Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (3 page)

Pax had so looked forward to his return to Windhaven. After Waterloo, he had plunged into all the social pleasures of London, trying to erase the scenes of war that still ravaged his sleep. It had been a month of mindless, hedonistic pleasure seeking. He drank and gambled with his friends, spending long evenings at his club in one of Sweet’s private parlors. He visited, discreetly of course, a house of accommodation and had been surfeited with eroticism by a lavishly endowed redhead of quite astounding talents. He did the pretty for the benefit of starry-eyed debutantes and their hungry-eyed mothers. And he had met Cecily.

Pax remembered distinctly the first time that he had seen her. He had been home from the war only a week and thirsted for the purity shining like a cloud around the figure in silver-blue tissue as she floated into Almack's on silver slippers. His nostrils, still scorched with the scent of cordite, were washed by the musky smell of her perfume. His arm, throbbing from a saber cut, was soothed by her mittened hand as she touched his sleeve. The evening had been balm, a soporific to erase his nightmares, filling his dreams with gossamer angels.

It was a magical week in which Pax wallowed in the giddy throes of love. It was another week before he surfaced and discovered he was bored.

Lady Cecily Cleavon, for all her acknowledged beauty, was a crashing bore. Aside from a discussion of the latest fashions, crim. cons. and party descriptions, the woman had absolutely no conversation. He had taken her to the opera, a concert and a play. At each event she ignored the performances, swiveling in her seat to stare through tiny diamond-studded binoculars at the audience. When Pax asked Cecily for an opinion of the players, she looked genuinely surprised that he should expect her to have noticed.

Then why on earth had he ever invited Lady Cecily and her mother for a visit? He really couldn't recall how it had happened. One minute they were talking about how lovely it was in the country at this time of year; the next minute, the women were packing trunks and commandeering his carriage to descend en masse on an unsuspecting Windhaven. Since then he had spent a week idling about, attempting to entertain them and finally in desperation had agreed to a masked ball on Friday. What a craven. Was this the backbone of the English army that defeated Napoleon?

All Pax had wanted was to return to the quiet of Windhaven and the inventive antics of his ramshackle ward. He pictured Leslie with rod and creel in hand, waiting to catch the elusive trout the lad so enthusiastically described in his letters.

Pax thought he might have gone mad if not for his ward's constant stream of letters that, despite the chaos of war, miraculously found him. They 'd been a Godsend, one of the few bright spots in the grim carnage that surrounded him. The hastily scrawled pages brought to life Windhaven's rolling hills and riotous woods in all seasons. Leslie's word-pictures reminded Pax that there was another world outside of the battlefields. It brought home to him the necessity of defeating Napoleon to preserve the civilized England he knew.

Bless the boy. Leslie's arrival at Windhaven had been the best day of Pax's life. It was amazing how in such a short time the child had become so much a part of his life. He had only been with the boy that first summer five years ago, then just a few weeks interspersed during the long campaign against the French. For Pax, who had been alone so much of his life, it was like having a younger brother to share a renewed discovery of the world. He realized that part of his eagerness to return to Windhaven was to help ease the boy from the gaucherie of childhood to the self-confidence of early manhood.

Leslie had been poorly served when Pax had brought Cecily and her mother to share in the homecoming.

Pax grinned as he remembered the boy's narrowed eyes as he took in the beribboned Cecily, bemoaning the rigors of the five-hour journey from London. Leslie had been too well bred to sneer, but the contempt shone clearly from his bright blue eyes. Hostility radiated from the lad as he made a stiff leg and then stormed off. Since then the battle lines had been drawn between the two. Cecily was skillfully conniving as she took every opportunity to cut Leslie out of any conversation or activity. For his part, Leslie was sunk in a fit of the sullens, snorting in disgust at the fluttering social butterfly. At first Pax had enjoyed the sniping attacks of the two but he was now prepared to end the skirmishes. He sighed deeply. After the masked ball he would somehow contrive to rid himself of the Cleavons so that he and Leslie could enjoy a proper homecoming.

"Good morning, Leslie."

Leslie moaned at Jacko's cheerful greeting and pulled the fluffy eiderdown over her head. She could hear the tinkling china as the old man juggled a breakfast tray, but ruthlessly ignored the sounds. Today might be a good day to stay in bed, she thought gloomily. The china rattled wildly, and Leslie felt a foot nudge her backside. Scrambling upright, she indignantly wrapped the comforter around herself, pushed her head through the top and leveled a jaundiced eye at the expressionless manservant.

"Cook sent up a tray because she thought you looked peaky," Jacko mouthed unctuously. "'Sides, it's almost ten of the morning, Daffadar."

The use of her nickname, which meant 'Sergeant' in Urdu, brought a smile to Leslie's lips and she winked at the old man as she settled herself to receive the loaded breakfast tray. Brushing the tumbled curls away from her face, she scooped up a piece of toast, almost purring as she bit into the jellied surface. Leslie wriggled in delight at the unexpected luxury of breakfast in bed.

"There's a whopping big tear in your tan riding breeches, child. If you're planning to be out climbing trees again, at least wear your buckskins." The affection in Jacko's eyes belied the gruffness of his words.

"It wasn't my fault this time. Honest," Leslie said as she took a sip of hot chocolate. "I was riding Night Wind when we found the apple tree. He decided to wander off when I was standing on the saddle reaching into the branches. I got the tear when I swung my leg over the branch to climb down."

"Some day you're going to break your neck, Leslie," the white-haired man offered ominously.

He opened the wardrobe and took out her hunting jacket as Leslie went contentedly back to her breakfast. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the old man laid out her clothes for the day.

Much had happened in the five years since she, Jacko and Manji had come to Windhaven.

Then, Jacko was a feisty, rough-spoken soldier turned wet-nurse. Now his black suit was impeccable and his speech a model for the perfect gentleman's valet. Although outwardly he had changed, his fierce devotion to her remained uppermost in his mind. And Manji was now headroom of the stables, moving up when old Petersham retired. It pleased her when she returned from each ride to see Manji's baldhead glistening with sweat, his bristling moustaches framing a welcoming smile.

"I've got to order some new jackets for you, Leslie," Jacko announced accusingly.

Hunching her shoulders to hide her bosom, she grunted in embarrassed agreement. Leslie was all too aware that her body had grown, changing finally into womanhood.

"You've got to face it, child. This deception can't go on much longer." Jacko came to the side of the bed.

"I know," Leslie acknowledged sadly.

Staring down at the disconsolate figure, Jacko felt anger at the girl's long-dead father. The Captain should have raised her up to be a proper young lady. Even now, Jacko found it hard to believe that no one guessed. But he watched her constantly. Each day he saw a softening and a rounding in a body that should be growing taller and more muscular.

"I should never have listened to you five years ago," Jacko said. "You were a headstrong child, but I should have had more sense."

"It wasn't your fault," Leslie said. "I chose to play the part of a boy. I was used to the role, for Father always let me run free."

"I'm loath to speak ill of the Captain, but he shouldn't have done."

"I know that now, Jacko, but at the time I thought I had no choice. With Pax as my guardian, I knew he couldn't take a fourteen-year-old girl into his household. He would have pushed me off onto someone else, or worse, sent me off to a seminary for young ladies."

"I wish I'd known the Duke as I do now. I've come to respect the man, Leslie. I think if we'd explained the situation, he would have thought of some way you could have remained here."

"Perhaps," she agreed hesitantly. "But I couldn't take the risk. I know it sounds stupid, but I thought I could live my whole life as a boy. I had hoped my body had finished changing. I didn't realize it would eventually betray me."

"We'll have to leave soon, Daffadar." The gnomelike man shook his head for emphasis.

"I know you're right, old friend. Just a little bit longer," she pleaded.

"That's what you always say, Leslie."

"This time I mean it. It's not the same here anymore."

The old man searched the young girl's unhappy face. "Ever since the Duke returned from the wars, you've had a face like eight days of rain."

"Oh, Jacko, I don't know what's the matter. I was so looking forward to Pax's homecoming. There were so many things to do." Leslie grimaced as she took another sip of hot chocolate. "Do you know that he hasn't once been fishing?" she accused. "Even after I told him about the trout I saw. It must have been twenty-five inches long."

"There's other things than fishing for the Duke to think about."

"It's all Cecily's fault." Leslie muttered sourly. "Why did he have to invite her to stay at Windhaven?"

