Page 36 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“Do you live nearby? I can help you home,” he shouted over the growing rain. The heavens had seemed to open, a deluge of rain pouring down upon them.

Shaking her head, she raised her voice to be heard. Her hair had mostly fallen from its knot and was plastered against her face and the back of her neck. “My horse is just on the other side of those trees. But I thank you for the offer, sir.”

He bowed as though they stood in a ballroom and not on a sodden country lane. “The pleasure, I assure you, was all mine.”

“Good day, then,” she said, lifting her hem in preparation to go in search of her horse.

The stranger looked at her, his eyes creasing under the dark brim of his hat. His caped greatcoat slicked water from his shoulders in streams and the rain appeared as if it was not going to let up. She wanted to prolong the conversation, to ask after his name and his business in the area. Had he been going to see the duke, or simply passing by in search of a place to wait out the storm?

“Good day, madam.” Doffing his hat, he revealed a mop of startlingly bright copper hair before turning to leave.

Hattie gasped. This could absolutely not be a coincidence. That she had been practically led to this man by a fox directly after being at the Cunning Woman’s house had to mean something. And it hadn’t been just any man but one possessed of red hair.

“But wait,” she called as he swung up into the saddle. He must not have heard her over the wind and rain, for he sent her a smile and continued down the road.

She could very well have just met the man she would marry, and she didn’t even know his name.

* * *

Bentley sat at the chair in his small library and swirled the brandy in his glass. Rain fell hard outside, and he was undecided whether he would continue to attempt to read, or if he would break his resolve and go draw. He’d been unable, since meeting Hattie, to draw anything but her, and it was growing ridiculous. Surely he’d spent enough paper in his attempts to capture her likeness; he was afraid Egerton or Mrs. Notley would come upon his many sketches and question his sanity.

Or, worse, believe he’d fallen in love with the woman. For truly, what other reason would he have to be so taken by her? Well, her freckles, for one. They truly were striking. But that would be difficult to explain to the servants, and there was something more about her that drew him in. Something about Hattie’s essence, her zest for life, that he wanted to try and infuse in his drawing but hadn’t quite managed to do so yet. He was hopeful that painting her would be exactly what he needed to accomplish it.

Then there was the matter of her marrying a fox. Bentley had been stunned to learn of it but was certain Hattie did not understand how the word significantly related to him. He was not about to inform her of such. Silly nonsense, that’s all it was. It meant nothing.

A large pounding sounded on the front door down the hall, and he sat up, anxious jittering filling his body at once. It had been years since he’d had an unexpected visitor at the house, and he remembered it vividly. A farmer had requested his permission to shoot in Bentley’s woods, which Bentley had heartily declined. He’d not wished to be rude, but no one was permitted on his property. No one.

Craning his ear toward the door, he struggled to hear what was occurring in the entryway. Was it another farmer? The low, steady murmur of voices proved that a stranger was now in his house and alarm filled him. His eyes sought the box of dueling pistols on the shelf, and he contemplated the merits of taking them out to wave at the intruder. Though, appearing like a madman would likely circulate worse rumors than the truth he was attempting to conceal.

A knock at the library door made him jump in his seat and he rose, putting his back to the fire. “Enter.”

Egerton opened the door and stepped inside before closing it behind him. “You’ve a visitor, Your Grace.”

The butler did not look as concerned as Bentley felt. “I heard.”

“It is Mr. Warren.”

Relief sluiced through Bentley’s body, relaxing his tightly wound muscles. Dash the man. Could he not have given warning? Or…perhaps he had. “Is it not still November, Egerton?” he asked. Sometimes the calendar got away from him, but he was nearly certain it was nowhere near Christmas.

“It is, Your Grace.”

Then Bentley was correct, and Warren was early. A month early. But that was no reason to turn him away.

Egerton cleared his throat. “I will have the usual room made up then?”

“Yes, and see him in here if you will.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Egerton nodded, backing from the room.

Bentley needed a minute to orient himself to the new plan. He’d been prepared to entertain his cousin around the end of December, but he shouldn’t be too shocked that the man had descended on them earlier than expected. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something like this.

The door creaked open and Warren appeared, a grin spread boyishly over his face.

Bentley crossed to the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy for his friend before refilling his glass as well. He handed off the cup and sat in the burgundy chair, Warren taking the chair opposite him.

“This is unexpected.”

Warren grinned unrepentantly before taking a sip from his glass. “We docked earlier than anticipated, and I decided to skip the trip home and made my way straight here instead. I knew you’d be home.”

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