Gallant Waif

by Anne Gracie

  "I thank you for your kind offer, Lady Cahill, but I would not dream of so incommoding you."

  "Foolish child! What maggot has got into your head? It's not an invitation you should throw back in my face without thought. Consider what such a proposal would involve. You will have a life appropriate to your birth and take your right­ful position in society. I am not offering you a life of servi­tude and drudgery."

  "I realise that, ma'am," said Kate in a low voice. Her rightful position in society was forfeited long ago, in Spain. "None the less, though I thank you for your concern, I cannot accept your very generous invitation."

  "Don't you realise what I am offering you, you stupid girl?"

  "Charity," said Kate baldly.

  "Ah, tush!" said the old lady, angrily waving her hand. "What is charity but a foolish word?''

  "Whether we name it or not, ma'am, the act remains the same," said the girl with quiet dignity. "I prefer to be be­holden to no one. I will earn my own living, but I thank you for your offer."

  Lady Cahill shook her head in disgust. "Gels of good fam­ily earnin' their own living, indeed! What rubbish! In my day, a gel did what her parents told her and not a peep out of her—and a demmed good whipping if there was!"

  "But, Lady Cahill, you are not my parent. I don't have to listen to you."

  "No, you don't, do you?" Lady Cahill's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Ah, well then, help me to stand, child. My bones are stiff from being jolted along those shockin' tracks that pass for roads in these parts."

  Kate, surprised but relieved at the old lady's sudden ca­pitulation, darted forward. She helped Lady Cahill to her feet and solicitously began to lead her to the door.

  "Thank you, my dear." Lady Cahill stepped outside. "Where does that lead?" she asked, pointing to a well-worn pathway.

  "To the woods, ma'am, and also to the stream."

  "Very pleasant, very rural, no doubt, if you like that sort of thing," said the born city-dweller.

  "Yes, ma'am, I do," said Kate. "I dearly love a walk through the woods, particularly in the early morning when the dew is still on the leaves and grass and the sun catches it."

  Lady Cahill stared. "Astonishing," she murmured. "Well, that's enough of that. It's demmed cold out here, almost as cold as in that poky little cottage of yours. We'll resume our discussion in my coach. At least there I can rest my feet on hot bricks."

  Kate dropped her arm in surprise. "But I thought. . ."

  The blue eyes twinkled beadily. "You thought you'd made yourself clear?" Kate nodded.

  "And so you did, my dear. So you did. I heard every word you said. Now, don't argue with me, girl. The discussion is finished when I say it is and not before. Follow me!"

  Gesturing imperiously, she led the way to the coach and allowed the waiting footman to help her up the steps. Swathed in furs, she supervised as Kate was similarly tucked up with a luxurious fur travelling rug around her, her feet resting snugly on a hot brick. Kate sighed. It seemed ridic­ulous, sitting in a coach like this, to discuss a proposal she had no intention of accepting, but there was no denying it— the coach was much warmer than the cottage.

  "Comfortable?'*

  "Yes, I thank you," Kate responded politely. "Lady Cab—"

  The old lady thumped on the roof of the coach with her cane. With a sudden lurch, the coach moved off.

  "What on earth—?" Kate glanced wildly around as the cottage slipped past. For a moment it occurred to her to fling herself from the coach, but a second's reflection convinced her it was moving too fast for that.

  "What are you doing? Where are you taking me? Who are you?"

  The old woman laughed. "I am indeed Lady Cahill, child. You are in no danger, my dear."

  "But what are you doing?" demanded Kate in bewilder­ment and anger.

  "Isn't it obvious?" Lady Cahill beamed. "I've kidnapped you!"

  Chapter Two

  "But this is outrageous!" Kate gasped. "How dare you?"

  The old lady shrugged. "Child, I can see you're as stub­born as your dear mother and, to be perfectly frank, I haven't the time to waste convincing you to come and stay with me instead of hiring yourself out as a maid or whatever nonsense you were about. I intend to reach my grandson's house in Leicestershire tonight and, as it is, we won't reach it until well after dark. Now, be a good girl, sit back, be quiet and let me sleep. Travelling is enough of a trial without having a foolish girl nattering at me." She pulled the furs more closely around her and, as if there was nothing more to be said, closed her eyes.

