arm around her waist. ‘I rather like it. Sophia, peace is suddenly getting interesting. I thought it never would.’

      What he said, whether he even understand or not, went right to her heart. She impulsively put her hands on his shoulders. ‘I do believe I understand you now.’ She said it softly, so Etienne would not hear. ‘You’ve been at loose ends.’

      He would have backed off, but she had him. His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re sounding a little like my sisters, Sophia.’

      ‘I probably am,’ she answered, on sure ground. ‘I am a female, after all. They reckoned you needed a wife. I reckon you just need a purpose. The war is over.’

      It sounded so simple that Sally wondered if he would laugh at her nonsense. To her horror at first, tears filled his eyes. ‘My goodness,’ she said softly, when she recovered herself. ‘I’m not so certain you knew that.’

      He said nothing, because he couldn’t. She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and quickly wiped his eyes. ‘There now. We will have to brush old leaves and bird droppings, and heavens knows what else, off those chairs.’

      The admiral said nothing as they walked down the hall, but he refused to release her hand, even when Etienne was not around to watch. On the terrace, he sized up the situation and found a piece of pasteboard to brush off the leaves from two chairs. He indicated one with a flourish and she sat down.

      That’s what it is, she thought, as she watched him tackle the wrought-iron table. He needs a purpose. I do hope he doesn’t regret his hasty marriage already, because I still need a home.

      He sat down beside her. ‘I have never seen anyone deal so quickly with Etienne, and I have known him for years. How did you know what to do?’

      ‘I believe I discovered the key when I was lady’s companion to what I will charitably call crotchety old women. All they ever needed was someone to listen to them. I listened.’ She put her hand on the admiral’s arm. ‘Don’t you see? In all his years of war and loss, and humiliation, I suppose, at being won in a card game, Etienne’s refuge has been his kitchen. If something threatens it, he goes to pieces.’

      The admiral looked at her, making no move to draw away from her light touch. ‘I should just humour him?’

      ‘What do you lose by humouring him? I doubt he makes many demands.’

      He reflected a moment. ‘No, he never has, really.’ He leaned forwards. ‘How do you propose to keep my sisters out of his kitchen?’

      ‘I’ll bar the door if I have to,’ she replied. Challenged by this man, she leaned forwards, too, until their noses were nearly touching. ‘This is my house, too, now, unless you’ve changed your mind already.’

      She sat back then, suddenly shy, and he did the same, but with a half-smile on his face. ‘Change my mind?’ he said. ‘When you have declared that you will be a buffer for my chef, and probably even for me, as well? Only an idiot would change his mind.’

      He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. ‘Peace,’ he said finally. ‘Sophia, I have missed out on everything in life because of Napoleon—a…a…wife, family, children, a home, a bed that doesn’t sway, clean water, fresh meat, smallclothes not washed in brine, for God’s sake, neighbours, new books from lending libraries, Sunday choir—you name it. I didn’t know how to court, so look what I did.’ He opened his eyes, looked at her and hastily added, ‘About that, be assured I have no regrets, Sophia. One doesn’t become an admiral of the fleet without a healthy dose of dumb luck.’

      She was silent a long moment, looking out to sea, wondering what to make of the events of the past two days that had changed her life completely. ‘Perhaps my luck is changing, too.’

      ‘Count on it, wife.’

      She was not so confident to take his assurance for fact. The last five years had shown her all too clearly how swiftly things could change. But then, she reasoned later, why could they not change for the good, too? Maybe the admiral was right.

      They spent a pleasant afternoon on the terrace, drinking Etienne’s fragrant tea and eating the biscuits he brought out later, warm and toasted from the Rumford, which must have sprung back to life as soon as they had left the kitchen.

      Sally was content to sit on the terrace, even in its shabby, unswept state, because the view was so magnificent. Also, she had no wish to enter the house again. As she sat, she began to think about the ramshackle garden in front of her.

      ‘Herbs would be nice,’ she commented.

      ‘Herb’s what?’ he teased.

      She rolled her eyes. ‘Were you this much trouble to your sisters when you were young?’

      ‘Probably.’ He looked where she was looking. ‘Funny. All I see is the ocean and you see the land.’

      ‘Herbs right there in that closest weedy patch. Lavender, thyme, rosemary. Etienne will thank me. I would put roses there. The possibilities are endless.’

      Clouds gathered overhead. When the rain began, the admiral held out his hand to her. ‘Looks like we are forced to go inside. May I suggest the bookroom? I think it is a place the old earl seldom entered, because he never decorated there.’

      He was right; the bookroom was bereft of statues or cupids behaving badly. After indicating a chair, he sat down at the desk and took out a sheet of paper. Sally moved closer and uncapped the inkwell. The admiral nodded his thanks, then took up the pen and rested his hook on the paper to anchor it.

      ‘First things first, Sophia. Name it.’

      ‘More servants. I will ask Etienne what sort of staff he requires. We should have a downstairs maid, an upstairs maid and a ’tween-stairs girl. Gardeners. Would Starkey like a footman?’

      ‘Probably. We need painters with copious buckets of paint.’ He stopped and leaned his elbows