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Gallant Waif. Anne Gracie
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Come and live with an aristocratic old lady? Who from all appearances moved in the upper echelons of the ton? Who would take her to balls, masquerades, the opera—it had long been a dream, a dream for the old Kate…
It was the new Kate’s nightmare.
For the offer to come now, when it was too late—it was a painful irony in a life she had already found too full of both pain and irony.
“I thank you for your kind offer, Lady Cahill, but I would not dream of so incommoding you.”
“Foolish child! What maggot has got into your head? It’s not an invitation you should throw back in my face without thought. Consider what such a proposal would involve. You will have a life appropriate to your birth and take your rightful position in society. I am not offering you a life of servitude and drudgery.”
“I realise that, ma’am,” said Kate in a low voice. Her rightful position in society was forfeited long ago, in Spain. “None the less, though I thank you for your concern, I cannot accept your very generous invitation.”
“Don’t you realise what I am offering you, you stupid girl?”
“Charity,” said Kate baldly.
“Ah, tush!” said the old lady, angrily waving her hand. “What is charity but a foolish word?”
“Whether we name it or not, ma’am, the act remains the same,” said the girl with quiet dignity. “I prefer to be beholden to no one. I will earn my own living, but I thank you for your offer.”
Lady Cahill shook her head in disgust. “Gels of good family earnin’ their own living, indeed! What rubbish! In my day, a gel did what her parents told her and not a peep out of her—and a demmed good whipping if there was!”
“But, Lady Cahill, you are not my parent. I don’t have to listen to you.”
“No, you don’t, do you?” Lady Cahill’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Ah, well then, help me to stand, child. My bones are stiff from being jolted along those shockin’ tracks that pass for roads in these parts.”
Kate, surprised but relieved at the old lady’s sudden capitulation, darted forward. She helped Lady Cahill to her feet and solicitously began to lead her to the door.
“Thank you, my dear.” Lady Cahill stepped outside. “Where does that lead?” she asked, pointing to a well-worn pathway.
“To the woods, ma’am, and also to the stream.”
“Very pleasant, very rural, no doubt, if you like that sort of thing,” said the born city-dweller.
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” said Kate. “I dearly love a walk through the woods, particularly in the early morning when the dew is still on the leaves and grass and the sun catches it.”
Lady Cahill stared. “Astonishing,” she murmured. “Well, that’s enough of that. It’s demmed cold out here, almost as cold as in that poky little cottage of yours. We’ll resume our discussion in my coach. At least there I can rest my feet on hot bricks.”
Kate dropped her arm in surprise. “But I thought…”
The blue eyes twinkled beadily. “You thought you’d made yourself clear?”
Kate nodded.
“And so you did, my dear. So you did. I heard every word you said. Now, don’t argue with me, girl. The discussion is finished when I say it is and not before. Follow me!”
Gesturing imperiously, she led the way to the coach and allowed the waiting footman to help her up the steps. Swathed in furs, she supervised as Kate was similarly tucked up with a luxurious fur travelling rug around her, her feet resting snugly on a hot brick. Kate sighed. It seemed ridiculous, sitting in a coach like this, to discuss a proposal she had no intention of accepting, but there was no denying it—the coach was much warmer than the cottage.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes, I thank you,” Kate responded politely. “Lady Cah—”
The old lady thumped on the roof of the coach with her cane. With a sudden lurch, the coach moved off.
“What on earth—?” Kate glanced wildly around as the cottage slipped past. For a moment it occurred to her to fling herself from the coach, but a second’s reflection convinced her it was moving too fast for that.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me? Who are you?”
The old woman laughed. “I am indeed Lady Cahill, child. You are in no danger, my dear.”
“But what are you doing?” demanded Kate in bewilderment and anger.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Lady Cahill beamed. “I’ve kidnapped you!”
Chapter Two
“But this is outrageous!” Kate gasped. “How dare you?”
The old lady shrugged. “Child, I can see you’re as stubborn as your dear mother and, to be perfectly frank, I haven’t the time to waste convincing you to come and stay with me instead of hiring yourself out as a maid or whatever nonsense you were about. I intend to reach my grandson’s house in Leicestershire tonight and, as it is, we won’t reach it until well after dark. Now, be a good girl, sit back, be quiet and let me sleep. Travelling is enough of a trial without having a foolish girl nattering at me.” She pulled the furs more closely around her and, as if there was nothing more to be said, closed her eyes.
“But my house…my things…Martha…” Kate began.
One heavy-lidded eye opened and regarded her balefully. “Martha knows my intentions towards you. She was most relieved to hear that you would, in future, make your home with me until such time as a suitable husband is found for you. A footman is locking up your house and will convey the keys to Martha.”
Kate opened her mouth to speak, but the blue eyes had closed implacably. She sat there, annoyed by the ease with which she had been tricked, and humiliated by the old lady’s discovery of her desperate straits. She sighed. It was no use fighting. She would have to go wherever she was taken, and then see what could be done. The old lady meant well; she did not know how ill-placed her kindness was.
…until such time as a suitable husband is found for you. No. No decent man would have her now. Not even the man who’d said he loved her to distraction wanted her now. She stared out at the scenery, seeing none of it, only Harry, turning away from her, unable to conceal the revulsion and contempt in his eyes.
Harry, whom she’d loved for as long as she could remember. She’d been nine years old when she first met him, a tall, arrogant sixteen-year-old, surprisingly tolerant of the little tomboy tagging devotedly along at his heels, fetching and carrying for him and his best friend, her brother Jeremy. And when Kate was seventeen he’d proposed to her in the orchard just before he’d left to go to the wars, and laid his firm warm lips on hers.
But a few months ago it had been a totally different Harry, staring at her with the cold hard eyes of a stranger. Like all the others, he’d turned his back.
Kate bit her lip and tried to prevent the familiar surge of bitter misery rising to her throat. Never, ever would she put herself in that position again. It was simply too painful to love a man, when his love could simply disappear overnight and be replaced with cold disdain…
The coach hit a deep rut and the passengers lurched and bounced and clung to their straps. Kate glanced at Lady Cahill, but the old lady remained silently huddled in her furs, her eyes closed, her face dead white beneath the cosmetics. Kate returned to her reflections.
So she would never marry. So what? Many women never married and they managed to lead perfectly happy and useful lives. Kate would be one of them. All she needed was the chance to do so, and she would make that chance; she was determined.