  "But my house. . .my things. . .Martha. . ." Kate began.

  One heavy-lidded eye opened and regarded her balefully. "Martha knows my intentions towards you. She was most relieved to hear that you would, in future, make your home with me until such time as a suitable husband is found for you. A footman is locking up your house and will convey the keys to Martha."

  Kate opened her mouth to speak, but the blue eyes had closed implacably. She sat there, annoyed by the ease with which she had been tricked, and humiliated by the old lady's discovery of her desperate straits. She sighed. It was no use fighting. She would have to go wherever she was taken, and then see what could be done. The old lady meant well; she did not know how ill-placed her kindness was.

  . . . until such time as a suitable husband is found for you. No. No decent man would have her now. Not even the man who'd said he loved her to distraction wanted her now. She stared out at the scenery, seeing none of it, only Harry, turn­ing away from her, unable to conceal the revulsion and con­tempt in his eyes.

  Harry, whom she'd loved for as long as she could remem­ber. She'd been nine years old when she first met him, a tall, arrogant sixteen-year-old, surprisingly tolerant of the little tomboy tagging devotedly along at his heels, fetching and carrying for him and his best friend, her brother Jeremy. And when Kate was seventeen he'd proposed to her in the orchard just before he'd left to go to the wars, and laid his firm warm lips on hers.

  But a few months ago it had been a totally different Harry, staring at her with the cold hard eyes of a stranger. Like all the others, he'd turned his back.

  Kate bit her lip and tried to prevent the familiar surge of bitter misery rising to her throat. Never, ever would she put herself in that position again. It was simply too painful to love a man, when his love could simply disappear overnight and be replaced with cold disdain. . .

  The coach hit a deep rut and the passengers lurched and bounced and clung to their straps. Kate glanced at Lady Ca­hill, but the old lady remained silently huddled in her furs, her eyes closed, her face dead white beneath the cosmetics. Kate returned to her reflections.

  So she would never marry. So what? Many women never married and they managed to lead perfectly happy and useful lives. Kate would be one of them. All she needed was the chance to do so, and she would make that chance; she was determined. Maybe Lady Cahill would help her to get started. . .

  Bright moonlight lit the way by the time the travelling chaise pulled into a long driveway leading to a large, gloomy house. No welcoming lights were visible.

  In a dark, second-floor window a shadowy figure stood staring moodily. Jack Carstairs lifted a glass to his lips. He was in a foul temper. He knew full well that his grandmother would be exhausted. He couldn't turn her away. And she knew it, the manipulative old tartar, which was, of course, why she had sent her dresser on ahead to make things ready and timed her own arrival to darkness. Jack, in retaliation, had restricted his grandmother's retinue to her dresser, send­ing the rest off to stay in the village inn. That, if nothing else, would keep her visit short. His grandmother liked her comfort.

  The chaise drew to a halt in front of a short flight of stairs. The front door opened and two servants, a man and a woman, came running. Before the coachman could dismount, the woman tugged down the steps and flung open the door. "Here you are at last, my lady. I've been in a terrible way, worrying about you."

  Lady Cahill tottered unsteadily on her feet,
looking utterly exhausted. Kate felt a sharp twinge of guilt. The old lady clearly wasn't a good traveller, but Kate's attempts to make her more comfortable had been shrugged aside with so little civility that, for most of the journey, Kate had ignored her.

  Kate moved to help but the maidservant snapped, “Leave her be. I will take care of milady. I know just what needs to be done!" Scolding softly, she gently shepherded the old lady inside, the manservant assisting.

  The chaise jerked as it moved off and Kate almost fell as she hastily scrambled out of it. She took a few wavering steps but, to her horror, her head began to swim and she swirled into blackness.

  The man watching from the window observed her fall im­passively and waited uninterestedly for her to scramble to her feet. No doubt this was another blasted maid of his grandmother's. Jack took another drink.

  Damned fool that he was, he'd clearly mishandled his sis­ter, refusing to see her. He'd been heavily disguised at the time, of course. Even drunker than he was now. Good thing his grandmother hadn't asked to see him tonight. He'd have refused her too. Jack continued staring sourly out of the win­dow, then leaned forward, intent. The small, crumpled figure remained motionless on the hard cold gravel.

