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.
