Free Feather Castles by Patricia Veryan

than you are.”
    She giggled, her head uptilted as he towered over her. “A trifle! Oh, my, but you’re a proper caution, sir! Will ye be wanting another cup and saucer for the lady?”
    He turned to Rachel. “May I beg that you spare me a few moments? I’ve something marvellous to tell you.”
    Turning a deaf ear to conscience, Rachel said, “We-ell…”
    And thus, very soon, the little maid having provided another napkin and plate as well as the cup and saucer, Rachel handed the soldier his tea and told him he looked “vastly better. Indeed, I had not thought to see you up and about so soon.”
    â€œWere it not for you and Sister Maria Evangeline, I doubt you’d have done so,” he said earnestly. “She provided me these clothes, bless her! I mean to repay her, of course, but how she ever found ’em, I cannot fathom.” His grin flashed, and he added with a twinkle, “I’m not exactly an easy fit.”
    Rachel chuckled. “I believe that! Now—what is this ‘marvellous’ news?”
    He set aside his cup and said in a voice that rang with excitement, “My name! Part of it, at least!”
    â€œOh!” Rachel clapped her hands in delight and came near to upsetting the tray balanced on the stone bench between them. The soldier laughed and righted it, and she cried an impatient, “Tell me—do!”
    â€œMy first name only, I’m afraid. It is—” He paused, with a boyish desire to increase her anticipation. “—Tristram.”
    â€œTristram!”
    How sweetly she spoke his name, and how genuinely overjoyed she seemed to share his small triumph. Watching her, he thought the blue gown with its tiny puff sleeves, swooping neckline and lace-edged flounce admirably became her, while the bonnet set off her bewitching face to perfection. She was as kind and warm-hearted as she was beautiful, and gently born, beyond doubting. There was so much more he longed to know of her. Why did she wait here alone save for her abigail? For whom did she wait? Where was her home? And what were her circumstances? Was she (terrible thought!) promised? But he knew he had not the right to ask any questions at all, and therefore waited silently.
    If he did not speak aloud, his eyes spoke for him and, thinking she had never seen such expressive eyes, Rachel’s breath began to flutter in her throat so that she said rather hurriedly, “Oh—do listen! Someone must be holding a musicale!”
    He listened obediently and with his gaze still fixed upon her face, asked, “Are you fond of music, ma’am?”
    â€œVery fond. Is it not beautiful? I do not know the piece, but it sounds like Haydn.”
    â€œHandel, I believe,” he corrected dreamily.
    So he knew music! He was as yet obviously unaware of that recollection and did not appear to have paid the usual costly price for it. Striving to sound casual, she probed, “You are right. I’m so forgetful about some things. Just today, for instance, I heard a quotation, and for the life of me, cannot translate it. ‘Integer vitae scelerisque purus.’ Do you know what it means?”
    Tristram was thinking that the curve of her lips should be captured on canvas. And, envying the artist who would be so fortunate as to attempt it, responded, “Loosely translated, it means—someone who leads an upright life and has no vices. A sterling character, I—” But he checked, flinching to a blinding stab of pain, the cup toppling from his hand.
    â€œOh, I am so sorry!” Rachel cried remorsefully. “I should not have—”
    â€œNo, no!” He kept his head downbent for a moment, then looked up again, a trifle breathless, but managing to smile into her frightened eyes. “It is really much less … violent than it was. And—of far shorter duration. Voilà! ” He gestured theatrically. “All gone!