Gallant Waif

by Anne Gracie

  "No, no." He met his friend's doubting look and grinned ruefully. "Well, perhaps a little, but I couldn't have you three keeping me wrapped in cotton wool, now could I? Such a pace you'd set, I'd have died of boredom." The others laughed. "Now, you all ride on, don't worry about me," he said. "I'll take it a little slower now that my blood's moving again."

  "Yes, go on, you two," agreed Francis. "I'll keep Jack company for a bit. My head's still a trifle delicate from last night, and any more riding like the last episode and I fear the wretched thing will fall off." The other two laughed as they rode away, but Jack turned and regarded his friend sceptically.

  "My poor Francis," he said in mock-sympathy. "And I always thought you had the hardest head of anyone I knew."

  Francis smiled blandly back at him. "Ah, well, you have the advantage of me by several years, you know. I am nigh on thirty-five."

  They moved forward at a slow canter, chatting as they did so. After some time, the talk ceased and they walked their horses in companionable silence, enjoying the morning, each man absorbed in his own thoughts.

  Then Francis chuckled to himself.

  Jack turned his head. "What is it?"

  Francis shook his head in amusement. "Never thought I'd see you setting up as a milliner."

  "What the hell do you. . .? Oh, that. Stubble it, will you?" mumbled Jack.

  But Francis had no intention of dropping it. "It was an ugly enough cap, to be sure, and it made that pretty little thing look like a dowdy, but you acted as if she deliberately wore it to annoy you."

  Jack harrumphed. "She did."

  "Oho. . .so it's like that, is it?"

  Jack glowered. "Like what? She's my grandmother's ward, that's all."

  "And naturally you must supervise her headgear," agreed Francis sympathetically.

  "She was foisted on me by that meddlesome old witch. I had no choice in the matter."

  "Ahh." Francis nodded his head wisely.

  "Ahh nothing!" snapped Jack. "You have added two and two and come up with five. The girl means nothing to me. She's a damned nuisance, if you want to know the truth!"

  "Mmm," agreed Francis infuriatingly.

  Jack ground his teeth. "Damn your eyes, Francis."

  His friend chuckled softly. After a few minutes he spoke again. "Well, dear boy, since you have no interest in little Miss Farleigh, you'll have no objection if I pursue her my­self."

  Jack wrenched his horse to a halt, slewed round in the saddle and glared at his friend. “What the devil do you mean by that? You'll do nothing of the sort. She. . .she's my grand­mother's ward."

  Francis's eyebrows rose extravagantly at his tone. "I would court her honourably, of course—you could have no objection to that."

  Jack had dozens of objections, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say. It was one thing to urge Kate to take up his grandmother's offer and go to London to find herself a husband. Jack had envisaged some gentle, fatherly soul who would pamper Kate and smother her in luxury. He glanced at his friend and frowned. Not a handsome, worldly, ele­gant. . . rake!

  "Why the devil would you be wanting to court someone like Kate?" he demanded. "Dammit, man, you're a notorious rake!"

  “A notorious rake?'' Francis laughed. “And what of you, Jack? The man who put all the matchmaking mamas in a flutter to protect their chicks— Ah, no, you settled down, didn't you? The Divine Julia. Whatever happened to her?" He noticed Jack's frown and clucked sympathetically. "Still carrying a torch, are you? Well, I can see how little Kate, charming as she is, could not compare with the fair Julia."

  "I'm not carrying a torch and I will thank you not to mention Kate's name and hers in the same breath."

  Francis smiled in spurious sympathy. “Ah, so the goddess is still enshrined in your heart, then?"

  "The goddess, as you so mistakenly call her, is nothing but a shallow, self-centred harpy, and if you think for one minute, Francis, that she. . . she. . ." Jack was so angry, he was lost for words. "If you don't know that Julia Davenport is not worth Kate Farleigh's little finger, then. . .then. . .I don't know what you are," he finished lamely.

  Francis controlled his urge to grin. Jack was responding beautifully. “No need to convince me, old man. I was never one of the Davenport's admirers. I am the one, don't forget, who may court little Miss Farleigh with a view to marriage."

