Lady
Moretaine’s brow wrinkled in thought. “But why?” she inquired at
last. “And surely she could not have maintained such a masquerade
for so long?”
“ What sets us apart from our servants,
mama?” Damon asked. “From the common soldiers on the march, the
women trailing in the dust of the baggage train? ’Tis easy enough
to take mutton and dress it as lamb, but the way we talk is bred in
us. The upper class speaks in accents all its own, carefully
polished by parents and tutors until it is perfection. For everyone
else the way we talk depends on where we live. From broad Yorkshire
to the almost unintelligible mutterings heard in the London
gutters. Clearly, your Lady Silence is hiding her
origins.”
“ You know, my dear,” said the countess
mildly, “you have come home with a remarkably nasty
mind.”
“ Yes, mama, I know.”
“ Damon?” Lady Moretaine paused,
uncharacteristically uncertain. “Perhaps I should not have
suggested Katy assist you in the library. But she loves books, and
I thought she might be useful. Yet now I realize that I, too, have
been guilty of placing Katy in an anomalous position. Neither fish
nor fowl nor rare roast beef. If I truly knew her to be a young
woman of good family, I would not have thought of offering her to
you—” The countess broke off, crying, “Merciful heavens, Damon,
what have I said?”
“ The truth,” he replied, reaching out
to lay his hand over hers. “Only the truth.”
“ Shall I ask the vicar if he knows a
young man who might serve as your secretary?” Lady Moretaine asked
in a small voice.
Damon was surprised by the depth of his
revulsion. Was he actually looking forward to dueling with the
devilish little minx? And watching her roaming about the bookroom,
wiggling her—
Brightening his day.
“ No, mama, thank you, but that will not
be necessary. We will see how the girl goes on. Though, I beg of
you, do not tell all and sundry that I have acquired a female for a
secretary.”
With her head low over her chestnut mare’s
neck, Katy galloped across the meadow as if escaping the hounds of
Hell. Away from Farr Park. Away from Colonel Damon Farr. Away from
emotions so tumultuous they terrified her. Men were to be ignored.
Shunned. Evaded when necessary. Fought, if nothing else would do.
Escaped, when all else failed.
But now it was she who was being
ignored. She’d swear the colonel hadn’t raised his eyes to her
during so much as one of his curt commands, yet many a time this
past week she’d felt his gaze burning into her back. Devil!
Yesterday, her hands had shaken so
badly, she’d slopped tea into his saucer. Appalled, she’d dashed to
the kitchen, where everyone had gathered round, urging her to tell
them what was wrong. Had the colonel misbehaved? Lady Moretaine
must be told immediately. Katy, thoroughly mortified, had just kept
shaking her head. No, no, no, no! She was fine. An accident, nothing more.
And then the miserable man, when accepting
his second cup of tea, had actually looked at her . . . and smiled.
“Not so solemn, child,” he’d told her. “The world won’t end over a
few drops of tea in a saucer.”
More like a sea of tea. But at sight of that
smile, as rare as hen’s teeth, her treacherous heart had done a jig
in her chest, leaving her breathless. During all the years since he
had so casually offered her shelter, she had loved him blindly. But
when he returned cold and unfeeling, she’d felt betrayed. Her
girlish fantasies shattered. And yet she could not turn away. If he
had so much as an inkling of the havoc he was wreaking on her
feelings, how easily he could—
As she approached a line of trees, Katy
slowed her mare Mehitabel to a walk, remembering as she entered a
winding ride through sun-dappled woods the year her figure had
suddenly blossomed into womanhood. When even the well-trained Farr
Park footmen followed her with their eyes as she crossed a room.
The men working in the fields or in
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley