Kasey Michaels - A Reckless Beauty

He disappeared again, that disappearance followed quickly by the sound of a slamming door, and Fanny rolled her eyes in disgust. “What a monster he is,” she told Wiggins, who was in the process of hastily rebuttoning his shirt. “Wiggins, do as he says or else he’ll most likely bite your head off. My brother and I will find our own way to the kitchens, as we’re able to more than bellow to fill our bellies. We’ll even fill his for him before he tears down the house.”

Wiggins looked caught between loyalty to the Earl and his need to take the note he clutched in both his hands to the man’s sister. “I…um, that is…thank you, miss. I’d say I shouldn’t be a minute, but the good Lord knows Lady Lucie can’t so much as say good day to a person in less than ten, so I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He pulled a plain brown jacket out from behind a small marble statue of some Greek goddess and slipped his arms into it. “Did his lordship say anything about…That is, he’s not usually so…so in his altitudes. The battle comes soon?”

“It would seem so, Wiggins,” Rian said, motioning for Fanny to join him, as he’d opened a narrow door, exposing a set of equally narrow stairs leading down, and from the smells emanating from beyond, felt certain he’d found the way to the kitchens. “So, your master isn’t always so unfriendly?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Becket, sir, I wouldn’t want you to think that,” Wiggins said, winking. “He’s always so unfriendly. He just usually takes pains to hide it better. We’re sorely short-staffed, what with the city so crowded. So I thank you for your help, sir. We’d best feed him. Soon.”

FANNY KNEW SHE WASN’T a patch on her sister Elly when it came to organizing a household. But she’d watched her enough, and had spent enough hours in the kitchens at Becket Hall to know the rhythms and routines of that particular area, usually chopping up carrots as punishment for something she’d done and would doubtless go off to do again once Bumble released her from her stool and pile of vegetables.

Within the hour she had struck up a smiling, gesturing friendship with a buxomy old woman named Hilda, who spoke no English. As for herself, she spoke no German or whatever language the woman kept tossing at her. She’d washed her face and hands at the wooden trough in a corner of the narrow kitchen, shoved some lovely fat slices of ham into her cheeks and made certain a heavily loaded tray had been sent up to the Ogre in the Tower, which is how she’d decided to think of the Earl of Brede.

Her filthy scarlet jacket draped over the back of one of the high-backed chairs, Fanny sat cross-legged on her chair—wonderfully comfortable in her uniform trousers—and looked across the scarred wooden kitchen table at her brother, once again urging him to, for pity’s sake, stop pouting and eat something. After all, it wasn’t the end of the world, was it?

Rian sat back in his chair, shaking his head at her. “You have no bloody idea how difficult you’ve made things, do you? Just as long as you’re happy.”

“Rian, that’s not true,” she said, waving a fork at him, the threat lessened quite a bit by the small roasted potato stuck on the tines. “I said I was sorry, and I am. But we’ve suffered no major setback, now have we? I’ve seen you, I’m safely here with the Ogre, and you’re to be joining Wellington’s staff in the morning, or even later tonight. I know how happy that makes you. I’ll pen a note to Papa tomorrow and I’m sure the Ogre will frank it, so there’s nothing to worry about there. All in all,” she said, pushing the potato into her mouth and maneuvering it against the inside of her cheek, “daring to overlook my punishment when I get back to Becket Hall, I’d consider the exercise a success.”

Rian gave up his moody pose and smiled. “As I remember the thing, you also thought coaxing Molly safely over that five-bar fence a success, even if you’d fallen off and broken your arm in the process, and couldn’t ride again for the rest of that summer. But Wellington’s staff, Fanny! Can you imagine? I’ll be right in the thick of things.”

Fanny plunked an elbow onto the tabletop and rested her chin in her hand. Although at least six years her senior, he was so, so young. “What do you suppose you’ll do?”

“I’ve thought about that, about how Brede mentioned how Jack told him I can ride anything with four legs—or even three. So I’m thinking, since I really don’t know anything about strategy so that the Field Marshal will be soliciting my opinion on matters, I’ll just be one of those riding out again and again, taking orders from Wellington to his generals during the battles. Jupiter will be magnificent there. He may not be the fastest of foot, but he’s got the best heart, and he’ll go forever. You know that.”

Fanny speared the last potato on her plate and popped it into her mouth, mumbled her question around it as she chewed. She knew she was being inelegant, as Elly would call it, but real food tasted so good. “So, then, you’ll be safely behind the lines?”

Rian shook his head. “Would you stop that, Fanny? But, yes, I’ll be fairly safe. Except when I’m riding by myself, between our ranks. Then things might become interesting.”

“You’re just saying that so I’ll worry,” Fanny said, gathering up her dish and utensils and carrying them over to the sink already piled high with plates and pots. “But if you’re not, please remember to ride low on Jupiter’s back, your head close down by his neck, so that you don’t present too tempting a target.”

Rian set his own dishes into the sink and smiled a thank-you to Hilda. “How many times, Fanny, have I outrun the Waterguard on the Marsh?”

Fanny took a quick look at Hilda, not that she thought the woman could understand her, yet when she answered Rian it was in a whisper. Beckets learned early not to trust many people. “Riding with the Black Ghost and outrunning the Waterguard from time to time as you guard the men moving a haul inland is not facing Bonaparte’s army, Rian Becket. I’m just saying—don’t go riding along the top of a ridge with the sun at your side, waving your hat in the air, that’s all.”

Rian bent and kissed her cheek. “You’re such an old woman. You’ve been listening to Court entirely too much, you know. I won’t let any of Boney’s men kill me. I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of believing yourself right.”

Fanny shut her eyes, swallowing down a sob. “Oh, Rian…”

He put a finger to her lips as he turned in the direction of the narrow staircase. Moments later a pair of legs appeared, followed closely by the head of Wiggins, who looked none too happy. “His lordship’s sister is here and with his lordship in the drawing room. You’re to join them, please.”

“Is the Ogre still biting off heads, Wiggins?” Fanny asked as she hastily grabbed her uniform jacket and shoved her arms into it. “Or has food soothed the savage beast?”

“That’s very funny, miss,” Wiggins said, not smiling at all. “If you were please to follow me?”

Rian pushed a nervously giggling Fanny up the stairs ahead of him, then pulled her aside to insist she spit on his hands so that he could attempt to tamp down her butchered and dirty hair with his fingers. “Now, remember, Fanny-panny. Not a word of protest, no matter what the man says. As Sergeant-Major Hart warned us, even the luck of the Irish runs out from time to time.”

Fanny nodded quickly, reluctant to tell Rian that her entire insides seemed to be shaking. Would she be back aboard ship by morning, heading to Becket Hall? Had this all been for nothing? Was the Ogre about to send her on her way?

Together, they entered the small drawing room.