When she had hired on with MI6, her intention to free the world from terror had become her sole objective. She had placed all her eggs in the proverbial MI6 basket, moving blithely from one mission to the next. With her career in jeopardy, she didn’t have a fallback plan. One thing was certain: she couldn’t ride a desk. She didn’t have the temperament for it. That left her where exactly?

She glanced at Thierry again. What if the doctor was right? What if she couldn’t bear children? Even in this day and age, the women of her social class were expected to marry well and provide an heir and a spare. Who would want her now?

If she did happen to marry, she’d be nothing more than arm candy, a stepmother to someone else’s children, with no one of her own to nurture. Life would center around endless dinner parties, fittings, horse races, hunt balls, and charity events. Elise couldn’t stomach the idea, not when her modus vivendi was to make a difference in the world. She needed to matter.

Enough. Elise gave herself a mental shake and eyed Gillian’s daughter once more. “What were you reading when I arrived?”

Thierry let go of her mother’s hand and snatched up the Wonder Woman comic book.

“Do you like superheroes?” Elise stepped closer to the farmhouse table.

“Aye.” Thierry’s head bobbed up and down.

She’d forgotten. The child was a Scot, a small compatriot.

“Do you shoot bad guys?” Thierry asked.

“Thierry,” Gillian admonished.

The wee lass looked up at her mother, then swung back to face Elise. “Do you have magic bracelets that stop bullets?”

“No, but I certainly could use them if I did.” Elise couldn’t hold back a smile.

Sorry, Gillian mouthed to her over the top of Thierry’s head. “Thierry’s obsessed with superheroes.” Gillian bustled to the worktop and checked the timer on her Instant Pot.

Elise sighed with relief when Jack clattered down the staircase. She was not well-acquainted with Gillian and didn’t have much in common with a married woman with two young children.

“Your bag’s in your room, Elise,” Jack said when he entered the kitchen. “Thierry will show you where it is after tea. Won’t you, kid?”

Thierry nodded. The child reminded Elise of an owl, her great hazel eyes ever watchful and wary.

Jack went to his wife’s side, stole a carrot off the cutting board, where Gillian was chopping veggies, and popped it into his mouth.

Elise took in the AGA’s double ovens and gas grill on its cooktop, the professional fridge, and the warming drawers. The space had every bell and whistle a cook could ever want.

“I take it you enjoy cooking?” Elise asked Gillian.