Page 27 of The Untamed Heart

She regretted her words, which she thought had been amusing, as his expression darkened.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to spend the entire day in the garden now,” she said, hurrying to move past the sudden awkwardness.

“Well, you can draw me there as well as anywhere, can’t you?” he said, leading his horse around to the stables.

“No. I want you to sit properly today. I-I’m ready to begin,” she said, wondering why she felt suddenly nervous.

He said nothing for a long moment but did not look pleased. “So soon? I thought you said—”

“Yes, well, sometimes it all comes together, and it has done. I know what I want, how I want to paint you. You’ll need your uniform, though. Well, not today—” She hurried on, perceiving his growing dismay. She had recognised his reluctance over the uniform before now, for he’d never brought it to show her as she’d asked, but now she realised why. It must represent everything he hated about that dreadful battle. Suddenly she wished to save him from pain, even though she knew he must wear it for the portrait. “But we could do without it for now.”

“Very well,” he said, with the air of one whose days were numbered. “Let me see to the horse and I’ll come up.”

He sounded so very disappointed she had not the heart to deny him. “Oh, no. Not… Not right away. I must prepare my paints and the canvas,” she lied, for everything had been ready since last night. “You spend the morning in the garden and come in for nuncheon. But this afternoon, you sit for me. Deal?”

He quirked a smile at her, which made her heart give an odd little flutter behind her ribs.

“A deal,” he agreed.

Eustacia sighed. Drat the man.

Marcus hurried around to the garden, too eager to worry over this afternoon. It wasn’t like he didn’t remember why he was here, it was just… well, that was that and this… this was marvellous.

For a moment he just stood, drinking it in. Birds chattered and flitted back and forth between the trees and bushes, and a fresh breeze rustled the leaves, sending a cascade of them drifting down around him. He caught one, a field maple leaf, and smoothed the gold against his palm before holding it to his nose and inhaling. The sweet, earthy scent filled his lungs, and he let out a breath. It seemed easier to breathe up here. Perhaps the quack doctor had been right after all.

He began with the shed. He emptied it first and swept it clean, inspecting the structure for any rot, but it seemed sound enough; only the door had suffered. This he repaired, sawing off the bottom where damp had rotted it through, and nailing on new boards. Then he replaced the hinges, oiled them liberally, and spent a few moments opening and closing the door until he was satisfied it swung properly and fitted to perfection.

Content with his work, he started on the tools, methodically going over each one, sharpening the shears, repairing the hoe, and replacing each to its assigned place in the shed only when it was fit for use.

He’d just returned the spade to its place and stood back to admire his handiwork when he heard Mrs Wainright calling him.

“Colonel! Halloo there! Come and eat, Colonel!”

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. The woman had a set of lungs on her, that was for sure. He rather envied her that. She’d make a terrific sergeant major. Still, he went obediently enough and was about to go meekly to wash his hands and face as instructed.

“And don’t go trudging about in them muddy boots,” she reprimanded him before he could take a step into her pristine kitchen. “Take ’em off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, wondering why he put up with so much bossing about. Not that he wasn’t used to a pecking order, and he supposed the kitchen was Mrs Wainright’s kingdom. Besides, it was rather pleasant to feel he was accepted as one of the household, familiar enough to be treated with a degree of fond contempt, he thought with amusement as he set his mucky boots outside on the step.

He sat down at the kitchen table once he was fit to do so, and his belly rumbled with pleased anticipation as a large steak and kidney pudding was set before him.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, having supposed nuncheon would be cold meat, cheese, and pickles as usual. “You are determined to fatten me up, Mrs Wainwright,” he said accusingly.

“I make no apologies for it neither. Now, there’s mashed potatoes and cabbage too,” Mrs Wainwright said briskly, setting bowls down on the table as she spoke. “Neil! Neil, where are you? Did you fetch what Miss Eustacia asked you to?”

“Yes, Ma,” called a voice from the scullery.

“And you told her to come and eat?”

“Yes, she’s coming,” he said, hurrying into the room.

“Miss Foxworthy is joining us?” Marcus asked in surprise, eyeing Neil with interest, for he’d not seen the lad before now. He was a slender youth, with his mother’s kind, dark eyes, perhaps about fifteen years of age. The boy regarded him warily.

“She is,” Mrs Wainwright confirmed, setting down a gravy boat before them. “Miss Eustacia’s not too grand to eat with us and usually does when her brother is away. She likes the company.”

Marcus pulled out a chair, returning Neil’s anxious gaze. “I don’t bite,” he said gruffly.

The boy sat down as his mother set another steak and kidney pudding before him.