The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(4)

"In some parts of the world, yes, I suppose it is. It's expensive enough here, but there is nothing quite like a cup to lift the spirits, and Caleb will be freezing when he comes back in. So when he does get back, can you tell him that there will be another person for dinner, one of Mr. Jonathan's friends. He looks like he's had a very hard time in the war."



The older woman sighed heavily. "Oh, dear. Not another one with an arm or leg off, is he? Dratted waste."



Sarah shook her head. "No, but he's blind, and appears quite poor. People appear to have taken advantage of his disability."



"What a dashed shame," she declared, looking most indignant on the stranger's behalf. "What is the world coming to, taking advantage of a blind former soldier."



"What, indeed. But he is safe here with us now, so let's keep him that way, shall we?"



"What can I do to help?" Jenny asked without a moment's hesitation.



"He's soaked through from the storm and it is far too dreadful a night to try to find him accommodation at any inn. He'll need to spend the night. If you could make up a guest room for him that would most kind. The blue one will be fine."



"Very good, Miss. Glad to."



If Jenny were surprised or worried at this turn of events, she did not show it. So far as she and her husband were concerned, a less flighty woman than Sarah Deveril had never breathed.



"And he'll need a hot bath, and to borrow some of my brother's things."



The older woman nodded. "I'll put the fire under the boiler now. I'll have Caleb keep an eye on supper while I go up to get the chamber ready."



"Thank you, Jenny. You're an angel."



"Hardly that," the older woman said gruffly, but she looked pleased all the same. "Is there anything else, Miss?"



"An ewer of warm water and a basin, a towel and soap, and some bread and cheese to tide him over until the meal is ready," she requested.



The elderly housekeeper poured the hot water from a kettle always kept boiling on the back of the stove, and added some cold, while Sarah fetched a drying cloth, a stiff nail-brush, and some finely-milled lavender soap.



"I'll be back for the bread and cheese in a minute."



"It will be ready, Miss. The poor man." The sharp-featured woman sniffed and beat the batter harder to vent her feelings.



Sarah certainly knew how she felt. The war had been nothing but waste. If she ever had the chance to give one in the eye to Bonaparte, she would take it gladly.



Then she laughed at the fanciful notion. She was only a woman. She had been enough of a hoyden trailing around after her adored older brother, hunting, fishing, even fencing and shooting until her mother had found out. She would have made as good a soldier as her brother, she was sure. But while she was the wrong gender to be allowed to go to war, she satisfied herself with the notion that every person she helped was building a better world than the one Napoleon craved for himself. And here was her chance to help a soldier in need.





She re-entered the sitting room, and handed the stranger the tea cup and saucer. "Here you are. That will warm you up."



He put his hands around it cautiously and sniffed. "Ah, tea. Splendid. I can't recall the last time I had a cup."



Sarah returned a moment later with a basin of warm water, which she placed on the table. She slipped in the soap and brush, and hung the drying cloth on the back of the chair.



"I've brought the hot water and so on. Can you manage?"



"If you speak to me, and there are no obstacles in the way."



"Oh, wait. Footstool." She cleared a path, took his sleeve gently and led him to the table. She placed his hand in the water, but soon realized that she should have made him take his jacket off first.



"Here, let me roll up your cuffs," she offered, wondering why her normal levelheaded common sense seemed to have deserted her, and she felt as though she were all thumbs.

"You should have taken off the jacket. It's soaked through as well as your coat."



"I didn't want to offend, to be too informal." "No offence would be taken. The last thing we need is for you to fall ill with a cold because you are standing on ceremony. There, all done."



"Thank you."



She was startled at how intimate is seemed to assist him, undoing his buttons and rolling back the cheap cotton fabric to reveal strong brown wrists covered with a smattering of silky dark hair.



"Here's the soap," she said, placing it in his huge hands.



He accepted it with thanks, and proceeded to do the best he could washing, considering he was so very dirty and couldn't see. After a time he held out his hands for her inspection.