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

believe, Miss Farleigh. Off with you now, Carstairs. This lady is promised to me.” The whole room heard him, but without waiting for a reply Francis swung Kate into a country dance.

There was still no one else on the dance floor.

“Miss Farleigh, would you do me the honour of partnering me in the next dance?” A young man bowed over Kate’s nerveless fingers. He was dressed in immaculate evening attire, one empty sleeve pinned neatly back. Kate stared at him dumbly.

“You may not remember me, Miss Farleigh, but we met at Badajoz. Arnold Bentham at your service. Francis’s cousin.”

Kate glanced at his empty sleeve. The young man smiled. “No, Miss Farleigh, that arm I lost at Salamanca. You saved the other one at Badajoz, and I offer it now at your disposal. Shall we?” With his one remaining arm, Arnold Bentham swept Kate into the next dance.

Two other couples joined them on the dance floor—Francis and Andrew Lennox and their partners. There was no sign of Jack.

“Miss Farleigh, may I present my son as a desirable partner? He…he is a little out of practice, but I’m sure you will not mind that.” The well-modulated voice broke.

Kate turned, then stopped dead. Her prospective partner stood very still, smiling in her general direction, his hand resting on the arm of a middle-aged woman.

Kate’s face crumpled. It was too much. All this unexpected kindness. All this support. And now this.

It was Oliver Greenwood. Oliver Greenwood, whom she had first met as a terrified young lieutenant at Torres Vedras, with blood gushing all over his face. She had visited him several times since she had come to London, but he was the last person she’d expected to see at a ball. Oliver Greenwood was blind.

“Miss Farleigh, I would be most honoured if you would stand up with me,” said Oliver Greenwood, bowing in her direction.

Kate glanced at Mrs Greenwood. His mother’s face was working with emotion. She nodded at Kate, her eyes filled with tears.

Kate curtseyed. “The honour would be all mine,” she whispered through a mist of tears, and took her place. Immediately they were surrounded as others joined the set.

Francis, Tubby, Andrew Lennox and others, unknown to Kate, some whose faces were vaguely familiar to her, others who were clearly friends of Oliver Greenwood. And their partners, girls for the most part unknown to Kate, girls who smiled encouragingly at her and nodded their heads.

Somehow they got through the dance, Oliver being gently steered in the right direction by his fellow officers, and Kate too, for by this time she was completely blinded by her tears.

And by the time it finished she was not the only person with wet eyes.

“May I escort you to your guardian, Miss Farleigh?” said Oliver Greenwood.

“Not yet, young Greenwood,” a bluff voice boomed heartily from behind them. “I want to talk to this young lady.”

“Sir!” All the young officers snapped instantly to attention, Oliver Greenwood included.

Kate turned. Jack and a man in a plain, neat, dark blue coat were approaching her—a smallish, thin man, whose blue eyes twinkled at her from over one of the most famous noses in all Europe.

“My Lord!” she gasped, and sank into a curtsey.

“So it’s little Kate Farleigh who’s got my officers in knots, is it?” said the Marquis of Wellington. He smiled again at Kate, bowed and kissed her hand. A gasp ran round the room.

“Knew your father, m’dear. Very fine man he was. Sorry to hear about his death. Your brothers, too. Brave boys, brave boys. Know they would be proud of you.”

He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the room?” Without waiting for a reply, he moved off, lowering his voice so that only she could hear.

“Young Carstairs filled me in. Pack of worthless gabble-mongers. But we’ll fix them. Face ‘em down, what? Show ‘em for the cowards they are, eh?”

Wellington moved slowly towards the crowd which pressed forward, eager to speak with the great man. As he did so, he introduced Kate, mentioning to this person that he was a friend of her family, to that person that she was a gallant young heroine, to another that she was a brave little lady, one of England’s finest.

They were soon joined by a group of older ladies, one of whom linked arms with Kate, clearly declaring her support. Kate blinked at her. The woman was a complete stranger.

She bent towards Kate. “Lady Charlotte, my dear. I’m so terribly sorry this happened. If I’d known…but we were all in the card room, I’m afraid, and only just heard what was happening.” She indicated the rest of her party. Kate recognised Lady Courtney and several others, but this glittering matron was a complete stranger.

Seeing Kate’s continuing puzzlement, the lady added, “I’m Arnold Bentham’s mother—you know my nephew, Francis.” As Kate suddenly nodded in comprehension, the lady continued, “You saved my Arnold’s life, Miss Farleigh. For that, you have my undying friendship and support, and that of these other ladies too.”

Kate slowly circled the room; on one side of her, the Marquis of Wellington, on the other, a collection of society’s most formidable matrons. She was dazed by the turn in her fortunes, unable to comprehend quite what was happening. She nodded, curtseyed and smiled, oblivious of whom she was meeting, who was shaking her hand.

Jack was there, a pace or two behind her, hovering protectively. She could feel his presence, sense his strength. She wanted to touch him, but she couldn’t. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. Their eyes met, caressed, clung, but she was moved forward inexorably, and they were separated by the crowd, pressing closer, eager to meet the Great Man and his protégée.

Kate could hardly believe it. She had been snatched from her worst nightmare, and now was engaged in an almost triumphal procession on the arm of England’s greatest living hero. But it was Jack who’d saved her. He had risked social ostracism, had stood