Free Reckless Angel by Jane Feather Page A

nothing in the world to fear. “I promise,” she said.
    â€œThat’s my elf.” He brushed her forehead with his lips—the lightest touch, yet it seemed to sear her skin like the flame of a candle. “Wash the dust of the road from your face and hands and come for your supper.”
    The door closed on his departure and Henrietta remained standing at the window. He had spoken to her in the manner of guardian to ward, but he had touched her in another manner altogether, and his eyes said something quite unfathomable. It was a great puzzle, almost as great as the curious stirrings, the restless confusion that assailed her when she tried to work out the puzzle.
    A knock at the door heralded the arrival of a red-cheeked wench with a copper jug of water and cheerful chatter that sent mysteries and fancies scuttling. It was a washed, brushed, and composed Mistress Ashby who presented herself in the parlor, where awaited a dish of salmon with fresh boiled peas in butter, a salad of artichoke hearts, and a plate of cheese tartlets.
    â€œAh, there y’are,” Will said thankfully. “We have been waiting this age for ye. We’re all like to starve.”
    Daniel gestured to a stool at the oak table. “Take your place, child. Will does not exaggerate.” He poured burgundy into a pewter cup for her before sitting at the head of the table.
    â€œWhere’s Tom?” She sipped the wine gratefully, then helped herself to salmon.
    â€œHe said he would feel easier in the taproom,” Daniel told her. “Private parlors are for gentle folk.”
    â€œIf Harry is to become a servant to earn her bread, she’ll have need to accustom herself to the taproom. Why d’ye not ask mine host if he has need of a serving wench, Harry?” Will chuckled as if he had made some witticism.
    Henrietta flushed angrily. Will was behaving as if her situation was in some sort a jest. “Y’are no gentleman, Will Osbert,” she accused. “To promise marriage and then renege is the act of a scoundrel!”
    â€œI never made such a promise!” A scarlet tide mounted to the roots of his bright red hair. “’Tis you who decided these matters and—”
    â€œPeace!” Daniel thundered. “I am not prepared to have my supper curdle in my belly with the acid wranglings of a pair of hot-tempered children. I have endured enough of it these last weeks.”
    â€œI beg your pardon, Sir Daniel,” Will said, stiff with wounded pride. “I will be leaving you in the morning. I realize I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough, but I will apply to my father for the funds to repay you.”
    Henrietta giggled with lamentable lack of tact. “You do sound ridiculous, Will. All starchy and stiff-necked like a turkey cock.”
    Will began to gobble like the bird in question and Daniel fixed Henrietta with a stern eye, inquiring gently, “Do you prefer to eat your supper in your chamber?”
    Henrietta shook her head vigorously, although her eyes were still dancing. She returned her attention to her platter, but after a few minutes her gaze skimmedacross the table toward Will. He looked up and his lip quivered responsively.
    â€œY’are not in the least like a turkey cock,” Henrietta said. “But y’are not really leaving in the morning, are you?”
    Will shuffled uncomfortably on his stool. “I must go home, Harry. My family will not know whether I lived through the battle. You know how my mother is. She will be beside herself.”
    â€œAye.” The laughter had left her now. “’Tis not right that she should be allowed to worry. Could ye not send a message, though?”
    There was an awkward silence. Daniel continued with his supper, withdrawing from a conversation that he suspected was about to make explicit a fact that Henrietta and her reluctant swain had tried to avoid.
    â€œBut there’s nothing