Lady Silence (4 page)

“
Mama,” Damon pronounced with care, “it
would seem you have made a pet of a girl about whom nothing is
known. She could be”—he struggled for a word not too shocking,
settling on a weak, “
—anything
.”

His mother merely proffered a serenely
superior smile. “She is Katy Snow. She has lived here for well over
six years. We took a lost child, discovered her talents, and raised
her accordingly. Do not, I pray you, force us to look for a flaw in
our budding rose.”

“
Mama,” said the colonel a bit more
sharply, “her noble features likely come from the wrong side of the
blanket. The chit is some noble’s bastard escaped from wherever she
was farmed out for care.”

“
Bastards are not usually taught a
lady’s skills,” his mother replied with cool composure.

“
Then she is an adventuress, carefully
trained to ingratiate herself into a fine house. Something at which
she had been most successful, I might add!”

The countess considered the matter. “I grant
if she had been older when she came here—sixteen or more—we might
have wondered, but not our Katy. And would an adventuress have
waited so long to make off with the silver? Do not be absurd, my
dear. That is the trouble with wars, I fear. They take our young
men and turn their noble minds inside out and upside down.”

“
Mama!” To the colonel’s indignant
protest, his mother returned only the blandest look. He glowered.
“The final possibility is worst of all. If we have been giving
shelter to a runaway, we could be taken up for kidnapping. Whether
she is a merchant’s brat or daughter of a duke, she is under age,
and somewhere she has a father, brother, uncle, or guardian looking
for her.”

“
She could simply be an orphan. A lost
child in need of a home.”

“
A lost child with the skills of a
lady,” the colonel riposted drily. “I fear it is all a take-in,
mama. The child aped her betters, giving herself airs and graces as
false as her lost voice. No doubt if she once opened her mouth,
you’d hear Seven Dials or Shoreditch. Indeed,” said the colonel,
accustomed to quick decisions, “she’s bamboozled you long enough.
I’ll send her off today. You may, if you wish,” he added grandly,
“write her a character. I shall see she has a mite to live on until
she can find another position.”

Lady Moretaine, shocked into silence by her
son’s speech, finally found her voice. “This is Katy’s home,” she
cried. “You cannot throw her out!”

“
Oh, can I not?” said Colonel Damon
Farr. “I will not tolerate a guttersnipe masquerading as a
lady.”

The Countess of Moretaine sat up, clutching
the book between white-knuckled fingers. “Then we will leave, Katy
and I. It is time, after all, for the child to know more of the
world.” She nodded decisively. “Yes, indeed, we shall go to
Bath.”

“
You will do nothing of the kind,” the
colonel roared.

“
But, indeed, it is the very thing,”
declared the countess. “Bath will do nicely for us. Perhaps we
shall even find Katy a beau.”

Blast the chit!
Did his mama’s life revolve around that encroaching little
minx? Yet . . . somehow the reality of losing the angel who had
brought him tea and biscuits held little appeal, no matter how
sensible the plan might be. Damon suddenly found himself tempering
his blusterings. “Mama, I have just come home. Surely you will
remain for the rest of the summer. You cannot wish to leave the
country when Bath and London are so thin of company. Unless, of
course”—the colonel raised his dark brows—“you fancy joining the
Prince’s fast set in Brighton?”

“
Nonsense!” the countess gasped. “As if
I would ever—” She broke off. “Naughty boy, you are funning, of
course. “Very well, we shall stay a while, if you are certain you
would not dislike it.”

Though not best pleased by his mother’s
use of
we
, the colonel
assured her he would be delighted to have her company.

“
In that case,” said Lady Moretaine
with rather more care than her usual forthright manner, “perhaps I
should mention that Katy is accustomed to spending several hours
each morning in the bookroom. I am an indolent creature, you may
remember, rarely abroad before noon, so Katy’s mornings are free to
do as she likes. And, even above riding, her preference is
books.”

All signs of Colonel Farr’s brief slip
into affability disappeared on the instant. His dark brows narrowed
over his angular nose as he scowled at his mother. “I am sure I
regret discommoding your companion, mama, but the bookroom is mine.
I expect to spend the better part of my time there. I do not care
to share it with some . . .
foundling
.”

“
Damon . . . dearest boy, I understand
it is difficult, coming home after so many years of war. But,
truly, there are no enemies lurking here. Katy is a good girl,
bright and true. Indeed, when you have become more accustomed to
her ways, I believe you will find her a great help in the
bookroom.”

“
Never!”

“
But, my dear, she has spent half her
time here in the bookroom. Ask anyone. She has a remarkable thirst
for knowledge. I doubt she has mastered Greek, but I have seen her
reading Latin with my very own eyes. Gave me quite a start, I can
tell you.”

“
You’re mad.
I
beg your pardon!
”

“
As well you should,” said his
mother.

“
You are saying the girl
reads
?” Damon inquired
carefully.

“
Well, of course she reads. You are the
only one among us who believes her born in a hovel.”

“
And writes?”

“
A fine hand—better than my own. I have
her pen all my invitations.”

Hell and the devil, their
goose was cooked
. Better an adventuress than the girl
should have strayed from some noble house. The reasons a girl of
twelve might flee the comforts of a wealthy home were enough to
turn his stomach sour. In truth, if he had not gone to war, they
might never have occurred to him. No . . . more likely she was the
by-blow of a married noblewoman, who had left the girl to the
not-so-tender mercies of professional child raisers. Many a country
cottage was full of children their mothers dared not
claim.

An obscure country cottage where she was
taught to embroider, arrange flowers, ride a horse, and play the
pianoforte? Damon winced.

