disfigurement, but he could not. A sudden little breeze made her shiver.
‘I beg your pardon. It is too early in the year to be out of doors.’
The major put his hand out to help her arrange her stole. Did it rest on her shoulder a moment longer than was necessary, or was that her imagination? He was standing very close, looming over her. A sense of his physical power enveloped her.
This is all nonsense, she told herself sternly, but the sensation persisted. Run, Zelah, go now!
‘Perhaps, ma’am, we should go back inside.’
He put his hand beneath her arm and she almost jumped away, her nerves jangling. Immediately he released her, standing back so that she could precede him into the room. He had turned slightly, so that he presented only the uninjured side of his face to her and silently Zelah berated herself. Major Coale was acting as a gentleman, while she was displaying the sort of ill-mannered self-consciousness that she despised. That was no way to repay her host’s kindness. She must try harder.
He escorted her to the dining room, where Zelah’s stretched nerves tightened even more. A place was set at the head of the table and another on its right hand. It was far too intimate. She cleared her throat.
‘Major, would—would you object if I made slight adjustment to the setting?’
She flushed under his questioning gaze, but he merely shrugged.
‘As you wish.’
She squared her shoulders. The setting at the head of the table was soon moved to the left hand, so that they would be facing each other. She had to steel herself to turn back to the major.
The silence as he observed her work was unnerving, but Zelah comforted herself that the worst he could do was order her to go back to her room and eat alone. At last those piercing eyes moved to her face.
‘Do you think you will be safer with five foot of mahogany between us?’
‘It is more … seemly.’
‘Seemly! If that is your worry, perhaps we should ask Mrs Graddon to join us.’
Zelah’s anger flared.
‘I agreed to dine with you, sir, but to sit so close—’
‘Yes, yes, it would be unseemly! So be it. For God’s sake let us sit down before the food arrives.’
He stalked to her chair and held it out. She sat down. He took his own seat in silence.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Zelah. ‘I did not mean to put you to all this trouble.’
It was a poor enough olive branch, but it worked. Major Coale gave her a rueful look.
‘And I beg your pardon for losing my temper. My manners have lost their polish.’
The door opened and the footmen came in with the first dishes.
After such an unpromising start Zelah feared that conversation might be difficult, but she was wrong. The major proved an excellent host, exerting himself to entertain. He persuaded her to take a little from every dish on the table and kept her glass filled while regaling her with amusing anecdotes. She forgot her nerves and began to enjoy herself. They discussed music and art, the theatre and politics, neither noticing when the footmen came in to light the candles, and by the time they finished their meal Zelah was exchanging opinions with the major as if they were old friends. When the covers were removed the major asked her about Nicky and she found herself chatting away, telling him how they filled their days.
‘Hannah is so good with him, too,’ she ended. ‘Thank you for sending her to help me.’
‘It was Mrs Graddon who suggested it, knowing the girl comes from a large family.’
‘Nicky adores her and would much rather play spillikins with her than attend to his lessons.’
His brows rose. ‘Don’t tell me you are making him work while he is laid up sick?’
She laughed.
‘No, no, but I like him to read to me a little each day and to write a short note to his mama. He is reluctant to apply himself, but I find that with a little encouragement he is willing enough. And it is very good practice for me.’
‘Practice?’
‘Yes, for when I become a governess.’
She selected a sweetmeat as the butler came up to refill her glass. The major waved him away.
‘Thank you, Graddon, that will be all. Leave the Madeira and I will serve Miss Pentewan.’ He waited until they were alone before he spoke again.
‘Forgive my impertinence, ma’am, but you do not look old enough to be a governess.’
She sat up very straight.
‘I am two-and-twenty, Major Coale. Not that it is any of your business!’ She bit her lip. ‘I beg you pardon. I am a guest in your house—’
‘Guest be damned,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘That is no reason you should endure my incivility. Being a guest here should not put you under any obligation.’
Zelah chuckled, her spurt of anger dying as quickly as it had come.
‘Of course I am under an obligation to you, Major. You have gone to great lengths to accommodate us. And how could I not forgive you for paying me such a handsome compliment?’
He gave a short laugh and filled their glasses.
‘So why are you intent on becoming a governess? Can Buckland not support you?’
‘Why should he do so, if I can earn my own living?’
‘I should not allow my sister to become a governess.’
‘But your father was a viscount. Reginald is only a brother by marriage, and besides, he has a family of his own to support.’ She picked up the glass he had filled for her and tasted it carefully. She had never had Madeira before, but she found she enjoyed the warm, nutty flavour. ‘I would not add to his burdens.’
He reached out, his hand hovering over the sweetmeats as he said lightly, ‘Perhaps you should look for a husband.’
‘No!’
The vehemence brought his head up immediately and she was subjected to a piercing gaze. She decided to be flippant.
‘As I am penniless, and notoriously difficult to please, I think that might be far too difficult. I do like this wine—is it usual for gentlemen to drink it at the end of a meal? I know Reginald prefers brandy.’
To her relief he followed her lead and their conversation moved back to safer waters. She took another glass of Madeira and decided it must be her last. She was in danger of becoming light-headed. Darkness closed around them. The butler came in silently to light more candles in the room and draw the curtains against the night, but they made no move to leave the table, there was still so much to say.
The major turned to speak to Graddon and Zelah studied his profile. How handsome he must have been before his face was sliced open by a French sabre. It was a momentary thought, banished as soon as it occurred, but it filled her with sadness.
‘You are very quiet, Miss Pentewan.’
His words brought her back to the present and she blushed, not knowing how to respond. In the end she decided upon the truth.
‘I was thinking about your face.’
Immediately he seemed to withdraw from her.
‘That is why I wanted you upon my right hand, to spare you that revulsion.’
She shook her head.
‘It does not revolt me.’
‘I should not have shaved off my beard!’
‘Yes,