Lady Silence Read Free Page B

hesitated . . . then, barking one of the worst of
his acquired foreign profanities, buried his head in his hands. How
could a man write if he couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted to
write about?
    A small thump. Damon opened his eyes to a
silver tray on which reposed a steaming cup of tea, fragrant with
spice, and a matching china plate with macaroons and two biscuits,
one that looked like ginger, the other vanilla or lemon frosted
with sugar. His mouth watered.
    But how . . . ? For nearly seven years his
life had depended on being alert, yet he had not heard anyone enter
the room.
    He looked up. Straight into the face of an
angel.
    She was young, she was beautiful. Blond and
green-eyed, with a figure that would have inspired whole regiments
to duel for her favors. Her gown, sprigged in blue, was modest for
a gentlewoman, decidedly out of place on a maid. No matter. She was
far more mouth-watering than the biscuits.
    The girl bobbed a curtsy, turned to
leave.
    “ No, wait!” Colonel Farr, catching the
frantic note in his first words, lowered his voice. Who are you?”
he asked.
     
    Merciful heavens! Yesterday, her view of the returning hero had been obscured
by misty eyes and a sudden attack of shyness that had kept her
lurking behind Jesse, the tallest footman. Still fixed in her mind
was the drunken boy who had stumbled down the stairs on his way to
war. Not this whipcord-thin, dark-haired, broad-shouldered,
lantern-jawed, imposing adult. With lines radiating from the corners of eyes as dark
as his hair, deep-cut slashes from nose to chin, cheekbones that
formed lines of their own, and a mouth that looked as if it never
smiled.
    Yesterday, she had been afraid to put herself
forward, afraid to join the homecoming celebration for fear that
when Colonel Damon Farr remembered how she came there—when he
recalled the careless largess that had resulted in her elevation so
far above the waif rescued from a cold winter night, he would have
her dismissed on the instant. In the light of a fine August day,
she had gathered her courage and had decided to brave the lion in
the privacy of his den. And all she was gaining was the knowledge
that her savior, whom she had worshipped through all these years,
was far harder and more implacable than she had ever dreamed.
    “ Who are you?” he repeated. Far more
ominously.
    If you think I’m going to tell you, you are
quite mistaken!
    The blasted girl stuck up her chin and stared
straight back at him. Blond . . . green eyes. A memory flickered to
life. A child with matted hair and a borrowed gown. Something odd
about her . . . ah, yes, he’d been told she didn’t talk. “Ring the
bell,” he ordered. Silently, she glided across the thick Persian
carpet and did as she was told. “Stay!” he added sharply, as the
girl continued on toward the door. She skidded to a halt, folded
her hands demurely in front of her. She stayed.
    “ Mapes,” the colonel demanded as the
butler entered the room, “tell me about her.”
    “ Ah . . .” The butler cleared his
throat. “You may recall, sir, the little miss we took in the night
before you left, the one that came to the kitchen door during a
snowstorm?”
    “ I recall a waif, Mapes, one not even
fit to be a tweeny.”
    “ You said we could keep her,
sir.”
    “ Yes . . . and I wasn’t myself at the
time, as I recollect.”
    “ A bit askew, as I recall, Mr. Farr,
colonel, sir, but you never was one to turn a child out into the
snow.”
    Damon drummed his fingers on the mahogany
desk top. “And what would you say we have now, Mapes?” He waved a
hand toward the girl who was standing regally straight, taking it
all in. “Who, pray tell, is this? Lady Silence?”
    “’ Tis Katy Snow, sir,” the butler
declared, happy to have a solid fact to grasp. “You see, Mrs. Tyner
said she looked like something the cat dragged in, so we decided to
call her Kate or Katy. And since she came to us in the snow . . .”
Mapes allowed his voice to