Color of Danger (Sullyard Sisters Book 3) Page 3

  He helped her down but once she was safely on the ground, the man didn’t let go of her hand. What was he doing? She gave it a tug.

  “Pardon me.” Walter now stood next to Patience. He emitted a low growl. The groom’s face turned pink and he dropped Patience’s hand like a burning coal.

  How odd. Had Walter thought the groom meant her harm? Or was he only irked that there was another rooster eyeing the hen?

  Walter offered his arm to Patience. She took it, though she didn’t want to. No use word getting back to her sisters that she’d behaved improperly while away from home.

  Addressing the overly friendly groom, she said again, “I’m to meet Mr. Wycliff. Would you be so kind as to show me to him?”

  “Certainly.”

  They followed the man across the drive and into the vast house. Once there, he left them with a footman, who showed them to a parlor to wait. Steps sounded as he left them.

  The room was at least twice the size of the Bexley’s. Long forest green curtains were open to reveal and floor to ceiling window that had a view of a vast, lush lawn. A grouping of four chairs sat near the fireplace and identical settees had been placed at the other end of the room, a low table between them topped with a vase of pink roses.

  Walter chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Ah. Alone at last.”

  She frowned. “Hush. You’re being obnoxious.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  His mouth turned down at the corners. “You’ve hurt my feelings, Patience. I was only teasing you.”

  Vexation at having to deal with him, that he was even there with her at all, caused her to huff out a breath. Loudly. “Terribly sorry.” Though she wasn’t. For the last year, she’d witnessed Walter try to get attention any way he could. While she normally wouldn’t have put up with it, she didn’t want to get into a petty argument here, where someone might walk in and overhear. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? To make such an awful impression on her first day of work for Mr. Wycliff.”

  “Good day, Miss Sullyard.”

  Patience jumped at the loud voice and turned. She curtseyed to the tall, rotund man in a black jacket and buff colored trousers. “Good day.”

  “I’m Mr. Wycliff.” He raised one thick, white eyebrow and waited, his attention bouncing from her to Walter.

  What is he… “Oh, this is Mr. Bexley. A… family member.”

  He gave a quick nod. “Pleased to hear it. Every young girl needs a reliable, trustworthy escort. Good day to you, Mr. Bexley.”

  Walter smiled and inclined his head. “Good day.”

  “I think you’ll find my falconry delightful. If you two would kindly follow me, I can acquaint you with the birds.” He waved his hand toward the open doorway and headed out.

  Patience slid a look at Walter, who was giving her a sly grin, as if preening from Mr. Wycliff’s endorsement of him as an escort. Walter was indeed that, but the adjectives Mr. Wycliff had given him didn’t apply in the least. Too bad it didn’t. Against better judgment, she was developing quite a fondness for Walter. Not that she would tell him that. If he acted cocky at the man’s words, how would he act if he knew Patience had started to admire him?

  He chuckled, like he knew her thoughts. She stepped into the hall, following in their host’s wake, determined not to give Walter the satisfaction of acknowledging his reaction.

  They headed back out of doors. Even though Patience was a little annoyed at Walter’s behavior, she was filled with anticipation of her new commission nonetheless. From nearby trees, birds chattered, their wings fluttering, their feathers bright against the blue sky. Servants seemed to be everywhere, as a flurry of activity, not unlike the birds, caused Patience to wonder just how big a staff there was. The Bexley’s had servants, of course, but not this many. Of course, she had grown up without any, so who was she to judge?

  Several minutes of walking, during which time Mr. Wycliff indicated this point of interest or that, finally brought them to their destination. The falconry.

  Patience hadn’t expected it to be such a large operation. So many birds, some sleepy-eyed on perches, others hopping about or conversing with other falcons. Surely it was someone’s full time endeavor to simply keep the many creatures fed. Row upon row of differently colored hawks, variations of brown, tan, white, were lined up beneath a thatched roof. The falconry itself had been built into the side of a large hill, leaving the front of sides of each individual tiny abode open. Perhaps in inclement weather, the birds could then huddle against the back side, seeking a break from the wind. Or perhaps they grouped together to keep warm.