  Jack gritted his teeth. His friend's habit of referring to Kate as "little Miss Farleigh' was starting to annoy him very much. "Never thought you'd be one for parson's mousetrap. What's brought it on?"

  "Oh, well, there comes a time in a chap's life when it's time to settle down. I've been keeping my eyes open for a while now and somehow the idea of one of the schoolgirls on the marriage mart doesn't really appeal. A man wants to settle down with a woman who'll make him comfortable, a woman of sense."

  Jack was revolted by this description of Kate. “It sounds to me like you are more interested in taking a comfortable old chair to wife," he said sourly.

  Francis chuckled. "No, indeed. I most certainly don't think of Miss Farleigh as a comfortable old chair. Why, the very notion is offensive." He paused delicately. "Ah, perhaps you haven't noticed, old man, but little Miss Farleigh is quite a pretty little thing, with an eminently kissable mouth. Even that smut of flour on her nose this morning looked quite delicious."

  He ignored Jack's growl.

  "And have you noticed her dimple? It hardly ever appears, but when it does it's utterly charming. Add to that her ex­traordinary voice and her delightful laugh, and you have in one small package a very cosy armful indeed, very cosy."

  Jack was appalled at the vision his words conjured up. Kate nestled in Francis's arms. He felt positively sick. "You know she has not a penny in the world."

  Francis shrugged. "I'm not hanging out for a rich wife."

  "Are you in love with her, then?" Jack's mouth was dry as he waited for the answer.

  "Good heavens, no." Francis laughed carelessly. "A chap doesn't have to be in love with his wife to have a happy marriage. As long as she loves him, it will work."

  "And you think she loves you, do you?" Jack growled.

  "No, dear boy, not yet." Francis smiled complacently. “But the marriage bed has a way of taking care of that, does it not? By the end of the honeymoon she will love me." He winked. "I'm told I am rather a good lover, you see. And, besides, I intend to be a kind and indulgent husband. Women like that, you know. And I do believe young Kate has had very little indulgence in her life. . ."

  Observing Jack's face, Francis deemed it prudent to join Sir Toby and Mr Lennox. He reached across and patted Jack's leg. "You look as if your leg is paining you, dear boy. Why don't you take yourself home and I'll meet you back at the house?" Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Francis galloped away, putting the greatest possible distance between them before his mirth escaped him.

  He left Jack staring after him, his face a mixture of fury, chagrin and despair. It was true. Francis would make Kate a fine husband. So why did the thought make him feel so sick inside? It was very confusing. Reason forced him to admit Francis would make someone an excellent husband. Only. . .not Kate.

  Jack entered the house from the side entrance nearest the stables and paused, hearing voices coming from the front parlour: Kate and a man whose voice he did not recognise. He entered the room.

  Kate was seated on a lounge sofa, smiling happily at a complete stranger. Jack frowned. The stranger was holding both of Kate's hands in his, and she was making no attempt to remove them from his grasp. She turned and beamed at Jack.

  "Oh, Ja— Mr Carstairs, isn't it wonderful? This is Mr Jeremiah Cole."

  Cold blue eyes swept over Mr Cole's person and one eye­brow rose sardonically. His hard stare shifted pointedly from Cole to Kate's hands. Cole immediately released them.

  "Forgive me, Miss Farleigh—" Jack's tone was frigid ''—but I do not immediately perceive what is so wonderful. Who is this person?" His eyebrow rose again as his ga
ze swept over the man before him.

  To his annoyance, Kate did not even seem to register his arctic reception of her guest. She laughed.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I must confess Mr Cole's unexpected ap­pearance has put me in somewhat of a fluster." She turned and beamed at the stranger again. “A very welcome appear­ance and a very happy fluster, but it has made me forget my manners."

  She rose and immediately the stranger did the same. Jack's eyes grew even flintier as he noted that the Cole fellow was almost as tall as he, solidly built and modishly dressed.

  Kate continued, "Mr Carstairs, I have much pleasure in presenting a distant and until now unknown cousin of mine, Mr Jeremiah Cole. Mr Cole, Mr Jack Carstairs, my. . ." She hesitated. Mr Cole's eyebrows rose slightly.

