Page 77 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“What things were made known to you?”

He leaned close, lowering his voice. “I know of the painting, the drawings…all of it. It is quite clear that my cousin loves you, for what other reason would explain why he’s drawn your likeness dozens of times? When I found the note you left him in the tree yesterday, it occurred to me that his feelings must be returned.”

They were returned. Undoubtedly. It was quite freeing to admit it, even if only to herself. She swallowed, her heart racing. “You found the note? Has Bentley not returned yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then perhaps you oughtn’t take letters that do not belong to you, sir.”

He cracked a smile. “That is undoubtedly true, but I needed to know what it said. I will not stand by and allow my cousin to be hurt.”

“Will you…you will not tell him of my slip, will you?” She swallowed. “I merely wanted to test a theory of mine.”

“That depends entirely upon this theory.”

Drat the man. He was forcing her to admit to her stupidity. “Well, you see, Bentley causes me to feel a certain way. I get a little lightheaded around him sometimes and feel as though I am falling even when I stand still. I wish to be near him, always, and his smile makes my entire heart feel warm, as though I’ve stood near a fire too long.”

A smile flickered over Mr. Warren’s lips. “You wished to see if perhaps another gentleman could make you feel the same?”

She cringed, hiding her face in her hands. When she removed them, she smiled wryly. “Yes.”

“And your findings?”

“That no other gentleman makes me feel the way Bentley does.”

He nodded, understanding. “That, my dear, I believe is called love.”

“Perhaps. But love can be one-sided.”

Mr. Warren’s gaze was fixed on her, the muscle jumping in his cheek as though he was ruminating on something. “Have you seen the painting he’s done of you?”

Done? As in finished? She shook her head. “No.”

“Just wait. I have a feeling your anxieties are not warranted.”

Hattie could not allow herself to hope, despite the surety Mr. Warren felt. Bentley was a duke. He was vulnerable. He wasn’t her fox.

But what did that matter? Hattie gazed at Mr. Warren’s red hair and put away the fox hunt at once. What did the white magic matter when she felt love for a real man? “How long do you think it will be until he returns to Wolfeton House?”

Mr. Warren glanced up, calculating something. “Another fortnight? It depends entirely on the welcome he receives in Kent.”

Bentley’s mother would undoubtedly welcome him heartily after her many attempts to convince him to visit and would likely press him to stay longer. All hope for his speedy return drifted away. “Then he is likely going to miss our dinner.”

“I would count on it. The journey is long, and this weather only lengthens it. It would be near a miracle if he was to return by the end of the week.”

Hattie nodded, but anticipation filled her, nonetheless. The moment he returned, she was going to tell him how she felt—foxes be hanged.

* * *

Bentley stood in the lamplit corridor outside of Patrick Humphries’s door and waited for his heart to calm. Mother slipped her hand around his, and he wanted to pull away but forced himself to accept the gesture of support and kindness.

It would take work to replace the prejudice he’d built in his mind over the last seven years, but he could admit that he’d been wrong, and they had decided to work together to rebuild their relationship. He’d never been particularly close to his mother, but he was determined to make an effort.

He was only grateful that Mr. Humphries now lay in the mistress’s room and had not taken over the duke’s chamber. It was a respect for his father he had not anticipated but was grateful to discover.

“Take all the time you need,” Mother said.

It only made him want to do the opposite. He nodded. “I am ready.”

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