  Mr. Wycliff stood in front of the perched row of birds. He spread his hands wide, as if presenting Walter and Patience with a momentous gift. “This is my falconry. Though it’s not as grand as some, I’m quite proud of it.”

  Should she say something complimentary? But what did one say about a place where birds reside? The perches are lovely? I admire the wood the structure is made of?

  He placed his hands on his hips. “There’s a Falconer’s Lodge at Didlington Hall. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

  Patience turned to Walter, who shrugged.

  Mr. Wycliff nodded, like they had agreed with him. “Colonel Wilson gives flight shows annually with hawks at Newmarket. You may not believe this, but I was asked to leave the club. Leave. Can you imagine?”

  Patience bit her lip. “Well…”

  “You needn’t know the details.” He waved his hand. “But we had a falling out.”

  “That’s… a shame.” Patience caught Walter’s attention again He rolled his eyes.

  Mr. Wycliff tapped his boot on the ground. “So, I’ll tell you what I did. I started my own club. Unfortunately, it only has two members. Me, of course and one other.”

  Was she expected to ask anything further? Or would that be rude? She wasn’t of this man’s acquaintance and had no reason to inquire of his personal affairs. There was nothing said for a few seconds and then Walter, who must have tired of the uncomfortable silence, piped up. “And who is the other?”

  Mr. Wycliff scowled. “Well, if you must know, it’s my own brother. We don’t always see eye to eye on how the falconry should be run, though I often remind him that I am the owner, after all.” He rubbed a chubby hand down his face, appearing perplexed, like he’d just realized something. “And he doesn’t often attend the meetings.”

  Walter whispered beneath his breath, “Must be extremely short meetings if Mr. Wycliff only has himself to converse with.”

  Patience bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her nostrils flared, but she couldn’t help that.

  “Now then,” said Mr. Wycliff, glancing around. “I see my footman has set up a table and a place for you to sit right over there. Will you require anything else at this time?”

  “No, thank you. This is fine.” She’d heard more about the man’s troubles than she’d wished to. Now, she was ready to begin her panorama, her fingers nearly aching to draw the birds with their tiny feet and thick, lush feathers.

  “Then I shall leave you to it.” He whistled something off-key as he headed back to the main house. Patience eyed the single chair and then Walter.

  He smirked. “Perhaps the intention was for you and me to share the chair. You could perch on my lap. Like a bird.”

  “Perhaps not.” She sat down quickly before he could steal the chair. He wouldn’t have done it to anyone else, but had been teasing her as long as she’d known him. She wouldn’t doubt it a minute that he would have attempted it simply to annoy her, leave her standing there, pencil and paper in hand, while he relaxed in the solitary seat, a smug expression on his handsome face.

  Patience ignored him the best she could and removed needed items from her bag. A narrow roll of paper, a pencil and a large book. That would be it for now. She’d have to do rough sketches to start with since she wasn’t sure yet what she would include. She’d put some scenery in the final product but needed
to get some more detailed pictures of the birds first, since they were the main focus of the panorama.

  She unrolled part of the paper and pressed it flat on the surface of the book.

  “What are you doing?” Walter stood behind her. His shadow obscured any light she had on the paper.

  “I’m getting ready to draw.”

  “Why do you need that book if you have a table to draw on?”

  “Because I’m going to get closer to the birds for more detail. And unless you’d like to carry the table and move it a few feet every few minutes, I’ll need the book as a temporary table.”

  Honestly, hadn’t he spent enough time around her and her sisters while they worked on their panoramas at the house that he’d recognize what she was doing?

  “Oh.” He took a step back, taking his shadow with him.

  Patience stood and looked over her shoulder. “Oh? That’s it? Usually you have much more to say.”

  “You’d seemed a bit… I didn’t want to…” He shook his head.

  “What are you blathering on about?”

