Beneath the Major's Scars(8)

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.’