Page 25 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“That is unlikely to happen; they are such large animals. Should we not fetch the cat while we are here?” Her eager expression put Bentley on edge, but he trusted Hattie.

Hattie nodded, but she seemed wary. So perhaps he would do to remain on his guard.

Sweeping his arm before him, he pointed in the direction of Wolfeton House. “If you would follow me.”

“Of course.”

The women fell into step behind him, and he strained to hear what they were discussing in harsh, rapid whispers, but he couldn’t make out anything they were saying. Light continued to fade as the clouds thickened over the descending sun, and Bentley reflected on how close he’d come to missing Hattie and Mrs. Green completely, as he had almost chosen to forgo his daily walk completely due to the weather. His walks had grown progressively longer as he’d begun trekking back to the place he’d found Hattie painting just over a week before.

He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but when he happened upon the precise location where he could look through the trees and see a perfectly framed Green estate for the third day in a row, he noticed the unintentional consistency.

In truth, it frightened him. His need for human connection had never been very strong. Even as a boy at school, or when he went to university as a young man, he had never had large groups of friends, often preferring to spend time alone with solitary amusements. The only exception to this was his cousin, Warren. Though the man’s occupation running his plantation often took him overseas, and their visits were few and far between.

The alteration of Bentley’s lifestyle upon leaving his family home and coming to Devon hadn’t been grand. He’d already kept to himself because he was most comfortable in his own company, and others, particularly strangers, made him nervous. When he’d learned the truth, discovered what his mother had kept from him his entire life and decided that he had no other choice but to cut ties and escape, choosing a life of solitude had not been a hardship. If he had not been grieving so deeply at the time, he likely would have found the prospect of a reclusive life immensely attractive.

But now he found himself thinking of Hattie often. There were no romantic feelings, of course, despite her beauty. He merely wanted to paint her, to see if he could do it. His drawings had proved insufficient, the concept of her freckles evading him, but he was certain if she would sit before him, he could capture them in color.

He would be lying if he tried to pretend that his interest ended there, for he was eager to speak to her about painting techniques. He did not know another soul so talented as she that he would be able to carry on a conversation with.

Still, it would not be wise to pursue any sort of relationship with her, whether she was amiable or not. Bentley was fully aware of the innocent nature of his interest in this woman, but that was all the more reason for him to keep his distance. He wouldn’t wish to plant false ideas of anything more in her mind or give cause for rumors in Graton.

Despite his desire, he could not, in any capacity, become her friend.

A cold wind blew over them, lifting fallen leaves from where they sat upon the solid ground and dancing them across the path. The short lawn loomed ahead with Wolfeton’s ivy-clad facade just beyond.

“How did Hattie’s cat come to be here, Your Grace?” Mrs. Green asked, forcing him to slow his steps. Now that they’d broken free of the woods, he had ample room to walk beside the women.

“He was injured and hid in the hedgerow just there.” Bentley pointed to the location beneath his study on the side of the house. “But he is perfectly well now. It was a minor scratch. Much like—” He motioned toward Hattie’s sleeve where his chicken had scratched her. He dropped his hand and faced the house again.

“Much like what exactly, Your Grace?” Mrs. Green asked, appearing confused.

Gads, he wasn’t cut out for this evasive secret-keeping. One would believe he’d had enough practice over the previous few years. Could they not just inform Mrs. Green of the incident with the dogs and his chicken? Surely she would understand.

But without knowing Hattie’s reasons for maintaining secrecy, he couldn’t very well toss her to the lions, could he? What Bentley wanted was an opportunity to be alone with the woman so he could ask her to explain herself.

He glanced at the Green ladies. Mrs. Green’s hand wound tightly around Hattie’s arm like the ivy that climbed Wolfeton’s wall. This was certainly not going to be easy.

The front door opened as they approached, and Egerton held it, his passive gaze slipping over their guests. He refrained from revealing anything in his expression, but Bentley was certain the man was confused. He had never before brought visitors home in their seven years at Wolfeton House, and in the last fortnight, he’d done so twice.

“If you could direct our guests to the parlor, Egerton, I shall return shortly.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” He turned toward the women. “This way, please.”

Bentley left them and made his way across the corridor to the blue room, waiting for the receding footsteps to fade before slipping inside. The tall windows were covered by the thick, navy drapes, and the fire had been built up, casting light across the room. But the cat was missing from his usual chair.

Bentley searched the room, checking behind the drapes and beneath the furniture. Nothing.

“Blast.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he looked around the room for any other potential hiding place the cat could have used, but it was a fairly bland room. The bureau containing his paint supplies was too full of Bentley’s implements to fit a cat, and aside from that, the room only held a small seating area before the fireplace, a desk against the wall, and a handful of easels holding his various works in progress between the two.

This wasn’t completely shocking, as the cat had tended to disappear for hours at a time. He’d granted the feline free rein of the house, which had pleased them both, for Bentley did not appreciate forever being followed around, and the cat, while it liked to crawl onto his lap in the evenings, did not seem as though he would appreciate forever being coddled.

If Bentley was being completely honest, he would admit that he was a touch let down Hattie had come to claim her pet. But it was just a cat. He would overcome his disappointment.

He peeked into each of the rooms on the ground floor on his way to the parlor, but they all came up empty of any felines.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, letting himself into the parlor. He paused across from where the women stood near the fireplace, lightly clasping his hands behind his back. “He’s gone off somewhere, and I’m not quite sure where. The cat has been doing this for the entirety of his stay here. I’m afraid he’ll be hiding until this evening if his habits prove consistent.”

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