"Downstairs, the word is that he's planning to offer for her," Jacko said, watching the girl's eyes widen in horror.

"You mean, marry her?" At her friend's answering nod, she screeched in disbelief, nearly upsetting the breakfast tray. "Pax can't be taken in by that simpering blond fashion-doll. Cecily Cleavon is all posing and innocence. But have you seen her eyes, Jacko? They're cold as ice. I swear to you she's counting the bloody silverware."

"Leslie!" Jacko gasped. "I've told you a hundred times to watch your tongue."

"Don't prose at me, you old reprobate. You've certainly gone all starchy in the last few years. Time was when you'd have said much the same about Cecily. And from your expression I can tell you don't like her above half either."

"It doesn't matter whether I like Lady Cecily or not. She is not my concern.
You
are my concern," the manservant concluded reproachfully.

"But she's ruining everything. Pax just pokes around the estate, playing host to Cecily and her mother. He might as well be back in London for all that I've seen him." Leslie flounced against the pillows as Jacko rescued the tray of dishes.

"Since the Duke has been back from giving Boney a proper thrashing, there's been much for him to do, child." He placed the tray on a table safely out of the girl's reach.

"Ah, Jacko. Our first summer at Windhaven was such fun. Pax and I did everything together. Then he went off to war and has only been back for a week or two at a time. I thought sure when all the fighting was done it would be just like that first summer." Leslie sighed wistfully up at her old friend. "I had such plans! I wanted to show him all the new colts and how my riding had improved. I planned picnics and walks in the woods. I was going to ride around with him to all the tenants. But ever since he's been home he's been different."

"Times change, Leslie. The Duke was a boy himself when we arrived, for all that he was twenty-five. His father's death brought him responsibility. The war brought him maturity."

"It's awful growing up, Jacko."

"Only in fairy tales do things ever remain the same."

"Well, at least we're finally going to have some excitement," Leslie said, looking more cheerful. "It's been a proper bore with Cecily here. But Mrs. Tomlinson told me that a masquerade ball is being planned. Just three days away. The whole county's being invited and there'll be piles of food and pastries. And you'll never guess what I found! I was up in the attic rooms and found a trunk full of old costumes. And there's a topping fine one that fits me grand. It's a Crusader. There's a white tunic with a scarlet cross on the front, a chain mail shirt, boots and even a sword and shield. Just wait until Pax sees me!"

"I dunno if you should get your hopes up too high, Leslie. Your guardian's not one to give you free rein when he's here. He's not about to catapult you into the midst of an adult party at your age. After all, in his eyes you're only fifteen."

"What fustian. That's old enough. Once he sees how much I want to go, he'll just have to let me attend. Won't he, Jacko?"

Jacko looked sadly at the expressive face under the mass of sleep-tossed curls, his heart aching for the girl. He and Manji had been wrong to let her continue with the deception. Leslie had no real identity. She had no friends of her own age, and in many ways she was still a child. They had guarded her too well. At nineteen she had no sense of her own womanhood; she had grown up almost sexless. Leslie was a child with a child's delight in the world around her, living for the moment.

Angry with his own thoughts, Jacko picked up the tray of dishes and headed for the anteroom. "You should be outside, child, not moping around like a totty-headed wench."

"I'm going, Jacko." Leslie grinned, jumping out of bed. Her moments of sadness evaporated as she thought of her plans for the day. She must convince Pax that she should be included in the grown-up party. She washed quickly, then brushed her curly hair into a tight queue at the back of her neck. To her utter mortification, Jacko had had to fashion a tight undershirt which would flatten her breasts under her clothes. Leslie pulled her silk shirt on quickly to hide the ugly binding and stuffed her arms into the sleeves of a tweed hunting jacket, buttoning it firmly across her flattened bosom. Finally she tied a wide striped scarf at her neck, fastening it with her father's stickpin.

With much ceremony Jacko had presented the pin to Leslie on her eighteenth birthday. She stroked the gold oval on the head of the pin, feeling the finely etched lines of the beautiful Spanish lady's face. Her father always referred to it as the "Magdalena". He had found it during his first battle and always considered it his lucky piece. Jacko had told her that Magdalena was the only woman her mother had been jealous of.