The hills of Feltham had turned even greener.

The lingering chill of early spring had vanished, and workers heading to the fields now donned wide-brimmed hats and short-sleeved garments. The sheep busily grazed on the rapidly growing grass in the pastures, while along the riverbank, eager children had already begun jumping into the water, catching fish, and playing—such was the late spring.

It was a season of rapid growth and excitement, yet Feltham remained the same as ever—a quiet rural village where people did business without much change.

But this year was different.

“They’ve all flocked to Blissbury again? Where’s their pride?”

Eloise grumbled to Abigail, who had come to visit.

“Yes, they all rushed off with baskets full of food. Of all people, Julia insists on making turkey dishes as if it were a grand holiday. Because of her, I count our turkeys every morning to ensure none have gone missing.”

Seeing the serious look on Abigail’s face, Eloise instinctively knew that one of the Ogilvy family’s turkeys would likely meet an untimely demise within a few days.

“This is all just ridiculous…”

Abigail shook her head and picked up the teapot Emily had placed before them.

Lately, every young woman in Feltham seemed to be making their way to Blissbury.

It had all started when Mrs. Harrison went shopping in Camborne. While at the grocer’s, she ran into Mrs. Parker, who managed the kitchen at Blissbury.

Mrs. Parker was usually a lively woman, but on that day, her face was clouded with worry.

Alarmed, Mrs. Harrison pulled her into a nearby tea shop.

“Sergeant Thornton has barely been eating since he arrived in Blissbury. It seems he isn’t sleeping well either… The candle in his window flickers late into the night, only going out at dawn. Sometimes, he wanders into the fields alone at sunrise, while other times, he doesn’t leave his room until well into the afternoon. I fear the shadows of war still linger over him.”

She went on to say that she had prepared various dishes using every recipe she could think of, yet he still barely touched his food. What if he collapsed before summer arrived?

Even if he weren’t a distant relative of Baron Stanford, sympathy for a young man who had endured the war only grew her concern.

Mrs. Harrison comforted the teary-eyed Mrs. Parker.

Then, upon returning to Feltham, she shared their conversation during the village ladies’ tea time.

That particular gathering at the church ended unusually early. Many of the women abruptly remembered “urgent matters” and hurried away.

Interestingly, they all had daughters of marriageable age.

From that day on, the aroma of delicious food filled Feltham.

Smoke rose from chimneys as fresh bread was baked, and the scent of seasoned, roasting meat spread from backyards.

Every treasured family recipe, passed down through generations, was brought forth. Even those without inherited recipes took pride in their own signature dishes and marched into their kitchens with confidence.

The women ordered their daughters to dress neatly while they and their maids prepared the meals.

Picnic baskets, rarely used, were pulled from storage, filled with newly made dishes, and loaded onto carriages or strapped onto horses.

Hope gleamed on the faces of those heading to Blissbury.

Everyone was thinking the same thing:

A young soldier, unable to escape the darkness of war. Sergeant Thornton was not the only one—who could genuinely remain unshaken after witnessing comrades, superiors, and subordinates perish before their eyes?

The pride of fighting for one’s country often shatters in the face of death.

Yet ,many managed to rise above their suffering. Surely, Sergeant Thornton was going through that same painful process.

And how wonderful it would be if someone could help him through it.

Even more so if that person were a lady destined to be his lifelong companion.

Spurred by this thought, the women raced their carriages toward Blissbury, determined to soothe his pain and offer their empathy.

Carriages laden with food competed to be the first to arrive.

That had been two weeks ago, yet judging by Abigail’s words, the competition among the village’s young women was still ongoing.

“I heard he’s still using his health as an excuse to avoid meeting anyone. And judging by Mrs. Parker’s words—‘Tell them he received it well’—it seems he hasn’t actually eaten any of the food brought to him.”

“Haah…”

Since the ladies had started flocking to Blissbury, the entire village had been consumed with one question: whose food would finally win over Sergeant Thornton?

Feltham was not a large town but had long thrived on fertile land.

This meant that its people had never known hunger, and every household possessed at least one treasured family recipe.

What began as an effort to comfort a war-weary soldier had evolved into a matter of family pride.

“Surely, if he’s human, at least one of those dishes should tempt him.”

