Page 10 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

Chapter 5

The painting Hattie had done from the duke’s grove was sitting upstairs above the fireplace in her room, directly facing her bed. Tacked onto the board she’d painted it on, it appeared just as unfinished as it felt. Throughout the week since she’d accomplished it, it was the final thing she looked at before going to sleep every night and the first thing she looked at when she awoke in the mornings. Each day Hattie had analyzed the color of the wretched foliage beneath the house, considering the duke’s advice. His unwarranted, unasked for, and—much to her dismay—potentially accurate advice.

The temptation to return to the place she had painted it and analyze the color of that foliage was very strong, but Hattie’s fear of running into the Duke of Bentley was even stronger and had successfully kept her away thus far. She’d told the man she would never return to his woods. How vile would it be if he found her there?

Her sister-in-law’s voice trickled from the parlor and reached Hattie in the corridor, and her resolve slipped more and more. The location where she’d painted was directly on the edge of Bentley’s woods. If she was to sneak in and out quickly, she would likely remain unseen.

Buttoning closed her cream-colored spencer jacket, Hattie debated the merits of slipping outside against entering the parlor where Lucy currently sat. Checking the colors of the shrubs from that distance was as good an excuse as any to leave the house before Lucy found her. Papa knew how seriously Hattie took her painting, and perhaps if she could perfect the piece enough, she could show it to Lucy and the woman would leave off trying so desperately to make an accomplished lady out of Hattie.

If Hattie had not yet earned the title of an accomplished lady at the age of five and twenty, she was quite set in the fact that it was never going to happen for her. And to Lucy’s dismay, that was not a hardship to Hattie. Quite the reverse, in fact, for she rather liked flouting convention when she was reasonably able to do so.

Footsteps tapped on the marble floor behind her, and Hattie refrained from cursing under her breath, angry she had missed her window of escape. Instead, she turned a bright smile on her brother. Perhaps she could slip past him after a quick greeting.

His knowing, brown eyes rested on her. Drat. There would be no escaping to the woods today. She appraised his clean, orderly appearance, searching for a way to remove herself from the house, though her brother tended to see through her antics. While similar in some ways, the Green siblings’ coiffures spoke volumes about their differences. They shared the same mousy brown coloring, but Jeffrey’s hair was neatly combed and orderly, whereas Hattie’s was usually thrown into a simple style, as she was too impatient to sit for anything more elaborate, with wisps falling out around her face and trailing over her neck.

“Jeffrey,” she said, her tone dripping with added sugar. “Do tell me your target shooting was successful. I should like it if Papa is in a happy mood when I ask him for another advancement of next quarter’s pin money.”

“So you may take my wife to Graton and spend more than you should on gowns and trinkets? I think not.” He smiled despite his words, a deep crease etching into the side of his mouth. “No, I’d much rather tell you that Papa had a very unsuccessful day at shooting, he missed every single target, and you’d best hold off on the request and wait for a more favorable time.”

She narrowed her gaze on his flawless skin. Why was it that her brother’s face did not sport a single, solitary freckle when hers claimed hundreds? It was unfair. “Are you speaking the truth?”

“No.” He stepped forward and opened the parlor door for her. “But I can clearly see what you are playing at. Does that not make you wish to come up with another scheme?”

“Hardly,” Hattie said, preceding him into the drawing room. “If anything, it only makes me want to do it more.”

She flounced toward the sofa and lowered herself across from Lucy just as their maid was removing a cold tea service. The sound of barking in the corridor warned them of the dogs’ impending arrival before Papa’s hounds ran into the room and shot directly toward Hattie. Daisy stopped before her, resting her wet, brown nose on Hattie’s knee, her white tail wagging.

“I have nothing to give you.” Hattie leaned forward and rubbed the hunting dog behind the ears as her sister, Rosie, pushed in beside her. Their brown and white spotted bodies rumbled with eagerness. “Be kind,” she admonished. “You can share. I have two hands.”

Lucy stared at Hattie so pointedly that she was forced to look up. She gave her sister-in-law a questioning glance. “Is something troubling you, Lucy?”

“You do realize the dog cannot understand you, yes?” she asked, her blue eyes wide.

“Why is that?”

There was only a beat of silence before Lucy delicately cleared her throat and spoke slowly, as though she were addressing a child. Did the woman not realize that such actions only put Hattie off her more? “Because they are animals.”

“And therefore they cannot speak to us,” Hattie agreed. “But who has proven that they cannot understand us?”

“Give it a rest, Hattie,” Jeffrey said, sighing. He brought one ankle up to rest on the other knee and leaned back on the sofa cushion beside his wife.

Lucy tilted her head a little to the side. “I realize you say such ridiculous things because you take delight in goading me, but surely you know it is unbecoming of you to be so intentionally contrary. I take comfort in my faith that you will not stoop to such depths in company. It is the only thing that allows me peace.” Giving Jeffrey a conspiratorial smile, Lucy settled into her cushion.

The woman was correct on all accounts but one. Fixing a smile on her lips to soften her words, Hattie’s gaze did not waver. “Then you must not know me as well as you think, for I do not tailor my behavior to any person, I assure you. What you experience with me is exactly the same treatment the rest of England receives.”

She stood quickly, forcing the dogs to retreat, and then pointedly looked at both of the animals vying for her attention. Their tails wagged furiously as they trained excited, dark eyes on Hattie. They knew what was coming, and Lucy clearly knew nothing if she believed animals could not read or understand humans. “Come, Daisy and Rosie, let us go outside.”

They followed her at once, their slender brown and white bodies a blur as they crossed the room swiftly. She paused at the door and turned back. “Speaking of animals, have either of you seen my cat? He has been missing for a week now.”

Lucy gave a subtle shake. Her pinched lips likely held in all the things she planned to say to Jeffrey the moment Hattie left the room.

“If you see him, please let me know,” Hattie said. “I’ve searched everywhere, but he is nowhere to be seen.”

Jeffrey gave an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen him since the day we arrived. I shall keep my eye out for him, though.”

Delivering a wide smile, Hattie pretended as though she did not take delight in the fact that her sister-in-law was slowly turning the shade of a cherry. “Thank you. Good day.”

The afternoon sun provided no warmth against the cool wind and Hattie tugged her spencer tighter about her neck. The hounds ran ahead of her, circling back every so often as if to check that she was still with them. She’d much prefer to return to her painting location and check the color, but the part of her that did not wish to be proven wrong was happy to avoid it. She’d never been particularly skilled at selecting the exact right color, and the duke had criticized the very thing she found to be a weakness in herself, only causing her further frustration. No, she would not confirm his declaration by checking the foliage from the vantage point of the woods. A splash in the banks of the lake would be much better, anyway. The dogs could use a swim.

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