Gallant Waif by Anne Gracie (best ereader manga .TXT) 📕

But he was unwittingly playing with fire. If indeed any of them recognised her later, they would be furious if they thought they had been tricked into apologising to a disgraced woman. And they would blame Jack. They would not know of his ignorance—she must and would repudiate his introduction and clarify her position.

“There is no need to apologise, sir,” she said firmly, “for

Mr Carstairs exaggerates. I am, in fact, the housekeeper, placed here by Lady Cahill, whose ward I am not. She was godmother to my late mother, and that is the full extent of the connection.”

“Dammit, woman, don’t contradict me. You are my guest!” Jack roared, furious to hear her demean herself like that.

Mr Lennox and Sir Toby recoiled at his tone. They were well acquainted with his temper. Colonel Masterton raised an eyebrow yet again.

“I say, steady on, old chap,” began Mr Lennox, laying a tentative hand on Jack’s arm.

Jack ignored him. He shook Kate’s arm and glared at her cap. “You are not a servant here, dammit! You are my guest!”

His friends cast wary looks at Kate, as if expecting her to burst into tears at any moment. But Kate was made of stronger stuff. She shook herself free of his hold with an infuriated squeak, and smoothed down her skirt.

“You just bellowed and swore at me, Mr Carstairs,” she said dulcetly. “No gentleman would bellow or swear at a guest—particularly in front of other guests. Such behaviour is invariably reserved for mere servants, who are in no position to answer back.” She sailed victoriously out of the room, leaving a stunned and breathless audience behind her.

“In no position to answer back!” snorted Jack. “The little vixen always has the last word.” He turned to face his friends.

Colonel Masterton was convulsed with silent mirth. Mr Lennox was gazing at the closed door, his eyes filled with admiration, and Sir Toby Fenwick stood, his mouth hanging open in stupefaction. He turned to Lennox. “See what I saw, Lennox, old chap?”

Lennox grinned. “I saw a female, no bigger than your thumb, give Mad Jack Carstairs the neatest set-down he’s had in years.”

Sir Toby nodded vigorously. “That’s what I saw too. Never thought I’d see the day. What an amazin’ girl! And the chit’s the housekeeper, you say?”

“No, you fool, I told you—oh, to hell with it!” snapped Jack, annoyed. “What the devil are you doing here in the first place, Tubby?”

Sir Toby looked self-conscious. “Oh, well. . .heard a rumour… you’d stuck your spoon in the wall, or close to.”

“So you decided to come up and see whether I was dead or not.”

The others looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“I’m glad you did,” said Jack, surprising himself as he realised that, for the first time in months, the prospect of visitors did not fill him with repugnance. “Of course,” he added, “I must warn you, the standard of hospitality here isn’t what you’ve previously enjoyed in my company. Conditions here at Sevenoakes are quite spartan.”

He smiled wryly and looked them up and down. “In fact, I’m not certain that three such prodigiously elegant sprigs of fashion will be able to bear the lack of amenities at this establishment.”

This brought about a spate of heated denial and much good-natured chaffing.

“Hang it all, man, we’ve bivouacked with the best of them, in beastly little holes all over the Peninsula, and if you’re saying I can’t take it any more, then you can dashed well eat your words!” asserted Sir Toby. He peered boskily around the room, taking in the glowing furniture, the roaring fire, the soft, faded colours.

“And besides, this ain’t such a bad place as we were led to believe. In fact, dammit, it looks positively cosy. Much more comfortable than that damned cold barracks of a place my ancestors saw fit to build in the dim dark past.” He sank into a chair with a sigh of satisfaction and took a deep draft of his glass.

Kate retired to the kitchen, shaking. She had not intended to draw attention to herself like that. Deny her status as his grandmother’s ward—yes. But be drawn into what could only be called a spat with Jack! And in front of his friends! Oh, her wretched, wretched temper! Servants were, by and large, invisible to gentlemen like Jack’s friends. That and her cap were her only defences against discovery. But now she’d let her temper ruin everything. No true servant would answer her master back so impudently. Far from being invisible, she’d made herself a source of interest to them. Oh, what a careless fool she was!

All her earlier decisions about seeking employment with folk not of the gentry came back to her in a mocking I-told-you-so. She would never have behaved in such a way had she taken a position with people who were not of her milieu. She would never have let down her guard enough.

She had let herself become complacent, comfortable, secure.

She’d stopped fearing discovery with every stranger—because she met no strangers. The effects of Jack’s self-imposed isolation and the unusually severe winter had ensured that. They had existed, in the months she’d been here, as if in a cocoon, or on an island. And in that cocoon Kate had felt safe.

But now Jack had regained his strength, the spring thaw was coming and the protective isolation had been ripped away. The man whom she could hear now, laughing with his friends, bore little resemblance to the embittered recluse she’d encountered when she’d first arrived at Sevenoakes. The world could come to Jack Carstairs now and he would welcome it. She, however, was exposed to strangers’ eyes and dependent on the vagaries of their memories…

There was no use worrying—she should concentrate on preparing dinner out of what she had available. She sent Carlos to kill two more chickens, and prepared a pie from the remains of yesterday’s roast beef. It would be a plain but substantial meal. And Carlos would serve it.

After dinner the gentlemen