Free Gallant Waif by Anne Gracíe Page B

her grandson’s injury. A noted rider to hounds until his injury, Jack had received as his only inheritance a house in one of the most famous hunting shires in the country. Now, when he was unable even to sit a horse.
    Jack stood up awkwardly. He still found it hard to face discussion of his wounds. “Can one enquire as to what brought you to my humble home?” he asked, changing the subject.
    “You may well ask that,” she said crossly.
    “Yes, I just did,” he murmured irrepressibly.
    “Don’t be cheeky, boy! I came to find out what was happening to you. Now, tell me, sir, what did you mean by denying your own sister hospitality?”
    “Grandmama, you can see for yourself that this place is not yet fit to receive guests… Besides, I was castaway at the time. I do regret it, but I’ve had enough of women weeping and sighing over my. . .my disfigurement,” he finished stiffly.
    “Disfigurement, my foot!” She snorted inelegantly. Her eyes wandered to the scar on his right cheek. “If you are referring to that little scratch on your face, well, you were always far too good-looking for your own good. You look a great deal more manly now, not so much of a pretty boy.”
    He bowed ironically. “I thank you, ma’am.”
    “Oh, tush!” she said. “I think I will get up now, so take yourself off and get one of those lazy servants of yours to bring me up some hot water.”
    “I regret it, ma’am, but I cannot.”
    “What do you mean, boy?”
    He shrugged indifferently. “I don’t employ any indoor servants.”
    Lady Cahill sat up in bed, deeply shocked. “What? No servants?” she gasped. “Impossible! You must have servants!”
    “I have no interest in the house. I’ve bivouacked in enough dam—dashed uncomfortable places in the last few years and now it’s enough for me to have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in. I have no intention of forking out a small fortune for a horde of indoor servants, merely to see to my comfort, even if I had a small fortune to fork out, which as you know I do not.”
    Lady Cahill was appalled. “No indoor servants?”
    He shrugged again. “None but my man, Carlos, and he sees to my horses as well.” He held up his hand, forestalling any further comment from her. “There are only those servants you brought with you yourself. I’m afraid you’ll have to get them to wait on you. Only I sent them to stay in the village at the inn—all except for your dresser and maid. They can see to your needs as best they can.”
    Lady Cahill snorted. “You won’t see Smithers demeaning herself by heating water.”
    He shrugged. “Get your other maid to do it. She seems capable enough.”
    “What other maid? What are you talking about, boy?”
    Jack sighed. “Grandmama, don’t you think it’s time you stopped calling me ‘boy’? I am past thirty, you know.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous, boy! And stop changing the subject. What other maid are you talking about?”
    “The little thin creature in the dreadful black clothes. I must say, Grandmama, that I am surprised that you haven’t noticed them. You’re usually so fastidious about your servants’ appearance. And how is it—” his voice deepened with indignation “—that you allowed the girl to almost starve herself to death? She swooned last night in the driveway and there was no one to assist her.”
    “Swooned?” said Lady Cahill, watching him narrowly.
    “Fell down in a dead faint. From hunger, unless I miss my guess. She’s nothing but skin and bones, with the most enormous eyes. Pale skin, curly brown hair, looks as if a breeze would blow right through her, a tongue on her like a wasp but, apparently, scared stiff of spiders.”
    Jack halted, suddenly aware that he had said far too much. He knew from past experience that his grandmother could add two and two and come up with five.
    “Frightened of spiders, is she? That surprises me. I wouldn’t have said that that young woman was afraid of much at all. I