After taking punctilious leave of his mama,
Colonel Farr sought the shelter of his bookroom. Here, at least, he
could be comfortable, shutting away all thoughts of the female
irritant who was disrupting his dream of peace and quiet. He strode
through the door the footman opened—how easily one fell back into
the routine of luxury!—and settled at his desk with a long-drawn
sigh.

A slight rustle. The soldier, ever
ready, found the source immediately. A slender girl, blond and
enticing, perched atop the bookroom ladder. “
You
,” he groaned. Summoning his most clipped
parade-ground tone, he barked, “You, there, come down at
once!”

~ * ~

Damon did not avert his eyes as Katy Snow
descended the ladder, her derrière wiggling as seductively as any
man could wish. Why should he? His mother might be fooled, but the
girl was a homeless waif who should not have risen higher in the
household than parlor maid.

Yet now she stood before him proudly,
hands primly folded in front of a gown that was tucked and trimmed
as fine as any lady’s.
Lady
Silence
. He should never have called her that, even in
mockery, for the name stuck in his mind, rankling. The girl was
nothing but an adventuress, clever and conniving. She had feathered
her nest at Farr Park with the softest down, and now she stood
before him, head high, emerald eyes looking straight into his own,
as if they were equals. Memory stirred. As she had looked that long
ago day when he had left for the war.

Equal, hah!
The bold-faced baggage didn’t see him on his feet, did she?
She was standing, he was sitting. To the devil with treating her as
if she were well and truly a gentlewoman.

“
Pay close attention, girl.” Damon
enunciated each word with biting clarity. “I will be spending most
of my time in my bookroom. I want no distractions. You, therefore,
will not enter this room while I am in it. Is that
clear?”

The green eyes flared, her luscious
pink mouth thinned into a line. Obviously horrified, she gaped at
him as if she could not believe her ears. Slowly, she shook her
head.
No, no, no!

“
This is
my
room, Damon declared.”
My sanctuary. A cage for the lion still roaring
within
. “I require privacy for a book I plan to
write.” And why the devil had he told her that? Colonels did not
explain themselves.

To his astonishment, the arrogant jumped-up
brat melted away, leaving a lovely young creature suddenly intent
on making him understand what she wanted to say. She placed her
fingertips in front of her mouth, reminding him she was always
silent. She made mincing mice feet on the carpet, her slender
fingers curled in front of her. Fathomless green eyes pleaded.

Damon scowled at her ploy, even as he
interpreted her gestures. She was telling him she would move about
as quiet as a mouse. In short, she was begging not to be exiled
from his library.

When, fascinated by the uniqueness of the
exchange, he did not respond, she tried again, holding her palms in
front of her face, pantomiming the reading of a book. Again, the
great green eyes, peeping over her fingertips, pleaded for his
understanding.

“
I have no objection to your reading,”
he pronounced, “but you must select your books when I am not here
and you must read them elsewhere.”

The girl drew a deep breath, her whole body
taking on a pugnacious stance. Her right hand flayed the air,
sketching agitated lines.

He almost laughed out loud. The minx! And
when was the last time he had felt like laughing? He forced his
wavering features back into a frown. “From what Mapes and Mrs.
Tyner have told me, you don’t know one end of a feather duster from
the other, so kindly do not try to fool me into thinking you are
needed to keep my library clean.”

She was shockingly lovely, he thought as he
waited for whatever argument she would think of next. Wisps of pale
gold curls, escaped from the mass tied schoolgirl fashion at the
base of her neck, framed an oval face marked by a patrician nose
above a pink and inviting mouth. The emerald eyes were flawless,
intelligent and penetrating; her skin classic English perfection.
In short, a picture to warm a man’s dreams.

And his bed.

That was it, of course—the reason he was
banishing her from the library. He was being noble, eschewing
temptation. For his sake, as well as hers. Seducing the servants,
most particularly his mama’s companion, was scarcely the act of an
officer and a gentleman.

A blur of movement, and she was beside
his chair—on her knees, blond head bent, shoulders shaking. She
seized his hand. Damon froze. He
hated
tears. Had, in fact, abandoned all
emotion. Caring, loving, feeling anything at all, was far too
painful. His homecoming had, for a short time, broken his resolve,
but Lady Silence would not. Indeed not.

The colonel shoved back his chair and stood.
Grabbing the supplicant by her forearms, he settled her, none too
gently, in his place at the desk. He picked up the quill, shoved it
toward her hand. “I am told you can write,” he said, “so write down
your name and where you come from. And why no one has asked you
long since,” he added under his breath, “I cannot even
imagine.”

What!
By God,
the chit was crossing her arms over her enticingly ample breasts.
Once again, her lips had become a straight line. She was
refusing
to write? Refusing a direct
order? “I fear Lady Moretaine must have been mistaken,” he told
her. “I see you do not know how to write.”

The girl’s swan-like neck stretched taller.
With superb disdain she took the quill and wrote on the paper he
had thumped down before her: “You are a beast and a bully!”

Spoiled, by God!
The girl was in sad want of a few sharp lessons in conduct.
Which he wouldn’t mind administering.

Time enough to think of that later. “If I am
a beast and a bully,” he informed her with scarcely veiled triumph,
“then you understand why you must stay out of my bookroom.”

Her lips quivered. This time he feared the
tears might be real. Or were they simply temper? The little baggage
did not like to lose.

“
How old are you?” Damon
demanded.

That
she was
willing to answer, penning a clear, precise “18.”

And, suddenly, his belligerence drained away.
He was Damon Farr, country gentleman, heir to his brother, the Earl
of Moretaine. He was currently engaged in bullying a young woman
ten years his junior, who also happened to be a member of his
household staff. He might pay her wages and have the right to order
her about, but he did not have the right to stand over her,
glowering, demanding that she tell him her life story.