Gallant Waif by Anne Gracie (the alpha prince and his bride full story free .txt) 📗

“And to Miss Farleigh,” said Jack quietly, raising his glass. With one accord the others rose to their feet and drank the toast.

“To Miss Farleigh.”

“Arnold’s angel.”

Chapter Twelve

Kate yawned as she set the table in the breakfast parlour next morning. She had slept poorly, worrying about what to do. The very idea of leaving Sevenoakes, and Jack, pained her deeply, but she knew she ought to do it. The arrival of his friends had shown her what thin ice she was skating on. All Jack’s friends were soldiers; there would be more visitors, more soldiers. They’d come for the hunting as well as Jack’s company. And with more visitors there would be more chance of discovery, more chance of denouncement. It was just a matter of time.

But if she wasn’t here there would be no reason for any of Jack’s visitors to speak of a well-born English girl who’d lived in sin with a French officer. She wanted to stay near him for the rest of her life, but if the price of that was to have him look at her in disgust, then the price was too high. Better by far to leave him in ignorance, thinking well of her.

She stood back, regarding the table setting. As she did so, her hand went to her head, and she flipped at the irritating frill. She probably didn’t need to wear her disguise any more, but better safe than sorry. Jack’s introduction of her as a guest had given her another reason to wear it. The cap was the sort of thing a spinsterish housekeeper might wear and it, better than anything, would make her position clear.

Finally she heard male voices and footsteps and swiftly began the last-minute preparations needed to serve hot breakfasts. She had thick home-cured ham and fresh-laid eggs sizzling softly in a pan, slices of bread toasting gently, a jug of ale poured and the tantalising aroma of coffee filling the air when Jack entered the kitchen.

“What the devil are you doing in that thing again?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, and if you wish to converse with me then I warn you that breakfast will be ruined. I am doing four things at once as it is, and if you expect me to bandy words with you at the same time, then you will be disappointed.” Kate was pleased—she was doing a very good imitation of her previous behaviour; he would not suspect anything was wrong.

“Please wait in the breakfast parlour and I’ll bring everything in to you and your friends directly.” She glanced up at him. “I take it they are all downstairs?”

“What the devil are you doing in that abomination?”

Kate stamped her foot. “I know nothing of abominations; I haven’t got time for them. What I want to know is how many to serve breakfast to. Are all your friends arisen?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “Why are you doing all this yourself? Where are those girls and that good-for-nothing man of mine? Carlos!” he bellowed.

“Kindly do not deafen me with your shouting.” She whisked a slice of toast off the grill just in time to stop it burning. “Carlos and the girls have gone to the village to purchase additional supplies needed for your friends’ visit.”

“Need they all have gone? Surely one would have been enough.”

“Mr Carstairs!” Kate whirled around and glared at him, her resolutions forgotten. “If you must come in here and pick quarrels with me at this hour, it is your prerogative to do so—but do not expect to have an edible breakfast at the same time!”

The coffee smelt delicious. The ham and eggs superb. Some toast was beginning to smoke. It was a tactical retreat, Jack told himself.

The decision had nothing to do with his rumbling stomach. Besides, he had a responsibility to his guests. He would deal with her later.

Breakfast arrived with no further disturbance. Jack’s friends instantly hailed Kate as Arnold’s angel. Relief swamped her anew. They saw her as a heroine, not a traitor and a whore. A heroine! She couldn’t help but laugh. They insisted that Kate join them for breakfast and set themselves to entertain her further.

After a time Kate became very aware of Jack glowering at her cap. She had noticed his friends blink at it each time she brushed the frill from her eyes, but they were all far too well-mannered to comment. Jack, she felt with a sinking heart, was not similarly inclined. She put her chin up stubbornly and continued to ignore his black looks.

Francis’s eyes began to glimmer with humour. He’d noticed Jack’s foul mood the instant he had returned from the kitchen. He now perceived there was a silent battle of wills taking place across the table. She was not at all the angel his cousin had named her, but a vibrant little minx who gave as good as she got. She was perfect for Jack.

At the conclusion of the meal, Kate rose and gathered up the dishes while the others made plans for the day. Jack murmured his excuses and followed her.

Francis observed Jack’s hasty exit. Unless he missed his guess, there was about to be another confrontation between Miss Farleigh and his friend. He had no qualms about following them—it was certain to prove entertaining. Hearing the voices raised in conflict, he slid unobtrusively into the kitchen.

“And now, Miss Farleigh, I will have my answer at last. What the devil is that atrocity on your head?”

“What atrocity?”

“That white thing.” Jack gestured disdainfully. “It is a cap.”

“I know what it is! What the devil do you mean by wearing it?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Not to me. That sort of thing is usually worn by dowdy old maids well past their prayers, and then only if they have something to hide. You are still a girl and your hair is too pretty to hide.”

The compliment took Kate by surprise, but she rallied. “It is kind of you to say so, but I am not a young