Smugglers' Summer by Carola Dunn Read Free Book Online Page A

I ought to have left her below though, to wait for the carriage. The poor lass is worn to the bone, I fear me."
    “Miss Gray? Good God, so it is! You look fagged to death, ma’am, and in no fit state to walk farther. Jack, raise her up to me and I’ll carry her in.”
    Too tired to protest, Octavia allowed herself to be lifted into Sir Tristram Deanbridge’s arms and sank back against his shoulder.
     

Chapter 5
     
    When Octavia awoke, she had not the least idea where she was. She lay in a four-poster bed with golden silk draperies. The room was tiny, hung with faded tapestries and furnished only with a pair of chairs, besides the wide bed. There was a large window, where a shaft of rosy light from the setting sun slid between closed curtains.
    Suddenly ravenous, she hoped she had not slept through dinner.
    She sat up, feeling a little light-headed. Doubtless a meal would solve that. She could not remember when she had last eaten properly. Her dressing gown, a depressingly shapeless object of dun-coloured cloth, lay on one of the chairs, but she decided to stay where she was for the moment and see what would happen if she pulled the bell-rope by the bed.
    Lying back, she tried to remember her arrival at Cotehele. A smile curved her lips as she recalled the scene at the river and her saucy but successful rebuff of the Riding Officer. After that, everything was blurred. Had she dreamed that Julia’s suitor, Sir Tristram, was there? An unknown woman' s voice had said in worried tones that the ladies were yet abed, then she had been set down gently outside a door and Ada had helped her into a room. Yes, Ada, Julia’s abigail, and Julia had been in the room, sitting up in a vast bed.
    She had caught sight of herself in a mirror; that she remembered clearly. A horrid sight, dirty-faced and hollow-cheeked, her hair escaping from its braids in all directions, her cloak and gown grimy and torn. And she had been ashamed at her first meeting with Sir Tristram to have a small stain on her skirt! He must think Julia’s cousin was little better than a ragamuffin. He had been there, she was sure of it.
    Of undressing and changing into the lawn nightgown she now wore, she had no recollection.
    There was a tap on the door and Ada came in.
    “You’re awake at last, miss,” she said with satisfaction. "Plumb wore out you was, when Mrs Pengarth’s young man brought you in this morning. How do you feel now?”
    “Glad to see you, Ada. And very hungry. Am I too late for dinner?”
    “Her ladyship dines at seven in the country, miss, and ‘tis past eight now. Shall I ask Mrs Pengarth to send a tray up?”
    “Yes, please do. I believe I shan’t go down this evening. Convey my compliments and apologies to Lady Langston, if you please. Is Mrs Pengarth the housekeeper here?”
    “Yes, miss.”
    Octavia giggled at the thought of Captain Red Jack Day being referred to as “Mrs Pengarth’s young man.” She hoped the “Mrs” was a courtesy title.
    Ada looked puzzled at her mirth, so she said quickly, “I should like a bath, too, if possible.”
    “Of course, miss. I’ve done my best by your travelling dress, miss, but it won’t ever be the same again, I fear. I found these in the pocket of your cloak.” She handed over the clinking purse and the oilcloth-wrapped package. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll order your dinner and bath now, miss."
    “Thank you, Ada. Oh, if you could find me a pair of scissors?”
    “There’s some in Miss Julia’s room, miss, right next door. I’ll fetch them to you.”
    Provided with a neat little pair of gold-handled embroidery scissors, Octavia tackled Red Jack’s gift. The wrappings unfolded to reveal half a dozen pairs of silk stockings and several yards of French lace.
    “I’ll never wear cotton stockings again!” Octavia promised herself. “At least not in the evenings.”
    She inspected her purse: twenty-one guineas and a handful of silver and copper. There was a slip of paper on