  Walter lifted his chin up a notch and placed his hands on his hips. “Why are you being so bossy? You used to be the nice sister. Now you’re starting to sound like Lydia.”

  Was that true? As much as Lydia was irritating with her sharp retorts and sometimes scathing remarks, Patience had no desire to sound like her. She sighed. “I’m sorry. Truly. Perhaps it’s just nerves. Being here. I’ve never been to someone’s residence as fancy as this to do a commission.”

  “Apology accepted.” He winked.

  Even in forgiveness, the man was rakish. Why did he have to be so blasted handsome? Her body continually betrayed her, longing to stand near him when her mind warned, Stay away. Wanting to be enfolded in his embrace, know what it might be like to feel his lips pressed to hers, when her better judgment said otherwise.

  Patience ignored him the best she could, which was difficult. He followed her step for step, like a kitten after the end of a ball of yarn. Though he’d compared her to Lydia, her inclination was to scold him again. However, they weren’t entirely alone. Servants passed by them often. A gardener to check the roses. A groom heading to the stables. A maid carrying a tray with a tea pot and scones.

  At first Patience had hoped the tea was for her and Walter, but the maid passed on by. Must be for someone around the side of the house, enjoying time in a garden.. The Bexley’s cook had sent some sustenance for her and Walter, but hot tea sounded wonderful at the moment. Anything she’d sent would be tepid by comparison.

  Might as well get to work, as it was obvious Walter wasn’t going to leave her alone and the drawings wouldn’t complete themselves.

  Concentrate. Act like he’s not here. She took a deep, long breath to relax and walked closer to the enclosure. Once beneath the partial roof, it was shadier. The pungent smell of birds, their molted feathers and refuse, made Patience wrinkle her nose. She was used to horses in the barn and lots of cats, but hadn’t been around birds except to admire them from a distance. They definitely had their own odor. Hopefully if she came here enough to work, it would cease to bother her.

  Propping the book across her right forearm, she folded all but a few inches of the paper beneath the book’s cover to hold it still. In her left hand, the pencil was ready and waiting to create the drawing.

  “Would it be easier if I held the book for you?” Walter once again stood next to her. Entirely too close. He seemed to be taking his role as escort to her commission a little too far. When she’d heard he was to accompany her, she’d assumed, hoped, he’d wander off by himself and leave her alone.

  Patience started to say something snide until she saw Walter’s sincere expression. Eyes round and innocent. One side of his mouth curved up in an adorable expression she’d give anything to kiss right that moment. She cleared her throat. “Um… No. But thank you for offering.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Just hoping to score some favor with the lovely Patience Sullyard.”

  She shook her head. Would she never learn that Walter was rarely serious? That he tried very hard to be the rake? Nevertheless, she couldn’t make herself stop wanting to be with him, rake or not.

  A voice called and another answered from around the side of the house, the sound snapping Patience back in line. Time to work. No one would be pleased with her if she got behind from the start.

  Patience approached the first falcon on the left. Light brown in color, curved peak ending in a sharp point. Yellowish feet that appeared old and wrinkled. She jotted a quick note in the corner of the paper about the shades. She’d add in color only after her drawings were complete.

  The bird cocked its head to the side, observing Patience through one dark eye. It was as if he studied her as she did him. What did the bird think when he saw Patience? He seemed unafraid. Surely he was used to being around people. She dared to take a step nearer.

  Walter lightly touched her shoulder. “Might not want to get too close.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “It’s a wild beast. That sharp beak to rip your fingers into tiny pieces.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Look at him. Just sitting there. Practically posing for my drawing. He doesn’t seem inclined to cause me harm.”

  “I’d rather you weren’t injured by that bird, Patience.” His voice had come out testily, like he was scolding her.

  She whipped around. “Why so concerned?”

  He glanced past her to the bird. Was he avoiding looking directly at her? “Just… wouldn’t sound good to the family if something happened to you under my care.”

  “I am not under your care.” She stomped her foot, causing several birds to squawk. “See what you’ve done?”

