killer on the loose in our woods, I want to know about it. Arrangements will have to be made to take Polly home tonight.”
“Perhaps your major will run her home in his Jeep,” Violet said, giving her a sly look.
“He’s not my major.” Elizabeth pulled her cardigan from the back of the chair and slipped it on. “I’ll let you break the bad news to Polly. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“So what am I going to do about dinner?”
“Buy the meat. If the major can’t join me, it will keep overnight in the larder. It’s getting quite cool at night now.”
“All right. But I’d hate to waste good meat. If he doesn’t come by tomorrow night, we’ll have to eat it all ourselves.”
“We can always make sandwiches for the Americans.”
Elizabeth almost laughed at Violet’s dour expression. She might have done so if her mind wasn’t still on a frightened young man hiding in the woods in fear of his life. Somewhere a mother was anxiously waiting, not knowing if her son was dead or alive. That was the trouble with war; the innocent on both sides suffered.
Martin met her in the upper hallway and peered at her above the thin gold rims of his glasses. Ever since he’d first worn the spectacles several years ago, Elizabeth had never seen him look through them. “Are you leaving, madam, or returning home?”
“I’m leaving, Martin. You didn’t happen to have seen Major Monroe about this morning, I suppose?”
The wrinkles on Martin’s crumpled face deepened. “Major? I don’t remember ever seeing a major about here. You don’t mean that scoundrel, Colonel Hartleigh, do you? He’s not here, I hope.” Martin’s head swiveled from side to side.
“No, no, I don’t mean Uncle Roger. I meant the American major. Have you seen any of the Americans?”
Martin drew himself up as straight as his spine would allow. “No, madam. Nor do I care to see them.” He raised his hand and placed it over his mouth, then whispered around it, “They are the reason he came back, you know.”
Elizabeth frowned. Martin’s remarks often didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, she hated to ignore them just in case he was trying to say something important. “Who came back?”
“Your father. I saw him as clearly as I can see you. He doesn’t like these foreigners in his house. That’s what he’s trying to tell us.”
The sounds of muffled engines caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she instantly forgot about Martin’s ghost. She reached for the massive door handle, but Martin uttered an exclamation and shuffled forward.
“Please, allow me, madam.”
Elizabeth forced herself to wait until he grabbed hold of the handle with both hands and slowly tugged the door open. She could hear the slamming of doors outside and guessed the Americans were about to leave. If she hurried, she might just catch Major Monroe before he left.
The gap between the front door and the frame widened, and she squeezed herself through, earning a look of reproof from Martin.
“I say, madam!” he protested.
“Sorry, Martin, but I’m in a bit of hurry. Don’t close the door for a moment. I won’t be but a jiff.” She sped down the white marble steps and across to the courtyard, where a Jeep was already rolling across the gravel to the long, curving driveway.
The young men saluted her as she rushed by, and she returned the greeting with a cheerful wave of her hand. One Jeep stood alone in the shadows of the ancient walls, engine revving as the man behind the wheel prepared to pull out.
To Elizabeth’s relief, she recognized the rugged features of Major Monroe. Hurrying forward, she called out to him. “Major? I wonder if I could have a moment?”
He turned his gaze on her, and as always she felt a quiver deep inside when she confronted his steel-blue eyes. “Ma’am?”
She felt awkward looking into that penetrating gaze and instead concentrated on the doors of the stables behind him. “I was wondering, Major, if you would care to have dinner with me tonight, here at the manor. There are several things I’d like to discuss with you, and I thought you might enjoy some home cooking for once, since you’re always eating at the base and that must get really tiresome, although Violet isn’t exactly a gourmet chef- actually she’s not even a very good chef-but she does her best, and it should be a fairly decent meal, that’s if-”
“Ma’am?”
Relieved to have an excuse to draw breath, Elizabeth returned her gaze to Major Monroe’s face and found amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’d be delighted to have dinner with you, Lady Elizabeth, and I’d enjoy sampling Violet’s home cooking. On two conditions.”
She eyed him warily. “All right. What are they?”
“One, this would be an informal dinner, and two, you stop calling me Major and start calling me Earl.”
She would dearly love to call him by his Christian name, but somehow when she tried, the name seemed to stick in her throat. Maybe because she had never known anyone called Earl before, and it seemed so odd to give a commoner, and an American yet, a title of nobility. After all, she was the daughter of an earl, and one did not take that lightly.
If she were truly honest with herself, however, she’d be forced to admit that the reason she had so much difficulty referring to him by his first name was the air of familiarity such a procedure evoked. Though she’d die rather than admit it, Major Earl Monroe of the United States Army Air Force was far too attractive to risk sharing the least bit of familiarity.
Besides, the man was married. Which was none of her concern, of course, but it did sort of rule out any prospects she might have been entertaining. Which she wasn’t, of course.
“If it takes that long to make up your mind, perhaps we should make it some other time.”
Startled, she glanced at his face but couldn’t really tell from his expression if he was teasing or not. “No, of course not. I would prefer an informal meal. Actually, we can’t do much else with the little rations we’re allowed.”
“Well, perhaps I can help out with that. I might be able to rustle up some steaks.”
Aghast, she hurried to reassure him. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She had already compromised her convictions by accepting a bottle of sherry from him. Accepting gifts from the Americans made her feel as if she were accepting charity, even though she knew that was not the intention.
Since her ex-husband’s gambling habits had left her without her inheritance and deeply in debt, she was overly sensitive to anything that smacked of a donation. The Hartleighs had always fended for themselves over the centuries, and she was not about to break the tradition now.
“I guess the name thing is not going to happen, either.”
On the defensive now, she lifted her chin. “I’ve already explained our customs to you, Major. I don’t feel we know each other well enough to be on a first-name basis.”
He grinned. “Well, maybe we can remedy that tonight over dinner. What time?”
The remark had been perfectly innocent. Nevertheless, she was so flustered, she stuttered. “S-s-seven o’clock?”
He glanced at the door as three of the officers strolled out into the sunlight and headed their way. “I’ll be there,” he said and touched the peak of his cap, managing to make the polite gesture seem incredibly intimate.
She was already regretting the invitation as she watched the Jeep roar down the tree-lined driveway and disappear around the bend. In the first place, she didn’t particularly care for the sensations she experienced every time she came into contact with the thoroughly charming major. After her marriage had ended in a beastly divorce, she had vowed that never again would she form any kind of attachment toward a man. Major Monroe had a way of making her forget that promise.
In the second place, the major belonged to another woman. In these days of uncertainty, it had become common for people to snatch whatever moments of happiness were available. One never quite knew what was waiting around the corner, and it was difficult to ignore the sense of urgency that demanded she live for the day and stop worrying about tomorrow. Especially when she might never see another tomorrow.
