Page 21 of Gallant Waif
“Oh, don’t look like that, Jack. It was the only possible thing. You said yourself the girl was on the verge of starvation. She was in dire straits. She is an orphan with no blood kin to turn to and has not a penny left in the world, unless I miss my guess.”
Jack frowned, stretching his bad leg reflectively. “I still don’t understand.”
“The girl has far more than her share of stubborn foolish pride. Just like her dratted father in that respect. Maria’s family wanted to make a huge settlement on her when she married him, Maria being their only child, but he would have none of it. Didn’t want it to be thought he was marrying her for her money. And look what has come of it! His own daughter dressed in rags and almost starving! Faugh! I have no patience with the man!”
“But Kate…er…Miss Farleigh, Grandmama,” he prompted.
“Said she wasn’t interested in taking charity from me or anyone else. Well, I had no time to stand around bandying words with her in her poky little hovel. So I kidnapped her.”
“Youwhat?” Jack stared at his grandmother in amazement. Truly, she was an outrageous old lady. His lips twitched and suddenly he couldn’t help himself; the chuckles welled up from somewhere deep inside him. He collapsed on the bed and laughed till his sides hurt.
His grandmother watched him, deeply pleased. It was the first glimpse she’d had of the beloved grandson who had gone off to the wars. A scarred, silent, cynical stranger had returned in his place, and until she saw him laughing now, with such abandon, she had not realised how frightened she’d been that the old Jack had truly perished for ever in the wars.
Something had shattered the deep reserve he’d adopted since he came home from the Peninsula War, crippled, disinherited, then jilted. He’d remained unnaturally calm, seeming not to care, not to react. Except that he’d withdrawn into himself and become a recluse.
Now, in the space of an hour or so, Lady Cahill had seen her grandson boiling with fury, then laughing uninhibitedly. And a slip of a girl seemed to have caused it all. Lady Cahill thanked heaven for the impulse that had caused her to call on Kate on the way to Leicestershire. The girl could not be allowed to disappear now.
The old lady pushed at Jack’s shoulders, which were still heaving with mirth. “Oh, get out of here, boy. I’ve had enough of you and your foolishness this morning.” She spoke gruffly to cover her emotion.
“It’s time I got dressed or Smithers will be having hysterics. It’s clear to me that this place of yours needs a woman to set things in order, so I suppose I must shift myself and set to work. See if you can get me some hot water, there’s a good boy. Now move, Jack, or I will get out of bed in my nightgown right now and that would most certainly cause Smithers to fall in a fit and foam at the mouth!”
Jack grinned at her. “You are, without doubt, the most scandalous old lady of my acquaintance. I’m surprised that poor woman hasn’t died of shock long since.” He rose from the bed and, still chuckling, limped from the room.
Jack headed downstairs, the laughter dying from his face. Now to find Miss Kate Farleigh without delay and put her straight on one or two things. A kitchen maid? Hah! Only interested in scrubbing the floor? Hah! To think he’d been worried about her! No doubt the little wretch was sitting somewhere with her feet up, laughing up her shabby sleeve at the fine trick she had played on him.
Entering the kitchen, he came to a dead halt. Kate was down on hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing the large flagstones of the kitchen floor, exactly as she’d said she would.
“What thedevildo you think you’re doing?” he roared.
Kate jumped, then turned, laid down the hard-bristled scrubbing brush and sat back on her heels. She noted the black frown, the clenched fists and the outrage. Her eyes twinkled. So, he had finally discovered who she was. And was feeling rather grumpy about it. She pressed her lips firmly together to stop them quivering with laughter.
Jack’s violent reaction to the sight of her scrubbing his floor confused him. He battled with anger and an equally strong desire to lift her up and whisk her upstairs. She looked so small and delicate. She had no business attempting such a dirty and demeaning task. “I said, what do you think you’re doing?”
She glanced at the floor, still swimming with dirty water, then at the discarded scrubbing brush. “It’s called scrubbing the floor,” she explained helpfully, unable to resist teasing him a little. “I would have thought a man of your age—”
“Don’t play games with me, girl!” he growled. “What the devil is my grandmother’s guest doing scrubbing my floors and cooking my breakfast?” He glared at her. “I won’t have it, do you hear me? I won’t have it!”
Kate, kneeling in a pool of scummy water, endeavoured to look soulful. “But you did, don’t you remember? Three eggs, six rashers of bacon, and almost a whole pot of coffee.”
“Dammit, I’m not talking about that—”
“But you were. You accused me of cooking your breakfast and then said you wouldn’t have it,” she interrupted gently. “ I’m sorry if you didn’t like my food.”
She attempted to make her lower lip quiver sorrowfully, but abandoned the effort and rattled on, well aware that she was fanning his temper to flames and oddly excited by the prospect. “If you prefer, I won’t cook your breakfast again. Indeed, I hadn’t intended to do so, for it was my own breakfast I was cooking and you stol—commandeered it.”
With a grubby hand she pushed a straggling curl off her face, leaving a smear of dirt in its place. Unaware, she continued, “I gather you didn’t like it after all. But I dare say you are one of those people to whom the mere thought of breakfast is anathema. Perhaps the consumption of food at such an early hour made you feel…unwell? Certainly, if you’d been drinking the night before…I do seem to recall…” She lowered her eyelashes discreetly.
“I…that’s not…I wasn’t…The breakfast was very goo—” Jack glared at her again. The interview was not going at all as he had planned it. The cheeky little urchin. She was tying him into knots with a flow of polite-seeming nonsense, for all the world as if she were sitting in his grandmother’s drawing-room, instead of at his feet in a puddle of water with dirt on her face.
“Why areyouscrubbing this floor?” He bit out each word.
“I thought it was the best way to clean it. Perhaps there’s a more modern method you would prefer?” She looked up at him as if for enlightenment, her gaze wide-eyed and artless.
“No, there isn’t!” he snapped, infuriated.
“Well, in that case…” Kate hid a grin and picked up the scrubbing brush.
“Put down that blasted thing!” he roared.
