Читать книгу Beneath the Major's Scars - Sarah Mallory - Страница 9

Nicky was drowsy and fretful when he eventually woke up, but Dr Pannell was able to reassure Zelah that he was recovering well.

‘A little fever is to be expected, but he seems to be in fine form now. I think keeping him still is going to be your biggest problem.’

Zelah had thought so too and she was relieved when Reginald arrived with a selection of toys and games for his son.

‘Goodness!’ She laughed when she saw the large basket that Reginald placed on the bed. ‘Major Coale will think we plan to stay for a month.’

Reginald grinned.

‘I let Nurse choose what to send. I fear she was over-generous to make up for not being able to come herself.’

‘And what did our host say, when you came in with such a large basket?’

‘I have not seen him. His man informed me that he is busy with his keeper and likely to be out all day.’ He glanced at Nicky, happily sorting through the basket, and led Zelah into the anteroom. ‘I had the feeling he was ordered to say that and to make sure I knew that he had given instructions for a maid to sit up with the boy during the night. Setting my mind at rest that he would not be imposing himself upon you while you are here.’

‘Major Coale is very obliging.’

‘Dashed ragged fellow though, with all that hair, but I suppose that’s to cover the scar on his face.’ He paused. ‘Maria asked me to drop a word in your ear, but for my part I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’

‘What did she wish you to say to me?’

He chewed his lip for a moment.

‘She was concerned. Coale was well known as something of a, er, a rake before the war. His name was forever in the society pages. Well, stands to reason, doesn’t it, younger son of a viscount, and old Lord Markham had some scandals to his name, I can tell you! Coale’s brother’s inherited the title now, of course, and from what I have read he’s just as wild as the rest of ‘em.’ He added quickly, ‘Only hearsay, of course. I’ve never had much to do with that side of the family—far too high and mighty for one thing. The Bucklands are a very distant branch. But that’s neither here nor there. We were worried the major might try to ingratiate himself with you—after all, we are mighty obliged to him—and Maria thought you might have … stirrings.’

‘Stirrings, Reginald?’

He flushed.

‘Aye. Maria says that sometimes a woman’s sympathy for an injured man can stir her—that she can find him far too … attractive.’

Zelah laughed.

‘Then you may set Maria’s mind at rest. The only stirring I have when I think of Major Coale is to comb his hair!’

Reginald stayed for an hour or more and after that Hannah, the chambermaid appointed to help Zelah look after Nicky, came up to introduce herself. By the time dinner was brought up it was clear that she was more than capable of nursing Nicky and keeping him amused, and Zelah realised a trifle ruefully that it was not Nicky’s boredom but her own that might be a problem.

Zelah and Hannah had taken it in turns to sit up with Nicky through the night, but there was no recurrence of the fever and when Dr Pannell called the following morning he declared himself satisfied that the boy would be able to go home at the end of the week.

‘I will call again on Friday, Miss Pentewan, and providing there has been no more bleeding we will make arrangements to return you both to West Barton. You will be the first to use the major’s new carriageway.’

‘Oh, is it finished?’ asked Zelah. ‘I have been watching them repair the drive, but I cannot see what is going on beyond the gates.’

‘I spoke to the workmen on the way here and they told me the road will be passable by tomorrow. The road-building has been a godsend for Lesserton, providing work for so many of the men. The problems with grazing rights is making it difficult for some of them to feed their families.’

‘Is this the dispute with the new owner of Lydcombe Park? My brother-in-law mentioned something about this before I came away.’

‘Aye, Sir Oswald Evanshaw moved in on Lady Day and he is claiming land that the villagers believe belongs to them.’ The doctor shook his head. ‘Of course, he has a point: the house has changed hands several times in recent years, but no one has actually lived there, so the villagers have been in the habit of treating everything round about as their own. The boundaries between Lydcombe land and that belonging to the villagers have become confused. He’s stopped them going into Prickett Wood, too, so they cannot collect the firewood as they were used to do and Sir Oswald’s bailiff is prepared to use violence against anyone who tries to enter the wood. He’s driven out all the deer, so that they are now competing with the villagers’ stock for fodder.’ He was silent for a moment, frowning over the predicament, then he shook off his melancholy thoughts and gave her a smile. ‘Thankfully Major Coale is of a completely different stamp. He is happy for the local people to gather firewood from his forest. It is good fortune that Nicky chose to injure himself on the major’s land rather that at Lydcombe.’

Zelah had agreed, but as the day wore on she began to wonder if she would have the opportunity to thank her host for his hospitality. With Hannah to share the nursing Zelah was growing heartily bored with being confined to the sickroom.

