me?”
“Yes, and other things.” Madeline took them from Cain and practically shoved them into Mrs. Goldsmith’s midriff in panic.
“How sweet of you. Let me put these in some water. Sit, sit! Please!”
They sat before a beautiful spread on fine, rose-printed china, delicately arranged with finger sandwiches, scones, little tartlets, and cakes. “Tea?” Major Goldsmith blustered. “Where’s the booze?”
Cain had barely sat down. “I’ll get it. Rose?”
“For starters,” his father declared.
Madeline gazed at Major Goldsmith for a moment before blurting, “I hope you don’t feel bad about what happened.”
He lowered his gaze, reaching for the teapot and pouring the molasses-coloured liquid into the cup closest to her. “I do, Madeline. As I said, you’re the only good thing I did there. It was a terrible, terrible mission.”
She sighed. “I’m not going to blame you for the politics of the people who were giving you orders. You saved my life. My dad’s life.”
“How is he?”
Madeline smiled with pride. “Amazing. He retrained as a nurse. Works like a beast, even now. He’s not ready to retire.”
“Don’t blame him.” Major Goldsmith added milk to her cup. “Bet he’d have no idea what he’d do with himself otherwise.”
Cain returned with two beaded bottles of rose wine. “Does this need to happen with you two being emotional?”
Madeline and Major Goldsmith sent Cain dirty looks. “Just divvy up the wine and stop being such a smart-arse, boy.”
“Good to know you’re like that with everyone,” Madeline added.
Cain sent her a wink. “Absolutely not. You’re special.”
Major Goldsmith reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Yes, she is.” His wife entered the conservatory, wiping her hands on a cloth.
“How many of those truffles did you bring with you, Madeline?”
“Five boxes of twelve.”
“Ah. Well, someone is going to be spending a lot of time at the gym after today. Come along, Nathaniel. Start pouring the tea for everyone else.”
Major Goldsmith and Cain blinked. “Which Nathaniel are you addressing?”
Mrs. Goldsmith sank into a chair and opened another box of truffles. “Whichever one is closest to the teapot.”
“Told you,” Cain said, uncorking the wine and pouring Madeline a generous glass. “You had nothing to worry about.”
Feeling warm all over, Madeline picked up her teacup to take a sip. Maybe slow wasn’t bad at all.
***
“Well?” Major Goldsmith demanded. “Are you driving her home?”
Cain blinked in surprise, glancing at his watch. In between tea, finger sandwiches, and mini Battenberg cakes, Madeline and Major Goldsmith had talked over each other in rambles, and sometimes they fell into French. His mother had watched in mild amusement then had been sucked into the conversation, explaining what it was like being a military wife and mother. She thoroughly embarrassed all of them with photographs of various parades and ceremonies.
Tea turned into a late lunch, which turned into dinner. They’d all been talking so much, time had run away from them. In between courses, which Madeline helped to prepare, to his mother’s endless surprise, they’d walked about the grounds and taken a well-deserved siesta on the lawn under heated lamps. Dinner had been a languid, four-hour affair which was only now winding down.
“Dad, it’s almost midnight,” Cain grumbled. “And we’ve all been drinking.” Drinking seemed a mild term for the amount of liquor they’d put away. A few bottles of rosé had been consumed with tea, white with lunch, and several bottles of red with dinner. Not to mention the brandy Madeline had brought with her, opened by his mother against Madeline’s protest to keep it for a special occasion.
“This is a special occasion, silly girl!” his mother chided, before popping open the corked lid. “If we wait for something else, it’ll never get drunk.”
His father shook his head. “Damned
“Yes, and other things.” Madeline took them from Cain and practically shoved them into Mrs. Goldsmith’s midriff in panic.
“How sweet of you. Let me put these in some water. Sit, sit! Please!”
They sat before a beautiful spread on fine, rose-printed china, delicately arranged with finger sandwiches, scones, little tartlets, and cakes. “Tea?” Major Goldsmith blustered. “Where’s the booze?”
Cain had barely sat down. “I’ll get it. Rose?”
“For starters,” his father declared.
Madeline gazed at Major Goldsmith for a moment before blurting, “I hope you don’t feel bad about what happened.”
He lowered his gaze, reaching for the teapot and pouring the molasses-coloured liquid into the cup closest to her. “I do, Madeline. As I said, you’re the only good thing I did there. It was a terrible, terrible mission.”
She sighed. “I’m not going to blame you for the politics of the people who were giving you orders. You saved my life. My dad’s life.”
“How is he?”
Madeline smiled with pride. “Amazing. He retrained as a nurse. Works like a beast, even now. He’s not ready to retire.”
“Don’t blame him.” Major Goldsmith added milk to her cup. “Bet he’d have no idea what he’d do with himself otherwise.”
Cain returned with two beaded bottles of rose wine. “Does this need to happen with you two being emotional?”
Madeline and Major Goldsmith sent Cain dirty looks. “Just divvy up the wine and stop being such a smart-arse, boy.”
“Good to know you’re like that with everyone,” Madeline added.
Cain sent her a wink. “Absolutely not. You’re special.”
Major Goldsmith reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Yes, she is.” His wife entered the conservatory, wiping her hands on a cloth.
“How many of those truffles did you bring with you, Madeline?”
“Five boxes of twelve.”
“Ah. Well, someone is going to be spending a lot of time at the gym after today. Come along, Nathaniel. Start pouring the tea for everyone else.”
Major Goldsmith and Cain blinked. “Which Nathaniel are you addressing?”
Mrs. Goldsmith sank into a chair and opened another box of truffles. “Whichever one is closest to the teapot.”
“Told you,” Cain said, uncorking the wine and pouring Madeline a generous glass. “You had nothing to worry about.”
Feeling warm all over, Madeline picked up her teacup to take a sip. Maybe slow wasn’t bad at all.
***
“Well?” Major Goldsmith demanded. “Are you driving her home?”
Cain blinked in surprise, glancing at his watch. In between tea, finger sandwiches, and mini Battenberg cakes, Madeline and Major Goldsmith had talked over each other in rambles, and sometimes they fell into French. His mother had watched in mild amusement then had been sucked into the conversation, explaining what it was like being a military wife and mother. She thoroughly embarrassed all of them with photographs of various parades and ceremonies.
Tea turned into a late lunch, which turned into dinner. They’d all been talking so much, time had run away from them. In between courses, which Madeline helped to prepare, to his mother’s endless surprise, they’d walked about the grounds and taken a well-deserved siesta on the lawn under heated lamps. Dinner had been a languid, four-hour affair which was only now winding down.
“Dad, it’s almost midnight,” Cain grumbled. “And we’ve all been drinking.” Drinking seemed a mild term for the amount of liquor they’d put away. A few bottles of rosé had been consumed with tea, white with lunch, and several bottles of red with dinner. Not to mention the brandy Madeline had brought with her, opened by his mother against Madeline’s protest to keep it for a special occasion.
“This is a special occasion, silly girl!” his mother chided, before popping open the corked lid. “If we wait for something else, it’ll never get drunk.”
His father shook his head. “Damned
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