Page 31 of Gallant Waif
Housework might not be Kate’s favourite activity, but at least it showed results she could be proud of. The room looked warm and inviting, a far cry from when Lady Cahill had snorted at it so disparagingly. All that was needed now was a bowl of flowers or leaves. Perhaps she could find some in the tangled garden. Kate gathered up her cleaning rags and stepped into the hall.
“What is it, Carlos?”
“These arrive for you,señorita.” He gestured towards a large number of bulky packages resting on the long hall table.
“For me?”
“You like me to carry them upstairs for you,señorita?” Carlos offered politely. These days he treated her with the utmost respect. Once he might have thought her a skinny little mouse of a thing, with her huge greeny eyes and her shabby clothes, respected only because he was ordered to. But no one who had seen this little creature coolly stand up to his master would need to feign respect. Carlos had not forgotten the coffee pot, either.
“That would be very kind of you, Carlos,” Kate murmured abstractedly, puzzling over these unexpected and mysterious items. She followed him upstairs to her room, her arms full of parcels, and he even more heavily laden.
When he left, Kate opened the packages, slowly at first, then faster and faster, her head in a whirl. They contained everything she could ever think of needing. A wonderful warm merino pelisse. No cold winter wind would dare penetrate that to send her shaking and shivering. Dresses, in fine warm cloth, the colours dark—lavender, grey, black and a beautiful soft dove—nothing to offend her state of mourning.
And underclothing, some of fine, soft linen, trimmed with lace, some of silk and satin, the like of which Kate had never in her life seen or felt. Surely it would be positively sinful to wear garments such as these exquisite things next to your skin? As for the nightgowns and chemises—they bore no earthly resemblance to the patched, sturdy, voluminous garments Kate had worn most of her life.
She stared dumbfounded at the tumble of lovely things spread out across her bed. Jack had bought them, of course. He hadn’t listened to a word she’d said…But, oh, they were so beautiful. It had been so long since she’d had anything new, and these were of the finest quality. She wouldn’t wear them, but it wouldn’t hurt, surely, to hold them up against herself and look in the mirror and imagine, just for a moment, that they were hers.
She lifted the dove-coloured dress and stood in front of the mirror, holding it against her. It was very elegant—high-waisted, with a border of embroidered leaves around the hem—simply but beautifully cut. And the material felt so light and yet so warm. She rubbed her cheek against its soft folds and inhaled, savouring its new, delicious smell.
One after another, Kate held the dresses against her slender frame, draping them this way and that, trying to imagine how they would look if she were to wear them—which, of course, she could not.
She picked up a nightgown. Fine silk slipped through her fingers like water. She held it up, imagining herself wearing it, and blushed. It was…would be quite immodest. The Reverend Mr Farleigh’s daughter had never owned, or even imagined, such a garment. It was so fine that surely you could see through it. She slipped her fingers inside the nightgown and, sure enough, her skin glowed pinkly through the delicate fabric. She blushed a deeper rose and hastily put it down and then picked up the dove dress again.
“That colour suits you,” said a deep voice from the doorway.
Kate gasped and whirled around, clutching the dove frock against her, for all the world as if she were naked. Jack Car-stairs stood in the open doorway, leaning casually against the door frame.
“H-how long have you been there?” she stuttered.
He did not respond, but a slow smile told her the answer and her blush deepened. He’d seen her looking at the nightgown.
“I’ve brought you a letter.” He glanced down at the welter of clothes that covered the bed and the lurking smile widened. Kate followed his gaze. He was looking at the underclothes and nightgowns. Hurriedly she snatched them up and thrust them under the dresses, her cheeks burning.
“Wh…what did you say you wanted?” she muttered, unable to meet his eyes.
“A letter has arrived for you,” he said softly. “And I see that that’s not all.”
Jack couldn’t resist teasing her. The sight of that nightgown sliding sensuously over her skin had caused his body to tighten, imagining her clothed in nothing but that fine translucent silk. And the blush that rose so easily to her cheeks would no doubt be repeated elsewhere on her body. He knew it. And she knew he knew it; he could tell by her loss of composure. Kate Farleigh wasn’t easily rattled, and by God he was going to enjoy it while he could. The little termagant was adorable like this, flushed and embarrassed and uncertain.
“Please give me the letter,” said Kate, still flustered by the amusement in his deep voice. He held it out. She reached for it, but he swiftly raised it out of reach.
“Say ‘thank you’ first,” he drawled, still grinning.
“Give it to me, please,” she repeated, annoyed. The big lummox! Did he think she was going to grapple with him for it? She had been teased by experts—her brothers—and she wasn’t so foolish as to think she could get the better of him by trying to snatch the letter. He was far too tall, for one thing.
In any case, she’d sworn never to let him get his hands on her again. Her encounters with Jack Carstairs were nothing like the tussles she’d had with her brothers. His touch had no brotherly feel about it at all; it made her feel oddly helpless and fluttery inside and it took all her will-power to break away from him.
“I’ve come all the way upstairs to bring it to you. Don’t I deserve something?” he teased, enjoying her discomfiture.
“You deserve something, all right,” she muttered beneath her breath.
He heard her and laughed. “Little wildcat. Here’s your letter, then.” He tossed it on to the bed.
“Thank you. Now please leave.” Kate went pointedly to the door. “And you can take all of your things with you,”
He looked at her in mock-amazement. “My things? What ever do you mean, Miss Farleigh?”
Kate nodded at the pile of clothing on her bed. “All of those. I told you before, I cannot accept such gifts from you.”