When the maid came up the following morning she asked her casually if the major was in the house.

‘Oh, no, miss. He left early. Mr Graddon said not to expect him back much before dinner.’

She bobbed a curtsy and settled down to a game of spillikins with Nicky. Left to amuse herself, Zelah carried her work basket to the cushioned window seat and took out her embroidery. It was a beautiful spring day and she could hear the faint call of the cuckoo in the woods.

The sun climbed higher. Zelah put away her sewing and read to Nicky while Hannah quietly tidied the room around them. The book was one of Nicky’s favourites, Robinson Crusoe, but as the afternoon wore on his eyelids began to droop, and soon he was sleeping peacefully.

‘Best thing for’n. Little mite.’ Hannah looked down fondly at the sleeping boy. ‘Why don’t you go and get yourself some rest, too, miss? I’ll sit here and watch’n for ‘ee.’

Zelah sighed, her eyes on the open window.

‘What I would really like to do is to go outside.’

‘Then why don’t ‘ee? No one’ll bother you. You could walk in the gardens. I can always call you from the window, if the boy wakes up.’

Zelah hesitated, but only for a moment. The spring day was just too beautiful to miss. With a final word to Hannah to be sure to call her if she was needed, she slipped down the stairs and out of the house.

The lawns had been scythed, but weeds now inhabited the flowerbeds and the shrubs were straggling and overgrown. After planning how she would restock the borders and perhaps add a statue or two, she moved on and discovered the kitchen garden, where some attempt was being made to improve it.

The hedge separating the grounds from the track that led to the stables had been hacked down to waist height, beds had been dug and cold frames repaired. Heartened by these signs of industry, Zelah was about to retrace her steps when she heard the clip-clop of an approaching horse. Major Coale was riding towards the stables on a huge grey horse. She picked up her skirts and flew across to the hedge, calling out to him.

He stopped, looking around in surprise.

‘Should you not be with the boy?’

She stared up at him.

‘You have shaved off your beard.’

‘Very observant. But you have not answered my question.’

‘Hannah is sitting with him. It was such a beautiful day I had to come out of doors.’

She answered calmly, refusing to be offended by his curt tone and was rewarded when he asked in a much milder way how the boy went on.

‘He is doing very well, thank you. Dr Pannell is coming in the morning to examine Nicky. All being well, I hope to take him back to West Barton tomorrow.’ He inclined his head and made to move on. She put up her hand. ‘Please, don’t go yet! I wanted to thank you for all you have done for us.’

‘That is not necessary.’

‘I think it is.’ She smiled. ‘I believe if I had not caught you now I should not have seen you again before we left.’

He looked down at her, unsmiling. His grey eyes were as hard as granite.

‘My staff have orders to look after you. You have no need to see me.’

‘But I want to.’ She glanced away, suddenly feeling a little shy. ‘You have been very kind to us. I wanted to thank you.’

She could feel his eyes boring into her and kept her own fixed on the toe of his muddy boot.

‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘You have thanked me. That is an end to it.’

He touched his heels to the horse’s flanks and moved on.

‘I wish I had said nothing,’ she muttered, embarrassment making her irritable. ‘Did I expect him to thaw a little, merely because I expressed my gratitude? The man is nothing but a boor.’

Even as she spoke the words she came to a halt as another, more uncomfortable thought occurred. Perhaps Major Coale was lonely.

What was it Mrs Graddon had said? He was a great one for society. That did not sit well with his assertion that he had no wish for company. His curt manner, the long hair and the shaggy beard that had covered his face until today—perhaps it was all designed to keep the world at bay.

‘Well, if that is so, it is no concern of mine,’ she addressed the rosemary bush beside her. ‘We all have our crosses to bear and some of us do not have the means to shut ourselves away and wallow in our misery!’

When Dr Pannell called the next day he gave Nicky a thorough examination, at the end of which Zelah asked him anxiously if he might go home now.

‘I think not, my dear.’

‘But his mama is so anxious for him,’ said Zelah, disappointed. ‘And you said he might be moved today …’

‘I know, but that was when I thought the major’s new road would be finished. Now they tell me it will not be open properly until tomorrow. Be patient, my dear. Major Coale has told me his people will be working into the night to make the road passable for you.’

With that she had to be satisfied. Nick appeared quite untroubled by the news that he was to remain at Rooks Tower. His complaisance was much greater than Zelah’s. She hated to admit it, but she was finding the constant attendance on an eight-year-old boy and the company of an amiable but childish chambermaid a little dull.

