She walked into the sitting room and forced herself to nibble at the cold baked chicken and fresh bread Mrs. Beatty had sent up for her lunch. The babe in her womb seemed to take no exception to the chicken wing, and Cassie was wiping her fingers when Edward walked into the room, lightly slapping his arms from the cold.
“Damn,” he said, “you’re right about the changeable weather here, Cass. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were even to snow.”
He leaned down and lightly kissed her uptilted cheek. “Your hair smells good. I apologize for the primitive conditions. With all that hair to wash, and only the hipbath to wash it in, it must have taken you hours.”
“Not quite hours,” she said, smiling up at him.
He unfastened his sword and laid it on the table.
“Lunch, Edward? I saved you a chicken wing and a leg.”
“Your generosity is overwhelming,” he said, grinning, and seated himself across from her.
“What did General Howe say?”
“Who?”
She cocked her head at him and repeated her question.
“Oh, General Howe.” He paused a moment and she saw him look fixedly at the chicken leg in his hand. “Actually, I wasn’t able to see him. Perhaps later.”
“You seem distracted, sir. May I ask just how you have spent the last two hours?”
To Cassie’s surprise, he seemed to stiffen at her joking inquiry. “Naught of anything, really,” he said finally. “There were people I had to see. I am still a soldier, Cass.”
“I did not intend an inquisition, Edward,” she said, sipping at her coffee.
“Of course you did not. Are you feeling all right, Cass?”
“Indeed, I am the picture of good health.” She giggled suddenly and pressed her napkin over her lips.
He arched an inquiring brow.
“I was just thinking about your mother. I think she would be more inclined to approve of me if I displayed enough sensibility to lounge the hours away with a vinaigrette in my hand.”
He smiled faintly. “Illness is one of her few joys, I fear. She thinks me a most undutiful son for giving the army much more attention than her. I understand from her letters that my agent, Mr. Prudeck, has shown himself to be a boorish oaf who refuses to show proper deference for her fragile nerves. I must remember to give the fellow a raise in his salary.”
Cassie thought about meeting Lady Delford with her belly swelled with child. It was on the tip of her tongue to inquire whether Edward had yet written to his fond parent when she noticed that he was staring beyond her at nothing in particular. Instead, she asked, “What plans have you for the afternoon, Edward?”
“The afternoon?” He pressed the napkin against his lips. “I must leave you again, Cass, but not for long. Major Andre and I are meeting with some other officers, and General Howe, about the spring offensives.”
“Perhaps when you return we could go riding. I should like that very much.”
“But you are pregnant.”
He was clearly aghast at such a suggestion, and Cassie hastened to reassure him. “I am not sick, Edward, merely indisposed some mornings. I promise not to beg you for a race.”
He rose and fastened on his sword before he answered her, a frown drawing his brows together. “We shall see. It will probably rain, you know.”
Cassie sighed, knowing a put-off when she heard it.
“Edward?”
“Yes, Cass?”
She rose from her chair and walked over to him. “I—that is, if you would rather that we did not wed—”
He interrupted her harshly. “Of course I wish us to wed. No more silliness from you now, my girl.” He patted her cheek gently. “Rest while I am gone.”
“Yes, I shall.”
Cassie looked about the small sitting room after Edward had left, feeling almost as closed in as she had on The York. Rain pattered against the windows, and all fond thoughts of riding were dashed.
She picked up a pamphlet that lay on the table. It was the infamous Common Sense that Mr. Beatty had raved about, and she shook her head, bemused. She thought the high-flown phrases rather ridiculous. She raised her eyes at the sound of a light tap on the door.