  What was wrong with the girl? Had she hurt herself? It was damned cold out there. Any more time on the damp ground and she'd take more than just a chill. Swearing, he moved away from the window and limped downstairs. There was no sign of anyone about. He heard the sound of voices upstairs—his grandmother was being tended to by the only available help. Jack strode into the night and bent awkwardly over the small, still figure.

  "Are you all right?'' He laid his hand lightly on the cold cheek. She was unconscious. He had to get her out of the cold. Bending his stiff leg with difficulty, he scooped her against his chest. At least his arms still had their strength.

  Good God! The girl weighed less than a bird. He cradled her more gently. Nothing but a bundle of bones!

  Jack carried her into the sitting-room and laid her carefully on a settee. He lit a brace of candles and held them close to her face. She was pale and apparently lifeless. A faint, elusive fragrance hovered around her, clean and fresh. He laid a fin­ger on her parted lips and waited. A soft flutter of warm breath caused his taut face to relax. His hands hovered over her, hesitating. What the deuce did you do with fainting fe­males? His hands dropped. Ten to one she'd wake up and find him loosening her stays and set up some demented shrieking!

  Jack went to the doorway. "Carlos!" No response. Dam­mit! He poured brandy into a glass and, slipping one arm around the girl, tipped a generous portion into her mouth. Instantly she came alive in his arms, coughing, hands flailing against him.

  "Gently, gently," he said, irritated.

  “What—?'' Kate spluttered as he forced another mouthful of fiery golden liquid into her. She gasped as it burnt its way down her throat and glared indignantly at him.

  "It's only brandy."

  "Brandy!" She fought for breath.

  "You needed something to bring you around."

  "Bring me around?" Kate glanced round the strange room. She stared up at the shadowed face of the man who had an arm around her. Her pulse started to race. Blind panic gripped her and she tried to wrench herself away, to hit out against him. She was restrained by strong hands, gentle but implacable.

  "You fainted outside." He held her a moment until she calmed slightly, then released her and stood back. "Mind you, if I'd known you were such a little wildcat I'd have thought twice about rescuing you from the cold, wet drive­way and giving you my best brandy."

  Kate stared blankly at him. Fainted? Rescue? Best brandy? She still felt decidedly peculiar. "In. . .I'm sorry . . . My nerves are a little jumpy these days . . .and I tend to overreact."

  Especially when I awake to find myself in strange com­pany, not knowing what has come before it. Her head was pounding. Had she fainted for just a few minutes, as he said, or would she find a gap in her memory of days or weeks, as she had once before? Her hand reached to touch the faint ridged scar at the base of her skull, then dropped to her lap. She glanced down and a wave of relief washed over her. She remembered putting on these clothes this morning. . .Lady Cahill. . .the long trip in the coach. It was all right. It wasn't like before. . .

  But who was the man looming over her? She was aware of a black frown, a long, aquiline nose, a strong chin, and blue, blue eyes glinting in the candlelight. She blinked, mes­merised.

  He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and moved abruptly beyond the candleglow, his face suddenly hidden in shadows again.

  "I. . .I really do beg your pardon," she said. "I didn't. . .I was confused." She tried to gather herself together. "It's just— "

  "Are you ill?" His voice was very deep.

  "No, I don't think so. It's just. . .it must be because I haven't eaten for several day—for several hours."

  Jack frowned. The slip of the tongue was not lost on him.

  Kate tried to sit up. Another wave of dizziness washed over her. Jack grasped her arm and thrust her firmly but gently back against the cushions. "Don't try to move," he ordered. "Just stay there. I'll return in a moment." He left the room.

  Kate sat on the settee, one hand to her head. She felt weak and shaky. Brandy on such an empty stomach. She shook her head ruefully, then clasped it, moaning. She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning around her.

  "Here, this will make you feel better." The harsh deep voice jolted Kate out of her daze. She opened her eyes. Be­fore her was a plate with a clumsily cut slice of bread and cold meat on it. It looked wonderful. She glanced quickly up at the man towering over her and smiled.

