Page 45 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

Chapter 16

Bentley analyzed the unfinished portrait, trying to determine the next step he should take. Currently, the blue background and the base of Hattie’s shape were discernible, but not much else. He could teach Hattie about the varying shades of brown—the power of yellow or blue to change the shade so drastically—or he could focus on the contours of her face.

He grimaced. Better to focus on the hair. He was afraid of what would happen were he to fixate too heavily on the soft curve of her jawline or the gentle slope of her nose. Though he would need to eventually…he only needed a better handle on his thoughts first. He’d been thinking of Hattie far more than was reasonable these last few days—since the moment he’d watched her climb through his window and run away.

Swallowing hard, Bentley assured himself again that the implements he needed were set up on the bureau and ready to be mixed into paint before crossing to the window. He’d been waiting an hour now. They needed a much better system than this—how would he know if she could not get away? He could waste an entire day sitting by the window and watching for the lone female figure to traipse through the—wait, was that her? He squinted, leaning close to the glass until he felt the cool emanating from it in waves.

A woman stepped from the trees, and he could see by her recognizably jaunty walk that it was Hattie, but she was not alone. Another woman trailed behind her. Who had Hattie brought with her? Surely she would not have brought her nosy sister-in-law to his house a second time. Mrs. Green was not a welcome addition to their lessons, in his opinion.

By the time the women reached the midpoint of the lawn, it was quite apparent to Bentley that the additional woman was a servant. Her golden blonde hair was secured neatly at the base of her neck in a knot, and her gown and coat, while well-made, were dark and plain. His mind began to form an argument for why they should not allow another into their confidence, but Bentley’s servants were aware of the situation and sworn to secrecy. He could not very well allow himself that privilege but argue against Hattie doing the same thing.

And anyway, the maid likely already knew at this point.

Bentley waited with rising anticipation as the women neared the door and the distant, soft thudding of their knocking could be heard. He quickly lifted a book from the stack on the table that he had always intended to read but somehow had never gotten around to and dropped into a chair. He flipped the book open to the middle so it would appear as though he had been making good use of his time as opposed to being entirely preoccupied with the idea that Hattie may not be coming.

The knock at the door preceded Egerton, who stepped aside to allow the women entrance after Bentley flicked his wrist, instructing him to do so.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Hattie bustled into the room, her arm around the other woman’s as she all but dragged her through the doorway. “This is my maid, Agnes Morton. She’s come to lend herself as a chaperone.”

“How very kind.” He forced a smile and closed the book, setting it back on the pile he would likely never get to. Not while painting took so much space in his mind, at least. Standing, he dipped in a brief bow. “Welcome, Miss Morton. I am grateful for your discretion.”

“Just Agnes, Your Grace,” she said meekly, her wide green eyes fixed on him with apprehension. Surely Hattie had explained how very amiable he was. He could now see how she would have taken umbrage at his behavior during their first meeting in the woods, but he’d since proven himself to be a decent fellow, he believed. Hadn’t he?

“You may work in that chair near the fire,” Hattie said, directing her maid about the room as though it was her studio they painted in. It would be obnoxious if it was not so amusing. “What color are we doing today?”

“Your hair.”

She looked disappointed, her shoulders sinking just so slightly. “Oh. Brown.”

“More than just brown. I think you know that it takes multiple colors to produce the correct shade. Your hair certainly has more than one color in it.”

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “You must take me for someone else, Your Grace. My hair is quite as plain as a patch of mud.”

He had never wanted to prove her wrong more than he did in that moment. “Come.” He crossed to the window, gesturing for her to follow him toward the light. The sun was hiding behind a thin layer of clouds, the sky more gray than blue. But it offered them enough light for their purposes today.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she followed him, coming to a stop just before the wide center window. “Yes?”

He motioned to her hair. “Can you unpin it?”

Hattie cast a look at her maid, her mouth falling slightly open.

“Oh, of course.” He smiled at the maid. “Agnes, would you assist Miss Green with her hair?”

“I can remove my own pins,” she said testily, before reaching up and proceeding to do so. “But I will certainly need your help to fix it again,” she called over her shoulder.

Agnes nodded before turning her attention to the small article in her lap. Was she sewing? Ah, she was.

“Oh, drat,” Hattie said under her breath. “It’s stuck.” She turned slightly, exposing her neck. Her hair was a nest of messy curls with a pin hanging limp in the wisps loosely brushing her neck.

“I can see that.”

“Will you remove it?”

“Your maid—”

“Oh, it is only one pin, Bentley. Just pull it free.”

He swallowed hard, his shaky fingers digging into the messy tresses where Hattie indicated. He found the pin and pulled it free, brushing her smooth skin accidentally. Her shoulders shook as bumps appeared across her skin, and Bentley stepped back as her hair cascaded over her shoulder.

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