Beneath the Major's Scars. Sarah Mallory
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