  “I didn’t stomp my boot.” He pointed down. “That was entirely your doing.”

  “Nevertheless, you…” Patience glanced around. She needed to keep working. The master of the house wouldn’t be pleased to pay her for upsetting his birds while she argued with Walter.

  With a loud huff, Patience returned her attention to the bird. It sat, motionless, and stared right at her. It was a little unnerving, almost as if it was taking her measure, deciding what kind of person she was. Patience focused on his wing, outlining individual feathers. Then she added in shading beneath the wing as it rested at the bird’s side.

  A chilling squeak, then fluttering of wings startled Patience. Another falcon landed next to the first. Patience took a deep breath and let it out, hoping Walter hadn’t noticed her fright. The last thing she needed was him telling her sisters that she hadn’t handled being around the birds very well. Then they would try to coddle her more than they already did. No, that needed to stop. She was a woman now, and was determined to prove it to them.

  Forcing herself to relax, she straightened her shoulders. Taking up her work again, she finished the initial sketch of the first falcon and made more notations of the colors in her notes section. The second bird was darker than the first. Its colors of brown and gold more vivid. More pronounced. Perhaps the first bird was a female and this the male? The darker one began preening the lighter. Using its beak to probe beneath the other’s feathers. It hopped quite close, bending its head at a slight angle, nestling its face against the other’s neck, almost in an embrace.

  Patience gasped as heat flooded her from her collar to her forehead. Good Heavens, the birds almost acted romantic. Like the male seduced the female. And here stood Walter, directly behind her, the heat from his body making her feel—

  Stop.

  Walter chuckled behind her. Had he guessed her thoughts? Surely not. Needing to gain some distance from him, she gave him her best glare. “Perhaps you’d like to sit over there instead of breathing on the back of my neck.”

  His lips edged up in the infuriating grin she was coming to know too well. “But I like your neck. And breathing on it. Why? Does it make you uncomfortable? Me standing so close?” With the softest of touches, so soft she wasn’t sure it ha
d happened, Walter ran his finger across her shoulder. A jolt of something hot flared all the way through her, making her wish she wasn’t wearing so many clothes and could feel the cool breeze on her skin to cool off.

  What a thought! Patience, get a hold of yourself. She jerked her shoulder away from his hand. “Yes. No, of course not. I’m just trying to do my work. You’re impeding the process.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “For one thing, you’re standing in my light. Causing shadows where I want none.”

  Instead of stepping away, he edged closer, his breath warm on her cheek. “And, what else?”

  “I…” How was she supposed to concentrate on her work when all she wanted to do was fling herself into his embrace? Patience swallowed hard, and then took a deep breath. Determined to make him leave, she nodded her head to the area behind them. “Just go over there.”

  His slow smile did something to her. Caused a curious flutter in her stomach. What in the world was that? Before, he’d only annoyed her. Now, though… No, don’t be ridiculous. He’s a pest. A bother. A rake. She raised one eyebrow and pointed the end of her pencil toward the chair.

  He harrumphed. “Very well. Though it won’t be nearly as enjoyable.”

  “I never invited you along,” she muttered.

  He stopped in his tracks, and stared at her. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” Concentrate. It’s important to get your work done. Patience forced herself to focus on the birds. Their sizes and colors. The differences between what she assumed were males compared to females. There were several falcons in the enclosure. Did the owner have names for them all? Know them by sight?

  Something, a twig snapping, caught her attention. Against her better judgment she peeked over her shoulder to see what it was. It must have only been Walter, stepping on a stick. Thankfully, he’d finally moved a few feet away. He’d found a place to sit on a large rock. His eyes were closed and his face was raised to the warm sunshine. Such a handsome man. She didn’t even mind his scar, had felt sorry for him when he’d come home with it. Not sorry that it did anything to mar his appearance. No not at all. Instead, she’d been angry on his behalf, sympathetic to how much it must have pained him at the time. She’d never told him that though. Mustn’t give a rake too much praise. It might go to his head.