  "Oh, thank you so much. It is very kind of you," she said, then added, blushing, "I'm afraid that brandy made me quite dizzy."

  She applied herself carefully to her meal, forcing herself to eat with tiny bites, chewing slowly and delicately.

  Jack watched her, still faintly dazzled by the sweetness of her smile. She was pretending uninterest in the food, he real­ised, even though she was starving. Well, who was he to quibble at pride? But she was certainly an enigma, with her pride and her shabby clothes.

  "Who the devil are you?"

  The sudden question jolted Kate out of the rapture of her first meal in days.

  "My name is Kate Farleigh." She returned to the food.

  "And who is Kate Farleigh when she's at home?"

  Kate pondered as she chewed. Who was Kate Farleigh now? She was no longer the Reverend Mr Farleigh's daugh­ter, nor Jeremy and Benjamin Farleigh's sister. She certainly wasn't Harry Lansdowne's betrothed any more. And she didn't even have a home.

  "I don't suppose she's anyone at all," she replied in an attempt at lightness that failed dismally.

  "Don't play games." The frown had returned to his face. "Who are you and what are you doing here? I know you came with my grandmother."

  His grandmother? So this was the master of the house, Mr Jack Carstairs. His food was doing wonders for her spirits. She felt so much better. Kate almost smiled at his aggrieved tone. He obviously didn't want her here. Well, she hadn't asked to come.

  "Oh, you mustn't blame me for that." She licked the last crumb delicately from her lips. "It wasn't my choice to come, after all."

  "Why? What the deuce do you mean by that?" He scowled, watching the movement of the pink tongue. “What is your position in relation to my grandmother?"

  What was her position? Kidnappee? Charity case? Spuri­ous great-goddaughter? None of them would exactly delight a doting grandson. Besides, it would be very ungrateful of her to upset the man who'd fed her a delicious meal by call­ing his relative a kidnapper. Although the idea was very tempting.

  "I'm not at all sure I can answer that. You will have to ask Lady Cahill." Kate got to her feet. "Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, sir. The meal was delicious and I was very hungry after my journey."

  She took two steps towards the door, then faltered, belat­edly realising she h
ad nowhere to go. "Could you tell me, please, where I am to sleep?''

  "How the deuce should I know?" he snapped. "I don't even know who you are, so why should I concern myself where you sleep?"

  Rudeness obviously ran in the family, decided Kate. It mattered little. With a full stomach, she felt quite in charity with the whole world. She would find herself a bed without his assistance—having found billets all over Spain and Por­tugal she would be lacking indeed if she could not find a bed in one, not terribly large English country house.

  “Very well, then, sir, I will bid you goodnight. Thank you once again for your hospit. . ." She paused, then corrected herself wryly, "For the food." She began to climb the stairs in a determined fashion. Halfway up, her knees buckled.

  "Dammit!" Jack leapt stiffly towards the stairs and caught her against his chest as she fainted for the second time. He carried her into a nearby bedchamber and laid her gently on the bed. He stood looking down at her for a long moment. Who the devil was she?

  In the soft light of a candle, he assessed her unconscious form. She was thin, far too thin. Clear delicate skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones, leaving deep hollows beneath them. His gaze lingered where the neck of her shabby, too loose dress had slipped, revealing a smooth shoulder, hunched childlike against the chill of the night. Had he not chanced to be watching when she fainted, she would still be lying unconscious on the front driveway. It was an icy night. Doubtless she would not have survived.

  He'd get no answers tonight. Best to tuck the girl up in bed and take himself off. He bent and removed her shoes, then stopped in perplexity. He was sure he should loosen her stays, but how to go about that with propriety? His mouth quirked. Propriety! It was quite improper enough for him to be in this girl's bedchamber. He shrugged and bent over the supine body, searching gingerly at her waist for stay laces. God, but the chit was thin! With relief he ascertained that she wore no stays, had no need of them, probably didn't even own any.

  Carefully he covered her with warm blankets. She shifted restlessly and flung an arm outside the bedding. He bent again to cover it and as he did so her eyes opened. She blinked for a moment, then smiled sleepily and caressed his face with a cool, tender touch. "Night, Jemmy." Her eyelids fluttered closed.