  Jack instantly recognised her difficulty. "Miss Farleigh is the ward of my grandmother, Lady Cahill. My grandmother prevailed upon Miss Farleigh and her companion, Mrs Betts, to assist a poor bachelor in setting this house to rights."

  A speculative look came on to Mr Cole's face, so Jack added, "She will shortly be taking up residence with Lady Cahill and making her entrance to society under her aegis." That should stop the fellow's suspicious mind, he thought, for what grandmother would sponsor her grandson's mistress into society?

  "Delighted to meet you," said Cole affably. "I must say, I was bowled over when I found that my little cousin had survived the terrors of war after all. And when I arrived here and discovered what a very charming and delightful little cousin she was too I was bowled over even more thor­oughly." He kissed her hand.

  Jack watched balefully as Kate blushed. She was making no attempt to pull her hands out of the fellow's sweaty grasp.

  "Tell me, Cole," he said, "how did you discover Miss Farleigh's whereabouts? Not many know she is here."

  Cole turned, still retaining Kate's hand. "I was contacted by Lady Cahill's man, Phillips. My late father was executor of the Delacombe estate, you know, and their property came to him, as closest living male relative. It passed therefore to me on his death two months ago." He smiled at Kate, an oily smirk to Jack's jaundiced eye. He patted her hand and then grew solemn.

  "You can imagine my joy when I discovered that I was not, in fact, all alone in the world, and that my cousin was alive and well—not perished at the hands of the dastardly French along with her father and brothers." He squeezed Kate's hand sympathetically. "Naturally I came post-haste to meet her. And of course to make my condolences on the loss of her loved ones."

  "It was very kind of you, Mr Cole," said Kate softly.

  "Please," he said, "Mr Cole sounds so formal. I am your only living relative, even if rather distant. Could you not bring yourself to call me Cousin Jeremiah, and allow me to call you Cousin Katherine?"

  "Cousin Kate will do nicely, Cousin Jeremiah." She smiled at him and he kissed her hand again.

  Jack stared at the little display, revolted. Could Kate not see the fellow was an oily Cit? He might be well dressed and passably good-looking, if you liked biggish men with sandy hair and regular features, but he was a deal too smooth for Jack's liking, and as for his continual flattery of Kate and that incessant groping and kissing of her hand. . .

  Jack itched to take the impertinent fellow by his elegantly tailored collar and toss him out on his ear, but he knew Kate would never allow it. He regarded her sourly. She was com­pletely taken in. She obviously took the fellow at his word and even seemed to enjoy him pawing and slobbering over her hand. She allowed it at any rate. And smiled.

  "So you are the heir." Jack interrupted before the fellow could kiss Kate's hand for the third time.

  "Yes, indeed," agreed Mr Cole. "Though it is a melan­choly feeling to find oneself enriched by another's demise." He looked solemn for a moment, then brightened. "But that reminds me, there is a small bequest for you, Cousin Kate, a peculiarly feminine bequest."

  He smiled at Kate's enquiring look and passed her a flat oblong packet. She looked at it for a moment, puzzled, then opened it and gasped in surprise and pleasure. She looked at Jack, her eyes wide with delight. "Jewellery." She turned back to her cousin. "My grandmother's?"

  He nodded. "Yes, she left one or two pieces to you as a keepsake."

  Jack frowned, remembering his grandmother's belief that Kate would have been left well provided for. It seemed she was wrong, for there was not much of it—just a string of pearls and one of garnets, some earrings, a ring and a brooch or two.

  He suddenly noticed that Kate had gone very silent. She sat, her head bowed, staring at the jewellery on her lap, her hands gently touching the pieces, turning them over, running the pearls slowly through her fingers. Of course, he realised, she must be disappointed that there was nothing there of any value. He could not see her face, but he knew how she must be feeling. Frustration and anger grew in him as he noticed a tear roll down her cheek. She must have hoped for the sort of things other women wanted, and which she deserved to have more than any of them—diamonds, emeralds, rubies. He silently called a curse on the heads of all her thoughtless relatives.

  She looked up. Her eyes were filled with tears, but her smile was radiant. "Thank you, Cousin Jeremiah, thank you. You don't know how much it means to me that my grand­mother left these to me," she said in a soft, husky voice that told Jack she was very moved. Mr Cole shifted uncomfort­ably in his seat. She stood up abruptly and smiled mistily at the two men. "If you don't mind, I would like to look at my grandmother's bequest in my chamber. Will you excuse me, please?" She held out her hand to her cousin. "Will I see you again, Cousin Jeremiah?"