After sharing a light luncheon with Nicky, Zelah left the boy reading with Hannah and went off in search of Mrs Graddon, to offer her help, only to find that the good lady had gone into Lesserton for supplies. Unwilling to return to the sickroom just yet, Zelah picked up her shawl and went out to explore more of the grounds.

Having seen enough of the formal gardens, she walked around to the front of the house and headed for the orangery. A chill wind was blowing down from the moors and she wrapped her shawl about her as she crossed the lawn. The orangery was built in the classical style. Huge sash windows were separated by graceful pillars that supported an elegant pediment. Between the two central columns were glazed double doors. The stone was in good order, if in need of a little repair, but the woodwork looked sadly worn and several panes of glass were broken.

Zelah was surprised to find the doors unlocked. They opened easily and she stepped inside, glad to be out of the wind. The interior was bare, save for a few dried leaves on the floor, but there were niches in the walls which were clearly designed to hold statues. A shadow fell across her and she swung around.

‘Oh.’

Major Coale was standing in the doorway. She guessed he had just returned from riding, for his boots were spattered with mud and there was a liberal coating of dust on his brown coat. His broad-brimmed hat was jammed on his head and its shadow made it impossible to read his expression. She waved her hand ineffectually.

‘I—um—I hope you do not mind …’

‘Why should I?’ He stepped inside, suddenly making the space seem much smaller. ‘I saw the open doors and came across to see who was here. What do you think of it?’

‘It is in need of a little repair,’ she began carefully.

‘I was thinking of tearing it down—’

‘No!’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said stiffly. ‘It is of course up to you what you do here.’

‘It is indeed, but I am curious, Miss Pentewan. What would you do with it?’

‘New windows and doors,’ she said immediately. ‘Then I would furnish it with chairs for the summer and in the winter I would use it as it was intended, to shelter orange trees.’

‘But I have no orange trees.’

‘You might buy some. I understand oranges are extremely good for one.’

He grunted.

‘You are never at a loss for an answer, are you, ma’am?’

Yes, she thought, I am at a loss now.

She gave a little shrug and looked away.

‘I should get back.’

‘I will accompany you.’

She hurried out into the sunlight and set off for the house. Major Coale fell into step beside her.

‘So you will be leaving us tomorrow. I met Dr Pannell on the road,’ he explained, answering her unspoken question. ‘You will be glad to return to West Barton.’

‘Yes.’ He drew in a harsh breath, as if she had touched a raw wound and she hurried to explain. ‘It is not—you have been all kindness, and your staff have done everything required …’

‘But?’

She drew her shawl a little tighter.

‘I shall be glad to have a little adult company once more.’

There. She had said it. But as soon as the words were uttered she regretted them. ‘Please do not think I am complaining—I am devoted to Nicky and could not have left him here alone.’

‘But you have missed intelligent conversation?’

‘Yes,’ she responded, grateful that he understood. ‘When I lived at home, in Cardinham, Papa and I would talk for hours.’

‘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.’

His words brought her back to the present and she blushed, not knowing how to respond. In the end she decided upon the truth.

‘I was thinking about your face.’

Immediately he seemed to withdraw from her.

‘That is why I wanted you upon my right hand, to spare you that revulsion.’

She shook her head.

‘It does not revolt me.’

‘I should not have shaved off my beard!’

‘Yes, you should, you look so much better, only—’

‘Yes, madam? Only what?’ The hard note in his voice warned her not to continue, but she ignored it.

‘Your hair,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I am surprised your valet does not wish to cut it.’

‘I have no valet. Graddon does all I need.’

‘But I thought he was a butler …’

‘He does what is necessary. He was with me in Spain and brought me back to England. He stayed with me, helped me to come to terms with my new life.’

‘And Mrs Graddon?’

‘She was housemaid at Markham and decided to marry Graddon and come with him when I moved here.’ He raised his glass, his lip curling into something very like a sneer. ‘You see, my misfortune is their gain.’

She frowned.

‘Please do not belittle them. They are devoted to you.’

‘I stand corrected,’ he said stiffly. ‘I beg your pardon and theirs.’

‘I think you would look much better with your hair cut short. It is very much the fashion now, you know.’

He leaned closer, a belligerent, challenging look in his eye. It took all her courage not to turn away.

‘I need it long,’ he said savagely. ‘Then I can bring it down, thus, and hide this monstrous deformation.’ He pulled the ribbon from his hair and shook the dark curtain down over his face. ‘Surely that is better? I would not want to alarm the ladies and children!’

