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‘Of what?’
‘Oh, anything! Politics, music, books. At West Barton it is the same, although my sister is a little preoccupied at the moment with her baby. But when Reginald is at home we enjoy some lively debates.’ She flushed a little. ‘Forgive me, I am of course extremely grateful to you for all you have done—’
‘I know, you told me as much yesterday. Yet it appears I am failing as a host.’ They had reached the front door and he stopped. ‘Perhaps you would join me for dinner this evening.’ The request was so unexpected that she could only stare at him. ‘No, of course that is not possible. Forget I—’
‘Of course it is possible.’ She spoke quickly, while an inner voice screamed its warnings at her. To dine alone with a man, was she mad? But in that instant when he had issued his invitation she had seen something in his eyes, a haunting desolation that burned her soul. It was gone in a moment, replaced by his habitual cold, shuttered look. But that brief connection had wrenched at the core of loss and loneliness buried deep within her, and Zelah found the combination was just too strong to withstand. ‘I would be delighted to join you.’
His brows rose.
‘There will be no chaperone.’
‘Nicky will be in the house and your housekeeper.’
His hard eyes searched her face for a moment.
‘Very well, Miss Pentewan. Until dinner!’
With that he touched his hat, turned on his heel and marched off towards the stables.
* * *
Zelah looked at the scant assortment of clothes laid out on the bed. Whoever had packed her bag had clearly assumed she would spend all her time in the sickroom. Neither her serviceable grey gown nor the dimity day dress was suitable for dining with the major. However, there was a green sash and matching stole that she could wear with her yellow muslin. Mrs Graddon had washed it for her and there were only a few drawn threads from her escapade in the woods. Once she had tied the sash around her waist and draped the stole over her arms she thought it would serve her well enough as an evening dress.
In the few hours since the major had invited her to dine, Zelah had pondered upon his reasons for doing so, and had come to the conclusion that it was twofold: he was being kind to her, but also he was lonely. If she thought for a moment that he was attracted to her she would have declined his invitation, but Zelah had no illusions about herself. Her mirror showed her a very nondescript figure, too thin for beauty and with soft brown hair that was neither fashionably dark nor attractively blond. And at two-and-twenty she was practically an old maid.
Sometimes she thought back to the happy girl she had been at eighteen, with a ready laugh and a sparkle in her eyes. Her figure had been better then, too, but at eighteen she had been in love and could see only happiness ahead. A year later everything had changed. She had lost her love, her happy future and her zest for life. Looking in her mirror now, she saw nothing to attract any man. And that could only be to her benefit, she reminded herself, if she was going to make her own way in the world.
Hannah had found her a length of yellow ribbon for her hair and five minutes before the appointed hour she presented herself to her nephew.
‘Well, will I do?’
Nicky wrinkled his nose.
‘I wish I could come with you, Aunty.’
‘So, too, do I, love,’ said Zelah earnestly. She had been growing increasingly anxious about meeting the major as the dinner hour approached.
‘Ah, well, after I’ve given Master Nicky his supper we are going to finish our puzzle,’ said Hannah, beaming happily. ‘Now you go on and enjoy your dinner, miss, and don’t ‘ee worry about us, we shall have a fine time!’
Zelah made her way down to the great hall, where the evening sun created a golden glow. She had no idea where the drawing room might be and was just wondering what to do when Graddon appeared.
‘This way, madam, if you please.’
He directed her to a door beside the major’s study and opened it for her.
After the dazzling brightness of the hall, the room seemed very dark, but when her eyes grew accustomed she saw that she was alone and she relaxed a little, looking about her with interest. It was a long room with a lofty ceiling, ornately plastered. The crimson walls were covered with large paintings, mostly of men and women in grey wigs and the fashions of the last century, but there was one painting beside the fireplace of a young lady with her hair tumbling like dark, polished mahogany over her shoulders. She wore a high-waisted gown and the artist had cleverly painted the skirts as if they had just been caught by a soft breeze. Zelah stepped closer. There was a direct, fearless stare in the girl’s dark eyes and a firm set to those sculpted lips. She looked strangely familiar.
