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