Page 53 of Gallant Waif
It appeared that all this time Jack had had Carlos heating oils and making up unguents, continuing Kate’s treatment in secret. Some of the stories of the near-misses and narrow escapes from Kate’s discovery had them all whooping and shrieking helplessly as Jack mimicked first Carlos, then Kate, then Martha, then the stuffy village apothecary.
He was utterly charming in this mood, Kate thought, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. She suddenly realised that this was probably how he had been before the war.
This was the Jack that must have been betrothed to Julia, she realised with a sinking feeling—witty, handsome and vital. A man who was at home in the upper reaches of theton.Who would have all the women eating out of his hand, from the lowest born like Millie and Florence and Martha, to the highest like Julia, whoever she was, and his grandmother.
It was clear to Kate now that he was almost well enough in body and spirit to return to the world he had renounced. A world where he would be amongst his peers and in his own element. She wondered dully if he would go back to Julia, now that he seemed to have climbed out of his pit of misery.
She should be happy for him, she told herself. And she was—for him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
One afternoon in late February, in a period of clear weather which signalled the impending demise of winter, a smart curricle drew up at the front door of Sevenoakes. It was followed moments later by another, even smarter than the first, then an elegant travelling phaeton and several grooms leading a string of fine horses. From the sporting style of the vehicles, it was clear that they were driven by young men of substance and fashion. Three gentlemen alighted from the various vehicles and strode up the front steps, shouting merrily for “Mad Jack’ and exchanging good-natured insults concerning each other’s driving prowess or lack of it.
Kate opened the front door, and froze. She had not expected visitors, particularly nottonnishones like these. She stood like a statue, barely noticing their hearty exuberance. A short, round-faced man rushed straight past her, tossing her a heavy, many-caped driving coat and a high-brimmed hat as he went. Peering up the stairs, he shouted, “Hey, Jack! Mad Jack Carstairs! Come out from wherever you’re hiding, man, and give us a drink!”
A tall, lanky fellow passed her another many-caped greatcoat and a curly-brimmed beaver and, laughing, followed his friend. The last handed her a heavily frogged greatcoat of military cut and said calmly, “Sir Toby Fenwick, Mr Lennox and Colonel Masterton to see Mr Carstairs.”
Colonel Masterton? A soldier?From the Peninsula?Kate tried desperately to bring the panic under control. He could not see her properly—she was almost invisible under three heavy coats. “Please wait in the drawing-room to your left, sir; I will endeavour to find Mr Carstairs.”
The gentleman raised a quizzing glass to his eye. Kate huddled more firmly behind the coats. Having finished his inspection, he smiled faintly and strolled languidly into the room Kate had indicated. She backed out of the entrance hall, tossed the coats on to a chair and collapsed on top of them, her pulse racing.
She was overreacting, she told herself sternly. There was absolutely no reason to think he might recognise her. Merely because he was a colonel. No doubt hundreds of colonels had never even been to the Peninsula. And hundreds more who’d never even heard of Kate Farleigh. It was ridiculous to expect that this one might have recognised her. She certainly did not recognise him, nor any of the others.
Controlling her anxiety, Kate sent Millie out to fetch Jack while she put out simple refreshments of wine, brandy and bread and butter. She sent Florence into the drawing-room to light the fire. Florence emerged hurriedly, blushing and giggling. Kate’s lips thinned. She was being a coward, making the girls put up with that. She would have to face Jack’s visitors sometime.
Suddenly she thought of something. She flew upstairs and raced to her room. After rummaging in a large oaken chest she emerged, triumphantly brandishing a white spinster’s cap she had noticed some weeks before. She put it on, carefully tucking in every last curl and tying it firmly under her chin with the tapes provided. She looked at herself in the mirror. Perfect. The cap was dreadfully ugly and much too large for her head. It was embellished with lace, knots of ribbon and a frill which hung almost to her eyelashes. In this, she could face any soldier visitors, secure in the belief that she was unlikely to be recognised. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and giggled—she almost didn’t recognise herself.
She hurried downstairs, ignored Millie and Florence’s looks of amazement and Martha’s gasp of horror, picked up the tray of refreshments and marched into the drawing-room, her head held high. It had to be—she could not see from under the frill otherwise.
“Brandy—this is more like it.” The tallest gentleman leaped forward from where he had been warming himself at the fire and lifted the decanter and a glass from her tray.
“Ho, you blackguard!” shouted the chubby young man. “Don’t think you are going to make off with that. Here, pour some for me!” He too snatched a glass from the tray and pursued his friend. It occurred to Kate that the two were, as her brothers used to phrase it, a trifle foxed.
The third gentleman sauntered up to her. Kate held her breath. “Allow me,” he said, taking the tray from her grasp and setting it on a nearby table. He glanced briefly at her cap as he straightened up, then followed her gaze to where the other two were carelessly filling their glasses, slopping brandy on to the surface so carefully polished by Kate only that morning.
“You are perfectly right, ma’am.” he said, observing her pursed lips. “I fear that we stayed a trifle too long at the excellent hostelry a short distance from here. My friends are indeed a trifle…er…exuberant.”
“So I see,” said Kate dryly.
“And you, ma’am, we have not had the pleasure. Colonel Francis Masterton, late of the 95th Rifles, at your service.” He bowed. “And you are…?” He paused.
“Er…Kate Farleigh,” mumbled Kate. His lightly uttered words had flustered her badly. The 95th Rifles? Hewasfrom the Peninsula. Pray God he knows nothing of me, she thought frantically. And oh, heavens! Why did I tell him my name? I should have changed it. Oh, Lord! She held out her hand automatically, then, remembering, she pulled it back awkwardly. Servants did not shake hands. “I am the housekeeper here.”
“Indeed?” he said on a long note of surprise. She glanced up at him from under the frill. Heavy-lidded grey eyes regarded her shrewdly. “You surprise me, ma’am,” he said, and stunned Kate by reaching for her hand and bowing over it politely, carrying it lightly to his lips.
She flushed and pulled her hand away. “I…I will see if Mr Carstairs is available.” Oh, Lord, what did he mean by kissing her hand? Was he mocking her? Did it mean he knew of her? He certainly thought her no servant. Did he think her Jack’s mistress?
“Mr Carstairs is indeed available,” came a deep voice from the doorway. Jack stood there and, by the glint in his vivid blue eyes, Kate knew he had seen the Colonel kiss her hand. She turned to leave. Jack’s hand restrained her.
“Don’t leave us yet, Miss Farleigh,” he said, frowning at her cap. “I’d like you to meet my guests, all of whom have recently returned from battling Boney’s forces on the Peninsula.”
Oh, Lord, Kate thought—allof them? Not just the Colonel?
He turned her to face them. Kate was pale and rigid.
Jack spoke with cold formality. “This is Sir Toby Fenwick and Mr Andrew Lennox, both late of the 14th, the Duchess of York’s Own Light Dragoons, and I gather you’ve just met Colonel Francis Masterton who has, I collect, recently sold out of the 95th Rifles.”
The two younger gentlemen stared at him, surprised.