  "Of course." He smiled, bending over her hand again. "You don't think I will go away again, just when I have discovered a charming little cousin all of my very own? I will seek accommodation in the nearest town and with your permission, Cousin, will call again tomorrow."

  She nodded happily and left the room, cradling the packet to her bosom. Jack stood staring after her, flabbergasted. To see her face, one would have thought she had been given the Crown Jewels, not a small collection of trumpery beads. The girl never failed to amaze him. She was like no other female he had known. He turned and looked at Mr Cole. He was smiling to himself in a very satisfied manner. Damn the man. Jack didn't like him one little bit.

  "The front door is this way, Cole."

  "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr Carstairs," said Mr Cole politely, disregarding the glowering look his host was giving him. "I look forward to furthering our acquain­tance. I collect you are one of our gallant heroes from the Peninsula. I would be delighted to discuss it with you at some future time."

  The gallant hero, nauseated by the description, managed not to throw Kate's cousin down the steps and contented himself with slamming the door instead.

  Jack needed a drink, so he went into the library and stopped dead. Kate was sitting in a wing chair. She looked up. "Millie is washing the floor in my room," she said by way of explanation of her presence in the library.

  He nodded. "That fellow has left."

  "It was very good of him to come all this way," Kate said quietly. "He could have just sent these to me by mail."

  Jack watched the way her hands stroked the packet that still lay in her lap. There was a long silence.

  "You seemed pleased to see him," he said at last.

  Kate sighed. "Yes, it is so wonderful to discover that I am not utterly alone in the world, after all."

  "You are not alone at all."

  "But I am, Jack," she said softly. "Or at least I was."

  “You have my grandmother—'' he began. And me.

  "Oh, Lady Cahill is a dear," she interrupted, "but in truth she is no kin of mine. I am a charitable project she has taken on for the sake of my mother's memory, that is all. She has been very kind and generous, and I am grateful to her for it, but you must see that I have no real claim on her. It is dif­ferent to know that someone is part of your family, that you belong to them."

  Jack objected to that in the strongest terms. "You do not bel
ong to that overfed, overdressed, fawning puffbag!"

  "Mr Carstairs," Kate reproved him coldly, "I will thank you to speak politely of Cousin Jeremiah in my presence. He is well built, not overfed in the least and I find his taste in clothes impeccable." The look she cast on Jack's stained buckskins was not lost on him. "Moreover, he has a kind heart and he came all the way here from Leeds only to meet me and to give me my grandmother's jewellery."

  "Trumpery beads," he snorted.

  Kate bridled at his tone. "They may be trumpery beads to you, but they are all the jewellery I possess, and they be­longed to my grandmother, whom I never met."

  She clutched the small packet of jewellery to her breast.

  “My mother died when I was born and I never knew her. All I had of her were her pearls and her eyes. The pearls I had to sell, to pay our debts." And her eyes cost me my father's love. "You cannot understand what it means to me to know that my grandmother remembered me, for my father fell out with my grandparents before I was born and they never contacted us as far as I know." Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

  The bequest was far greater than its size or monetary value. Kate had only known her mother through others' eyes—and the image had been tarnished with her own guilt. But now Kate had something tangible, from a grandmother who'd thought of her with love instead of blame. Who'd cared enough to send her a keepsake—one which was not tainted by her father's resentment of Kate's existence.

  "You call them trumpery beads, but my mother may have worn these as a girl, don't you see?" Her voice broke and she turned and fled upstairs.

  Jack swore under his breath and ran his hand angrily through his hair. Damn him, did he always have to speak before he thought? He hadn't meant to sneer at her pathetic little collection of jewellery; it had just been too much for him. First Francis had put him in a temper, with his damnably impertinent plans for Kate's future, and then to come home and find Kate beaming with delight on some oily Cit. . . it was too much! And besides which, his leg was hurting him.-It was his own fault too, showing off before his friends. He would have to have it massaged again before it stiffened up on him any more.