Read Online Feather Castles by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online Page B

her.”
    â€œI am yours to command,” he grinned, sweeping her a graceful bow. “So soon as may be, I shall return to your side until my ‘splendid’ brother come.”
    Was she mistaken, thought Rachel, or had she for the first time glimpsed a bitter irony in his eyes? Before she had a chance to decide, he bowed and left her.
    *   *   *
    The messenger from Dinan brought word that Guy was to go at once to Sanguinet Towers, Claude’s great house in Kent, and attend to some pressing problem there. Guy declined to explain the precise nature of the difficulty, but that he was vexed was very obvious. He grumbled in his uncertain English, “This is honteux! That is to say—”
    â€œDisgraceful,” Rachel supplied.
    â€œ Oui. Dis-grass-fool that I must you abandon. Here. Alone!”
    â€œAlone?” she laughed. “I have Sister Maria Evangeline and my dear Agatha. Between them, I shall be very well chaperoned, à coup sur! ”
    And so, ever gallant, Guy carried Charity off, promising to bear her safely to Strand Hall before himself proceeding to Kent. Rachel waved farewell from the front steps, then returned to her room having every intention to remain inside and work at her tatting. The sunny morning proved irresistible, however. Agatha, who was still recovering from the effects of their Channel crossing, had fallen into a doze in her chair. Rachel did not disturb her. She donned her prettiest bonnet, the poke a foam of lace dyed to the exact pale blue of her muslin gown, and, having draped a white lace shawl across her shoulders, took up her sunshade and went downstairs.
    As she passed the desk, the clerk glanced up, smiled, and nodded politely. She thought, however, to detect a mild surprise in his eyes. He likely thought her fast to walk out with neither footman nor abigail. What would Sister Maria Evangeline think? She hesitated, frowned, but finally capitulated and, sighing, turned her steps instead to the rear of the inn, and the pleasant, sequestered gardens.
    The sunshine was warm now, and she put up her parasol and started along the walk. Rounding a bend shielded by tall hollyhocks, she came upon a slender gentleman of middle age, intent upon planting a salute on the cheek of a plump lady who giggled coyly as she made a show of warding off his advances. They both were startled by Rachel’s sudden advent and became blushfully intent upon a clump of hydrangeas they vociferously admired as rhododendrons. Her eyes sparkling with amusement, Rachel strolled on and, following this capriciously curving path, next encountered a tall gentleman who sat with hands loosely clasped between his knees, apparently absorbed by the progress of a stream of ants across the path.
    Rachel halted, her heart for some odd reason commencing to pound erratically. The soldier was clad in a passably fitting brown jacket, rather snug beige breeches and glossy topboots. He had discarded the bandages, and his dark hair was so arranged as to fall across his brow, hiding the head wound. He glanced up. A brilliant smile banished the glumness from his eyes even as it snatched Rachel’s breath away. He sprang to his feet, exclaiming, “Miss Rachel! I heard you had left Dover! Oh, but this is famous! May I walk with you? Or—should you prefer to sit here, perhaps?”
    Flattered, but strangely offstride, she gave him her hand. Instead of shaking it, he stared down at it for a second, then raised it to his lips. It was not an unfamiliar gesture, yet she began to tremble.
    He lifted his head, looking at her gravely; saying nothing, yet saying so much.
    â€œWhere do you want me to put the tray, sir?”
    Startled, he glanced to the parlourmaid, then took the heavy tray from her hands.
    â€œOh, sir!” she exclaimed shyly. “I can do that!”
    â€œAnd very well, I’ve no doubt,” he smiled. “But you must admit that I’m just a trifle larger