The villagers even placed bets on which household’s food he would accept.

But in the end, there were no winners or losers in the wager.

Sergeant Thornton had merely acknowledged receiving the food. Never once had he said he had eaten any of it.

They might have been embarrassed enough to give up had he outright refused.

But his ambiguous response only fueled the determination of the young women, their mothers, and even their maids.

And so, once again, the village maidens set off for Blissbury today.

As Eloise shook her head and poured fresh tea, Abigail nodded as if she understood Eloise’s thoughts and said,

“They say there’s no winner yet, but Julia is the frontrunner. Thanks to that, my mother is so excited that she orders all sorts of ingredients from Camborne every day.”

“Julia is in the lead? It’s not like anyone has actually eaten anything yet. How can there be a frontrunner?”

“Well… Sergeant Thornton personally welcomed Julia and even had tea with her. She’s the only one. On top of that, she’s also the only one he asked to visit again.”

“Really?”

Eloise’s hand stopped as she was about to pour the tea.

She thought of Sergeant Thornton and then pictured Julia beside him.

She disliked them both, but she had to admit—they actually suited each other.

Though Julia’s words were often unpleasant, her appearance was striking and beautiful. She also knew how to use her charms well, always dressing elegantly and stylishly.

Now, Eloise imagined Sergeant Thornton beside her, freshly shaven and looking neat. Preferably in his army uniform.

“Either way, Mrs. Ogilvy must be so overjoyed she can’t even sleep.”

When Mrs. Surberton had first mentioned Sergeant Thornton, no one had shown greater interest than Mrs. Ogilvy.

She had even said that it seemed as if heaven had sent Sergeant Thornton for her second daughter, who had gone through a breakup that wasn’t quite a breakup, and had reportedly offered a prayer of gratitude that weekend.

“My mother is already looking into wedding dresses for Julia. She thinks the one we prepared last time is bad luck, so she’s been writing letters to all our relatives about finding a new one.”

The image of Julia, confidently declaring that she would be the mistress of Blissbury, flashed through Eloise’s mind.

She had thought it would be nice if any of the young women in the village ended up with Sergeant Thornton—but not Julia.

“Why do you look like that?”

Had her feelings shown so clearly on her face? Abigail looked at her curiously.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course. If my lips weren’t sealed, your parents would have found out long ago that you climbed down a well to rescue a duck.”

“That’s true, but…”

After a moment of hesitation, Eloise spoke.

“I don’t want Julia and Sergeant Thornton to get married.”

“Why? Do you actually have feelings for Sergeant Thornton?”

Abigail’s eyes gleamed as if it didn’t matter to her whether her sister was disliked or not.

“If I did, don’t you think I’d have spent the last minute ranting about how rude he is?”

“That could still be the case. I read in a book once that strong denial is a form of strong affirmation. Maybe you’re actually drawn to him and that’s why you’re rejecting him so forcefully.”

Seeing Abigail’s eyes sparkle as if she were reading a romance novel, Eloise shook her head.

Her friend had a tendency to indulge in near-delusional fantasies at times.

“Enough of that. Here, take Julia’s handkerchief with you.”

Eloise stood up and walked over to her desk.

“Julia’s handkerchief? She’s been throwing a fit about losing it, but I guess she left it here?”

“Well…”

Eloise sighed and recounted what she had overheard from beyond the bushes. Once again, Abigail wasn’t surprised.

Not surprised, but definitely embarrassed. After all, it wasn’t exactly something to be proud of—that her sister went around badmouthing others in public.

Looking for a way to change the subject, Abigail’s eyes landed on the pile of papers covering Eloise’s desk.

“What’s all that?”

Eloise hurriedly tried to hide the papers.

“What are you hiding?”

The way she was scrambling to cover them up made Abigail even more suspicious. Using her crutch for support, she pushed herself up and approached the desk.

“It’s nothing!”

“It’s definitely something. What are you trying to hide?”

As the battle between the one trying to hide and the one trying to see continued, a loose sheet of paper fluttered to the floor in front of Abigail.

She tossed aside her crutch and grabbed the paper.

Her eyes widened as she read what was written on it.

“To Lieutenant Colonel Ryan Wilgrave?”