‘My sister, Serena.’
She jumped and turned to find the major standing behind her.
‘Oh, I did not hear you—’ She almost said she had not heard the scuffing of his dragging foot. Flustered, she turned back to the painting. ‘She is very like you, I think.’
He gave a bark of laughter.
‘Not in looks, I hope! Nor in temperament. She was not the least serene, which is why Jasper and I renamed her Sally! Very wild and headstrong. At least she was until she married. Now she is a model of respectability.’
‘And is she happy?’
‘Extremely.’
She took a last look at the painting, then turned to her host. Although she had seen him without his beard that afternoon, his clean-shaven appearance still surprised her. He had brushed his thick, dark hair and tied it back with a ribbon. The ragged scar was now visible, stretching from his left temple, down through his eyebrow and left cheekbone to his chin, dragging down the left side of his mouth.
The look in his eyes was guarded with just a touch of defiance. Zelah realised he expected her to look away, revolted by the sight of his scarred face. She was determined not to do that and, not knowing quite what to do, she smiled at him.
‘You look very smart, sir.’
The wary look disappeared.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ He gave a little bow. ‘I believe this is still the standard wear for dinner.’
They both knew she was not referring to the black evening coat and snowy waistcoat and knee breeches, but her smile grew.
‘Your dress is very different from the first time I saw you.’
‘I keep that old coat for when I am working in the woods. It is loose across the shoulders and allows me to swing the axe.’ He paused. ‘Graddon informs me that there has been a slight upset in the kitchen and dinner is not quite ready.’ A faint smile lifted the good side of his mouth. ‘Mrs Graddon is an estimable creature, but I understand my telling her I would be entertaining a guest caused the sauce to curdle.’
‘Sauces are notoriously difficult,’ she said carefully.
He held out his arm to her.
‘Perhaps you would care to step out on to the terrace while we wait?’
Zelah nodded her assent and took his proffered arm. He walked her across the room to the door set between the long windows.
‘You see the house has been sadly neglected,’ he said as he led her out of doors. He bent to pluck a straggling weed from between the paving slabs and tossed it aside.
‘The rose garden has survived quite well,’ she observed. ‘It needs only a little work to bring it into some sort of order.’
‘Really? When I last looked the plants were quite out of control.’
‘They need pruning, that is all. And even the shrubbery is not, I think, beyond saving. Cut the plants back hard and they will grow better than ever next year.’
‘Pity the same thing does not apply to people.’
She had been happily imagining how the gardens might look, but his bitter words brought her back to reality. She might be able to forget her companion’s disfigurement, but he could not. A sudden little breeze made her shiver.
‘I beg your pardon. It is too early in the year to be out of doors.’
The major put his hand out to help her arrange her stole. Did it rest on her shoulder a moment longer than was necessary, or was that her imagination? He was standing very close, looming over her. A sense of his physical power enveloped her.
This is all nonsense, she told herself sternly, but the sensation persisted. Run, Zelah, go now!
‘Perhaps, ma’am, we should go back inside.’
He put his hand beneath her arm and she almost jumped away, her nerves jangling. Immediately he released her, standing back so that she could precede him into the room. He had turned slightly, so that he presented only the uninjured side of his face to her and silently Zelah berated herself. Major Coale was acting as a gentleman, while she was displaying the sort of ill-mannered self-consciousness that she despised. That was no way to repay her host’s kindness. She must try harder.
He escorted her to the dining room, where Zelah’s stretched nerves tightened even more. A place was set at the head of the table and another on its right hand. It was far too intimate. She cleared her throat.
‘Major, would—would you object if I made slight adjustment to the setting?’
She flushed under his questioning gaze, but he merely shrugged.
‘As you wish.’
She squared her shoulders. The setting at the head of the table was soon moved to the left hand, so that they would be facing each other. She had to steel herself to turn back to the major.
The silence as he observed her work was unnerving, but Zelah comforted herself that the worst he could do was order her to go back to her room and eat alone. At last those piercing eyes moved to her face.
