Page 19 of Gallant Waif
“Hmm. Yes, all right,” he mumbled ungraciously.
Kate bobbed him the sort of rustic curtsey her old nurse used to make to her father, and picked up the tray. She stepped lightly down the stairs, her mouth trembling on the verge of laughter as she imagined his face when his grandmother finally explained who she was.
Jack watched her slight figure disappear, then turned and knocked at his grandmother’s door.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Where the devil did you find that girl, Grandmama?” he demanded on entry.
His grandmother regarded him coolly. “I am very well, Jack, thank you for asking.”
“Dammit, Grandmama…” he began, then, noting the light of battle in the beady blue eyes, decided it would be politic to capitulate. His grandmother, Jack knew from long experience, was quite capable of parrying his questions all day. Curse it, he sighed, what had he done to be plagued with such females? Only a few days ago, life had been so peaceful.
He sat himself down on the edge of her bed, his stiff leg out before him, ignoring the strangled gasp of horror from his grandmother’s maid at the impropriety.
“Oh, get out, Smithers, get out if you cannot stomach the sight of a man seated on my bed!” snapped Lady Cahill. She waited until the maid removed herself, after having favoured her mistress with a look of deep reproof.
“Stupid woman!” muttered the old lady. “But she’s worth her weight in gold atla toilette. Makes an old woman like me look less of an old hag.”
Jack smiled, his good humour restored. “Old hag, indeed! What a shocking untruth, Grandmama. As if you haven’t remained an acknowledged beauty all your life. You’ve clearly recovered from the ordeal of the journey, for I must tell you that you are in great looks, positively blooming in fact.”
“Oh, pish tush!” said his grandmother in delight. “You’re a wicked boy and I know perfectly well that you’re only trying to turn me up sweet.”
Jack’s lips twitched, as he recalled the time his grandmother had read his sister a blistering lecture for using exactly that piece of slang. “Turn you up sweet, indeed?” he quizzed her. “Good God, Grandmama. What a vulgar expression. I’m shocked!”
“Don’t criticise your elders and betters, young man,” she retorted, her twinkling eyes revealing she was fully aware of her inconsistency. “Now, what’s all this I’ve heard about you falling into the megrims? It’s not like you, Jack, and I won’t have it!”
Jack took a deep breath, struggling to overcome the surge of annoyance that rose within him at her blunt statement. “As you see, Grandmama,” he responded lightly, “your sources have misinformed you. I’m in the pink of health despite being a cripple.”
Lady Cahill frowned at him. “You’re no more a cripple than I am,” she snapped. “What’s a stiff leg? Your grandfather had one for years as a result of a hunting accident and it never stopped him from doing anything he wanted to.”
“As I recall, ma’am, my grandfather was still able to ride to hounds until shortly before his death.”
A short silence fell. Lady Cahill considered the cruel irony of her grandson’s injury. A noted rider to hounds until his injury, Jack had received as his only inheritance a house in one of the most famous hunting shires in the country. Now, when he was unable even to sit a horse.
Jack stood up awkwardly. He still found it hard to face discussion of his wounds. “Can one enquire as to what brought you to my humble home?” he asked, changing the subject.
“You may well ask that,” she said crossly.
“Yes, I just did,” he murmured irrepressibly.
“Don’t be cheeky, boy! I came to find out what was happening to you. Now, tell me, sir, what did you mean by denying your own sister hospitality?”
“Grandmama, you can see for yourself that this place is not yet fit to receive guests…Besides, I was castaway at the time. I do regret it, but I’ve had enough of women weeping and sighing over my…my disfigurement,” he finished stiffly.
“Disfigurement, my foot!” She snorted inelegantly. Her eyes wandered to the scar on his right cheek. “If you are referring to that little scratch on your face, well, you were always far too good-looking for your own good. You look a great deal more manly now, not so much of a pretty boy.”
He bowed ironically. “I thank you, ma’am.”
“Oh, tush!” she said. “I think I will get up now, so take yourself off and get one of those lazy servants of yours to bring me up some hot water.”
“I regret it, ma’am, but I cannot.”
“What do you mean, boy?”
He shrugged indifferently. “I don’t employ any indoor servants.”
Lady Cahill sat up in bed, deeply shocked. “What? No servants?” she gasped. “Impossible! You must have servants!”
