Page 83 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

Chapter 28

Bentley stood back from the easel, appraising it with satisfaction. He’d somehow managed to get the freckles just right, and he found the portrait to be a precise replica of his lovely Hattie. He glanced up. “Are you ready to see it?” he asked.

Hattie lifted her gaze from the portrait she was drawing on her lap, her brown eyebrows knit together. “I am. But I really think you won’t want to see this one.”

He chuckled. “Surely it can’t be worse than a pig.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t place any wagers on that if I were you.”

Good heavens, how bad could it be? “Very well. Remain where you are, and I shall reveal my painting first.”

Hattie seemed to like that idea, and she lowered her drawing, arranging herself in her chair. “I’m ready.”

Lifting the easel, Bentley carefully spun it around so the painting faced Hattie. He held his breath and looked to see her response. She was frozen still, her mouth parted and her eyes widened just a bit.

“What do you think?”

She shook her head before closing her mouth. “That is how you see me?”

“Yes.”

Pressing the portrait she drew—she’d refused to add paint, saying that it would only make it worse—against her chest, she rose and crossed to the window, away from him. “Oh Bentley, it’s absolutely stunning. I’m at a loss for words, I just love it so much.”

“Then why are you walking away?”

“Because now that I’ve seen that, I know you can never see this.” She turned and tried to raise the window, but Bentley rushed to her side.

“What do you intend to do, throw it outside? It cannot be that bad.”

“It can, and it is.” She grunted, trying again to lift the old, finicky window. “Help me open this.”

“No,” he said, laughing. “I want to see the portrait.”

Pausing, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Very well. But first, you must promise that you will still marry me next week, regardless of what you see on this canvas.”

“I solemnly promise that I will marry you next week regardless of how hideous you made me look,” he said, leaning down to kiss her once.

Her cheeks bloomed a delightful pink color, and she sighed. “I did warn you.” Turning the canvas around, Hattie held up the most awkward looking rendition of a man with his cravat missing, and a few days’ worth of shadow covering his jaw. It rather did look more like a pig than a man, but Bentley could see how that was due to the way she’d drawn his nose.

He grinned, in spite of the hideous portrait. “I love it.”

“It’s horrendous.”

“Yes, but you drew it.” He leaned forward to kiss her again and she squealed, dropping the picture on the floor.

“What is it?” he asked, alarmed.

Hattie tried to get the window up again. “It’s your blasted chicken! And what is Romeo doing back here?”

Bentley followed her gaze toward the lawn and the chicken there, picking a fight with Hattie’s cat. “What are you—Hattie! You mustn’t go through the window. Go through the front door.”

“Oh, of course.” She turned, lifting her skirts, and fled. Bentley ran behind her, following her outside toward the animals battling on the grass. She deftly retrieved her cat while Bentley chased the chicken, managing to get the fowl under his arm, her talons tucked neatly away.

“What are we going to do with you?” Bentley asked, looking down at the chicken, her beady eyes darting around and her beak closed. She looked completely unrepentant.

“We aren’t going to eat her, that is for absolute certain.”

Bentley scoffed. “No, of course not. That would just be barbaric.”

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