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on report. Should be in stocks. If it weren't for his connections, I'd have seen him drummed out months ago."
    "Been in the cream again, eh, fellow?" Rebecca whispered to the ill-mannered cat. She'd found Ajax aboard the ship that had brought them home from India. While Rebecca made it a rule to avoid stray, handsome men, she hadn't been able to resist the ragged tomcat—though in hindsight, perhaps she should have tried a little harder.
    Ajax was a beast of a feline—always breaking into the larder and spilling the cream, scratching up the furniture or any human leg or limb that happened to be nearby. And while she might outwardly agree with Mrs. Wortling and the colonel that the cat was a menace, secretly Rebecca rather admired her fiendish and independent companion.
    As she continued to scratch behind his ragged ears, Ajax purred in contentment, looking deceptively amiable though most likely plotting his next raid on the pantry.
    Rebecca glanced up at the roof once more. "Come down, Colonel. The baker had those raisin buns you like and I was able to commandeer a nice tin of pekoe that Mr. McGraw assures me is very fresh."
    "Harrumph," he snorted. "Sounds like bribery."
    "Can't keep a sharp mind when your stomach isn't full," she said, quoting one of his favorite bits of advice.
    "Right you are, Bex," he said. Taking one last look through his spyglass, he surveyed the empty road and the surrounding countryside. "Seems clear for now," he muttered. He pushed it closed and stuffed it into his belt. "Suppose a spot of tea and a bit of food wouldn't be out of the question. Tell Ensign Trotter I'll expect his report on the perimeter lines before tea."
    Mrs. Wortling huffed. "Miss Tate, that man should be in Bedlam. Ensign Trotter, indeed!" She stomped off toward the house.
    Her uncle's imaginary aide-de-camp, Ensign Trotter, kept Mrs. Wortling in a fine state. She didn't like the idea that she was supposed to care for someone she couldn't see, let alone provide the extra service that wasn't included in her wages.
    Rebecca held her breath as her uncle ambled across the stone roof. One day these lofty rambles were going to leave him with a broken neck. She rushed over to the ladder that he'd leaned against the house—most likely after she'd left to do her shopping—and held it steady as he climbed down.
    Now she had to add the garden shed to her list of places to keep locked. Right along with the shot and powder.
    When he got to the bottom, he looked into her eyes and smiled. "Ah, Bex, my girl," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. "You take good care of me. What would I do without you?"
    "What would Richard and I have done if you and Aunt Dorie hadn't taken us in all those years ago?" She wove her arm into the crook of his, guiding him toward the cottage door. As they passed her market basket, she swooped down and picked it up.
    "You two scamps gave Dorothea someone other than me to worry about," he told her. "But what would she say if she could see you now? Five and twenty and still not married, stuck here taking care of me in my dotage." He let out a long sigh, as if her lack of matrimonial state was all his fault. "She always wanted you to marry that Lieutenant… Lieutenant… oh the devil take him, what was his name?"
    "Habersham," Rebecca supplied, having heard this lecture a thousand times before. "Lieutenant Habersham."
    "Ah, yes. Habersham. Good man, that Habersham. Danced with you enough. Brought you loads of posies. Should have married him before he shipped home, Bex. Would have seen you properly settled."
    She smiled at her dear protector. "There is one simple reason why I didn't marry Lieutenant Habersham. He didn't ask me."
    Colonel Posthill snorted. "Then I take back what I said. He's a demmed fool, I tell you. A fool."
    That and other things
, she thought as she caught up the latch and opened the front door.
    Immediately there was an onslaught from Mrs. Wortling.
    "I'm glad to see you've got him off the