He nodded absentmindedly at his wife, and she laughed at his indifference, taking Hannah by the arm and starting toward the kitchen as if she’d been there a dozen times before. “Do not mind him. He is notoriously peevish, but I do believe it is mostly for show. His heart is pure gold.”
Hannah looked behind to see Joseph struggling to smother a grin, when she suddenly found it difficult not to fight her own. Quickly turning back to her companion, Hannah grasped for conversation. “Mrs. Pitman—”
“Oh my dear, you must call me Dottie.” She strengthened her grip. “There are so few ladies in this town—delightful as it is—and I crave female companionship. Now that I know you are here, I daresay I shall be by to see you near every day.”
Her heart pitched. Every day?
Squeezing Dottie’s fingers in girlish friendship, Hannah pried away. “Dottie, you shall sit opposite your husband here and—”
“Forgive me for being late.” The door opened behind them, and Higley entered, his red coat a perfect frame for his broad chest and shoulders. He closed it quickly and rested his cloak and hat by the rest. “I hope I have not missed the meal.”
Stockton motioned to the table. “We’re just being seated.”
Higley hurried in, nodding his greetings to all before taking the seat Joseph directed him to.
Once all were seated—Dottie and Joseph sitting opposite Hannah and Pitman, Stockton and Higley at each end—grace was offered. With every plate filled, the conversation began, and it seemed, with Dottie at the helm, the evening’s musings would not be dull.
“Mr. Young, you are quite a handsome fellow.”
Hannah slid a glance his way, noting how Major Pitman shoved a large bite into his mouth.
Dottie continued. “I am surprised you haven’t a wife. Are there not a crowd of woman pining for your hand?”
Joseph finished the food in his mouth. “Nay indeed, madam.” He offered a charming slant of his mouth. “Though I may have one in mind.”
The fork slipped from Hannah’s fingers with a clang, and she snatched it back up, the tips of her ears burning.
“Is that so?” Dottie’s pointed features creased with pleasure. “Well, whoever she is, I should
say she is one fortunate woman.”
Stockton cleared his throat, the personal nature of the conversation no doubt displeasing him. “Mr. Young is working in the foundry, smithing gun barrels for the army.” He looked to Pitman, who was preparing another bite of chicken. “A very skilled blacksmith. We are fortunate to have such a man on the side of the king.”
“I should say.” Dottie reached for a drink, face toward Hannah. “And you, my dear, are you made to stay indoors all day, cooking and cleaning for these beasts? ’Tis a prison, I am sure.”
“Nay.” Hannah pressed her fork into a carrot. “I enjoy the work. Labor is good for the body and the mind, is it not?”
“Well, I cannot say anything to that one way or the other, but you make me almost want to try it.” She laughed, sliding a potato to her fork. “But why are you not married, my dear? Someone as lovely as you, with such incredible talents as you clearly possess, I cannot fathom how you have not yet been snatched by some heartsick fellow.”
“She is being courted,” Stockton said between bites. “Or so she tells me.”
Joseph’s face shot toward Stockton, then Hannah, and her muscles went stiff.
Dottie’s face took on a sly, piqued expression. “Do tell me. I live for such gossip.”
“That you do.” Major Pitman spoke his first words but promptly filled his mouth with another forkful.
His wife laughed, unaware of the slight he’d handed her. “Aldor, you know me so well.”
Hot clear through, Hannah suddenly couldn’t remember how to use her utensils. She offered what she hoped would be the sincerest of smiles and attempted to slide the conversation away from herself.
“Mrs. Pitman, how long are you to stay in town? Are you at the inn?”
It was a moment before she responded. As she finished her bite, an uncomfortable silence hovered between the candles on the table and swirled around Hannah when Joseph’s chest rounded as he inhaled a heavy breath. Was he curious? Upset? She kept the frustrated groan within by taking another bite of her own meat pie. She should have told him. Shame, embarrassment, self-inflicted discomfort all consorted in her belly, shredding to tatters what remained of her appetite.
“Aye, I am staying in town with Aldor.” Dottie went on. “He craves my company. I knew I had to come see him when I hadn’t heard from him in months—he was desperate without me. Weren’t you, my dear?”
Pitman didn’t look up. “I was doing just fine.”