Grace nodded. She hoped so, for she had no idea how she would endure a whole day’s travel.
* * *
By the time they reached Hindlesham the sun was creeping over the horizon. As they clattered through the streets, two of the passengers began to gather up their things ready to alight at the Golden Lion. The coach swept into the inn yard and even before it stopped the ostlers came running to change the horses. The early morning sun was low enough to shine through the arch and on to the side of the coach where Grace was sitting, illuminating her through the window. She decided that as soon as the passengers had alighted she would change seats, but even as the motherly woman heaved herself out of the door Grace spotted Claire Oswald standing in the yard and knew she had been recognised. It would be pointless to move now. Claire waved and came up to the open door.
‘I wondered if you would be here, Miss Duncombe. When I did not see you in the coffee room I thought perhaps I had been mistaken and you were catching the night mail.’
Claire was looking rather fixedly at Wolfgang and Grace sat forward to block her view.
‘Good morning, Miss Oswald.’ She glanced around the yard, hoping she did not sound as anxious as she felt. ‘Is Sir Loftus with you?’
‘No, he is busy in the market. Mrs Braddenfield had a letter for the mail and I said I would deliver it.’
The ostlers had finished their work and the shout went up to stand clear. Miss Oswald stepped back.
‘I wish you a good journey, Miss Duncombe.’
The door slammed and Grace waved through the glass as the coach began to pull away.
‘Well, that was unfortunate,’ murmured Wolfgang. ‘I presume that was Claire Oswald.’
‘Yes.’
The other passengers were busy making themselves comfortable and did not appear to be taking any notice, but Grace was wary of saying more.
* * *
She and Wolfgang passed the rest of the journey in near silence and when they eventually alighted at Bishopsgate the sun had already set. Grace stood in the yard with her small trunk at her feet and feeling bone-weary.
She said, trying to be cheerful, ‘I would not have believed sitting down all day could make one so tired.’
‘We have a little further to go yet,’ Wolf warned her. ‘Wait here while I find someone to take us to Hans Place.’
‘There really is no need for you to accompany me across London,’ she replied. ‘You had much better find yourself lodgings.’
‘I promised your father I would see you safely to your aunt’s house.’
There was a note of finality in his voice and Grace did not argue. If truth were told she was too tired to make the effort. However, as she waited for him to find a cab she remembered something that had been nagging her at the outset of the journey and once they were in the hired carriage she asked him the question.
‘The lady we saw at Hindlesham, Miss Oswald. Can you remember meeting her when you were at Arrandale? She looked at you most particularly.’
He frowned.
‘I do not think so. I was rarely at Arrandale before my marriage. My father decided that the future heir should be born at the Hall. Having chosen my wife for me, he thought he was entitled to rule my life.’
‘Chosen? Did you not have any opinion?’
‘Oh, yes, I had far too many opinions! But I always knew I would have to knuckle down some time. Florence Sawston came from a good family and brought a fortune with her. It was a provident match and approved by both families. When it was clear she was carrying our child it seemed sensible to move to Arrandale and acquaint myself with my inheritance, but Father and I had never dealt well together. It was a disaster. He saw my attempts to familiarise myself with the running of the estate as interference, every suggestion was scorned. I was a dissolute wastrel with no idea what was due to my name.’ His lip curled. ‘And that from a man who had lived for years on the profits of Arrandale, squandering his money on mistresses, gambling and high living. It was clear almost as soon as I moved in that we could not work together. We could never meet without arguing.’
‘That must have been very uncomfortable for your wife,’ she murmured.
Wolf gave a bark of laughter, but there was little humour in it.
‘Florence thrived on conflict. She was an expert at stirring the coals, setting me even more at odds with my father. Sometimes I think it was a match made in hell.’
‘And your mother, did she not support you?’
‘My mother was only interested in her own comforts. Richard and I had learned long ago not to worry her with our concerns.’