He was glaring at her, eyes narrowed, his mouth a thin, taut line, one side pulled lower by the dragging scar.

‘Nicky is not afraid of you,’ she said softly. ‘Nor do you frighten me.’

For a long, interminable time she held his eyes, hoping he would read not pity but sympathy and understanding in her gaze. He was a proud man and she was dismayed to think he was hiding from the world. To her relief, his angry look faded.

‘So would you have me trust myself to a country barber?’ he growled. ‘I think not, Miss Pentewan. Perhaps next time I go to London—’

‘I could cut it for you.’ She sat back, shocked by her own temerity. ‘I am quite adept at cutting hair, although I have no idea where the skill comes from. I was always used to trim my father’s hair, and since I have been at West Barton I have cut Nicky’s. I am sure no one could tell it was not professionally done.’

He was frowning at her now. She had gone too far. The wine had made her reckless and her wretched tongue had let her down. Major Coale jumped up and strode to tug at the bell pull. He was summoning a footman to escort her to her room.

‘Graddon, fetch scissors and my comb, if you please.’ He caught her eye, a glint in his own. ‘Very well, Miss Pentewan, let us put you to the test.’

‘What? I—’ She swallowed. ‘Are you sure it is what you want?’

‘Are you losing your nerve, madam?’

Zelah quite thought that she was. Two voices warred within her: one told her that to dine alone with a gentleman who was not related to her was improper enough, but to cut the man’s hair would put her beyond the pale. The other whispered that it was her Christian duty to help him quit his self-imposed exile.

The glint in his eyes turned into a gleam. He was laughing at her and her courage rose.

‘Not at all. Let us do it!’

‘Major, are you quite sure you want me to do this?’

He was sitting on a chair by the table and Zelah was standing behind him, comb in hand. They had rearranged the candelabra to give the best light possible and the dark locks gleamed, thick and glossy around his head, spreading out like ebony across his shoulders. The enormity of what she was about to do made her hesitate.

The major waved his hand.

‘Yes. I may change my mind when I am sober, but for now I want you to cut it.’

Zelah took a deep breath. It was too late to go back now, they had agreed. Besides, argued that wickedly seductive voice in her head, no one need ever know. She picked up the scissors and moved closer until her skirts were brushing his shoulder. It felt strange, uncomfortable, like standing over a sleeping tiger. Thrusting aside such fanciful thoughts, she took a secure grip of the scissors and began. His hair was like silk beneath her fingers. She lifted one dark lock and applied the scissors. They cut through it with a whisper. As she continued her confidence grew, as did the pile of black tresses on the floor.

His hair was naturally curly and she had seen enough pencil drawings of gentlemen with their hair à la Brutus since she had arrived at West Barton to recreate the style from memory—Reginald and Maria might live in a remote area of Exmoor, but they were both avid followers of the ton, receiving a constant stream of periodicals and letters from friends in London advising them of the latest fashions. She cut, combed and coaxed the major’s hair into place. It needed no pomade or grease to make it curl around his collar and his ears. She brushed the tendrils forwards around his face, as she had seen in the fashion plates. Her fingers touched the scar and he flinched. Immediately she drew back.

‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No. Carry on.’

Carefully she finished her work, combing and snipping off a few straggling ends until she was satisfied with the result. It was not strictly necessary, but she could not resist running her fingers though his glossy, thick hair one final time.

‘There.’ She brushed the loose hair from his shoulders. ‘It is finished.’

‘Very well, Delilah, let us see what you have done to me.’

He picked up one of the candelabra and walked over to a mirror.

Zelah held her breath as he regarded his image. In the candlelight the ugly gash down his face was still visible, but it seemed diminished by the new hairstyle. The sleek black locks were brushed forwards to curl about his wide brow, accentuating the strong lines of his face.

‘Well, Miss Pentewan, I congratulate you. Perhaps you should not be looking for a post as a governess, after all. You should offer your services as a coiffeuse.’

Relief made her laugh out loud. She said daringly, ‘You look very handsome, Major.’

He turned away from the mirror and made a noise between a growl and a cough.

‘Aye, well, enough of that. It is time I sent you back to the sick room, madam. You will need to be up betimes.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She cast a conscience-stricken look at the clock. ‘Poor Hannah has been alone with Nicky for hours.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘Goodnight, sir. I hope we shall see you in the morning before we leave?’

Again that clearing of the throat and he would not meet her eyes.

‘Perhaps. Goodnight, Miss Pentewan.’ He took her hand, his grip tightening for a second. ‘And thank you.’