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Startled out of contemplating the stew she’d been toying with, Jenna Montague sat at first speechless, then broke into a laugh. “Oh, Harry, how impossibly gallant! But I couldn’t marry one of Papa’s officers!”

“Why not?” Lieutenant “Heedless Harry” Hartwell demanded. “We’ve all of us - the Brigade Major, Alastair, Anthony, and I - been with you through hard marches, pitched battles, and dismal bivouacs. All that has certainly given you a better indication of our character and honor than you’d get of some poetry-spouting fool during a stroll through Hyde Park or a dance at Almack’s. And we all know and appreciate you. What better husband could you wish for than an officer of the Fighting Fifth?”

Though Jenna knew she must decline, Harry’s ardent avowal warmed the cold, aching void that had filled her as she gradually absorbed the awful reality of her father’s death - and its equally awful implications for her life. Having outgrown girlish fancies, she’d long known there were no guarantees that her soldier father would survive her. Since her mama’s death, she’d also known that should the unthinkable occur, she would have no option but to leave the Peninsula and return to distant relatives in England. That didn’t mean, however, that she’d been able to fully prepare herself to face the future now confronting her - a vista that appeared as dismal as it was disquieting.

“Harry, I’m deeply touched and terribly honored but…but I couldn’t possibly accept.” Looking at the startled faces around her, Jenna suppressed a grin. “Nor do I think your comrades appreciate your having offered them up on the matrimonial altar.”

To his credit, Lieutenant Alastair Percy managed to wipe the dismay from his face. “Ma’am, we all think you a splendid plucky lass. You’d make a soldier as excellent a wife as you’ve been a colonel’s daughter. Any of us would be happy to offer our hand.”

“Well said.” Harry affirmed, bringing a blush of gratitude to his young acolyte’s face.

Lieutenant Lord Anthony Nelthorpe’s lips twitched, as if he found this means of disposing of his colonel’s orphaned daughter vastly diverting. “After such a touching tribute, how could I help but offer to sacrifice my own poor self?” he drawled.

“No such sacrifice will be necessary,” she flashed back, struggling to mask her resentment of his tone.

In truth, this son of a marquess was the only one of her father’s officers whom she would absolutely rule out as a possible spouse - were she choosing among them, which she was not. Though her father had judged Nelthorpe a competent officer and she’d known him over a year, she was still vaguely uncomfortable around the man. His cool gray eyes too often seemed to follow her with a disquieting intensity - whether admiring or disdainful, she’d never been able to decide.

Harry and Alastair, however, she both liked and admired. Indeed, Harry’s solution to her orphan’s dilemma might have been ideal, but for one thing.

The tall Brigade Major sitting silently beside her.

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