Gallant Waif Anne Gracie (easy to read books for adults list txt) 📖

it was love too. Perhaps that was the difference. She forced herself to greet the two girls and then walked with shaky legs to the kitchen, where she sat on the nearest chair and tried to collect her thoughts.

She’d tried so very hard to evict Jack Carstairs from her heart, but it seemed he was embedded there irrevocably and for ever. Nothing seemed to work. She had spent weeks trying to harden her heart against him. And as soon as she felt it was under control he would look at her with those wickedly twinkling blue eyes, and all resolution would melt. Or he would say something in the deep voice that never failed to go straight into her bones. Or he’d carelessly touch her in passing—a light hand on the shoulder, the brush of a thigh against her skirts—the most harmless contact shot sensation through her.

And then there was that kiss just now…

In his joy at being able to ride once more, he was utterly irresistible. In moments like that she was willing to fling all caution, all propriety, everything to the wind and give herself to him for as long as he wanted her. And moments like that occurred all too often.

The only solution she could think of was the one he had suggested and that she had rejected so strongly—to physically remove herself from his presence—and that she could not bring herself to do. It would happen in a few months anyway, so she would stay close to him while she could…

By the time the girls entered the room, carrying fresh milk from the farm, Kate had herself under control again. She managed to get through the morning without seeing Jack again, except in the distance. For the rest of the day she found excuses to avoid his presence.

But that evening he was in too exuberant a frame of mind to dine alone, insisting on turning their evening meal into a celebration, pouring wine for them all, Millie and Florence included, and talking the most ridiculous nonsense that had them all in stitches. Kate was fascinated, never having seen this side of him before. Carlos, too, was in fine form, a wide grin lightening his dark face as he egged Jack on to further and further extremes of silly banter with the girls and Martha, causing riotous giggles to fill the room.

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 the ton. 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 not tonnish ones 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