“Sí, Major Jack,” sighed Carlos dolefully.
He headed off towards a nearby cottage where the unfortunate farmer had seven daughters to feed, clothe and somehow marry off. There would be no trouble in persuading two of them to come and work for a gentleman like Major Jack.
Trudging across damp, muddy fields, Carlos gradually brightened. He might not be allowed to fraternise with the girls, but at least he would no longer have to demean himself scrubbing floors. And, if Miss Kate had a couple of girls to help her with the work, she would not be making Major Jack so angry all the time.
“What the devil do you mean, you wouldn’t wear them?”
“Mr Carstairs, you must realise that I cannot accept clothing from you.” Kate’s tone was mild but her chin was defiantly high.
“Why the devil not?”
“It isn’t proper,” said Kate composedly. “And besides, I have sufficient clothing for my needs here. Martha brought the trunk containing my things.”
“Balderdash!” he exploded. “You are the stubbornest female it has ever been my misfortune to meet! You know perfectly well that those rags you wear are fit only for burning!”
Kate bit her lip on the retort that had risen to her tongue. There was some truth in his statement. The trunk containing all the clothes she had worn in Spain, as well as all her father’s papers and things, had been lost when she had been captured by the French. The clothes she’d left in England were from a time when she was a young, carefree girl. Faced with total poverty, Kate had sold all clothes with any claim to fashion and style. Those that remained were old and worn and now dyed black for mourning.
“My clothes may not meet with your approval, sir, nevertheless, they are perfectly adequate for my position.”
“That they are not! You are my grandmother’s ward!”
“No, Mr Carstairs, I am housekeeper here!”
Jack ran his hand through his hair in frustration. The chit opposed him at every turn! “Do you think I wish it said that I pay you so poorly that you cannot afford to dress like a civilised human being?”
“As you have no visitors and virtually no contact with anyone, I cannot imagine that anyone will have anything to say about it, so it need not concern you,” Kate retorted. “Besides, you do not pay me at all.”
“Not for want of trying!”
“Mr Carstairs, I was put in this position by your grandmother, not you. It has nothing to do with you, and you must see that I could not accept money from you under any circumstances. Your grandmother and I have an agreement, and that is my last word on the subject.” Kate turned to walk out of the room, but Jack caught her arm and pulled her close. He glared down at her and spoke in a low and furious voice.
“All right, Miss Katherine Farleigh, then here ismylast word—if you won’t accept a wage and you refuse my offer of new clothes, then I’ll have no alternative but to dismiss you!”
Uncomfortably aware of his firm grip on her arm and the proximity of his warm body to hers, Kate had to force herself to look up at him. For a moment of two she stared into his glittering blue eyes, only a few inches from her own. She felt his hand tighten and her pulse quickened at the suddenly intent look in his eyes. His effect on her was most unsettling—she had to fight it. She pulled free of him, and brushed down her skirt, buying a few seconds in which to compose herself, aware that his unnerving gaze had not altered.
“You cannot dismiss me. You haven’t the power.”
“The devil I haven’t!”
He took a few steps towards her. Kate retreated rapidly to the door. “My agreement is with Lady Cahill, not you, and onlyshecan dismiss me.” She poked her tongue out at him, then slipped out the door and down the stairs as fast as she could.
It was a kind offer, Kate thought, but he knew as well as she did that it would be most improper for him to buy her clothing. A man only did that for his wife…or his mistress. Kate bit her lip. It was probably the grossest hypocrisy for the ex-mistress of a French officer to be quibbling about such a thing. But it was precisely because she was so vulnerable to accusation that she had to maintain the highest level of propriety.
Propriety was a frail web of protection at best, but without it she would be crushed. Propriety was what kept her feeling like the Reverend Mr Farleigh’s daughter instead of a fallen woman. Without it, she would never be able to go about her daily work with a light heart, feeling free to tease and provoke Jack Carstairs if she felt like it, defying him when his bossiness became too provoking and arguing with him if she disagreed with his pronouncements.
She was thinking a little too much about Jack Carstairs these days, she realised. He was the first thing she thought of when she awoke…and the last, before she went to sleep. Even their frequent quarrels she found exhilarating. And, even when he was infuriating her with his interference, deep down she could not help feeling touched by his concern for her…warmed by it. And feeling warm feelings towards him in return…such feelings were dangerous.
Nothing could come of them. She would only hurt herself if she allowed herself to weaken. If—no,whenhe learned about her background, Jack Carstairs would be no different from any other man.
Jack glared at the closed door and clenched his fist at it, swearing softly. The chit had defied him yet again, blast it! But she wouldn’t get the better of him this time. She might think she had won the battle, but Major Jack Carstairs knew it was just a preliminary skirmish. And he had served under the Beau, the Marquis of Wellington, the ultimate master at turning retreat into victory.
A slow smile appeared on his lean face and he limped towards the writing desk, sat down and began to pen a letter to his grandmother.
CHAPTER SIX
“Señorita Kate,” called Carlos from the hallway. “Something here for you.”
Kate stepped back from her task, and glanced around her with some satisfaction. With the aid of Millie and Florence, the girls from the farm, she had wrought a remarkable improvement in the room. The old, mismatched furniture looked infinitely better, gleaming softly from vigorous applications of beeswax. The dusty curtains had been taken down and laundered and brilliant late autumn sunshine streamed through the newly washed windows. The oak floor was freshly polished, and the old Persian carpet had been taken out and ruthlessly beaten until the rich colours glowed.