‘Do you think you will be safer with five foot of mahogany between us?’
‘It is more … seemly.’
‘Seemly! If that is your worry, perhaps we should ask Mrs Graddon to join us.’
Zelah’s anger flared.
‘I agreed to dine with you, sir, but to sit so close—’
‘Yes, yes, it would be unseemly! So be it. For God’s sake let us sit down before the food arrives.’
He stalked to her chair and held it out. She sat down. He took his own seat in silence.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Zelah. ‘I did not mean to put you to all this trouble.’
It was a poor enough olive branch, but it worked. Major Coale gave her a rueful look.
‘And I beg your pardon for losing my temper. My manners have lost their polish.’
The door opened and the footmen came in with the first dishes.
After such an unpromising start Zelah feared that conversation might be difficult, but she was wrong. The major proved an excellent host, exerting himself to entertain. He persuaded her to take a little from every dish on the table and kept her glass filled while regaling her with amusing anecdotes. She forgot her nerves and began to enjoy herself. They discussed music and art, the theatre and politics, neither noticing when the footmen came in to light the candles, and by the time they finished their meal Zelah was exchanging opinions with the major as if they were old friends. When the covers were removed the major asked her about Nicky and she found herself chatting away, telling him how they filled their days.
‘Hannah is so good with him, too,’ she ended. ‘Thank you for sending her to help me.’
‘It was Mrs Graddon who suggested it, knowing the girl comes from a large family.’
‘Nicky adores her and would much rather play spillikins with her than attend to his lessons.’
His brows rose. ‘Don’t tell me you are making him work while he is laid up sick?’
She laughed.
‘No, no, but I like him to read to me a little each day and to write a short note to his mama. He is reluctant to apply himself, but I find that with a little encouragement he is willing enough. And it is very good practice for me.’
‘Practice?’
‘Yes, for when I become a governess.’
She selected a sweetmeat as the butler came up to refill her glass. The major waved him away.
‘Thank you, Graddon, that will be all. Leave the Madeira and I will serve Miss Pentewan.’ He waited until they were alone before he spoke again.
‘Forgive my impertinence, ma’am, but you do not look old enough to be a governess.’
She sat up very straight.
‘I am two-and-twenty, Major Coale. Not that it is any of your business!’ She bit her lip. ‘I beg you pardon. I am a guest in your house—’
‘Guest be damned,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘That is no reason you should endure my incivility. Being a guest here should not put you under any obligation.’
Zelah chuckled, her spurt of anger dying as quickly as it had come.
‘Of course I am under an obligation to you, Major. You have gone to great lengths to accommodate us. And how could I not forgive you for paying me such a handsome compliment?’
He gave a short laugh and filled their glasses.
‘So why are you intent on becoming a governess? Can Buckland not support you?’
‘Why should he do so, if I can earn my own living?’
‘I should not allow my sister to become a governess.’
‘But your father was a viscount. Reginald is only a brother by marriage, and besides, he has a family of his own to support.’ She picked up the glass he had filled for her and tasted it carefully. She had never had Madeira before, but she found she enjoyed the warm, nutty flavour. ‘I would not add to his burdens.’
He reached out, his hand hovering over the sweetmeats as he said lightly, ‘Perhaps you should look for a husband.’
‘No!’
The vehemence brought his head up immediately and she was subjected to a piercing gaze. She decided to be flippant.
‘As I am penniless, and notoriously difficult to please, I think that might be far too difficult. I do like this wine—is it usual for gentlemen to drink it at the end of a meal? I know Reginald prefers brandy.’
To her relief he followed her lead and their conversation moved back to safer waters. She took another glass of Madeira and decided it must be her last. She was in danger of becoming light-headed. Darkness closed around them. The butler came in silently to light more candles in the room and draw the curtains against the night, but they made no move to leave the table, there was still so much to say.
The major turned to speak to Graddon and Zelah studied his profile. How handsome he must have been before his face was sliced open by a French sabre. It was a momentary thought, banished as soon as it occurred, but it filled her with sadness.
‘You are very quiet, Miss Pentewan.’
