Chapter Six
The noise from the square woke Grace. Carriages rattled on the cobbles, hawkers shouted and there was the faint ring of hammers. She smiled. Aunt Eliza’s letters had mentioned the incessant building work taking place as London expanded.
She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs, where she found her aunt at breakfast. She was not alone, a pug dog with an incongruous collar of sparkling gems was on the floor beside her, eating pieces of ham and chicken from a silver dish. Aunt Eliza smiled when she saw Grace.
‘Meet Nelson. I bought him as a companion when dear Mr Graham died. He is named after our heroic admiral.’
Grace looked at the overweight little dog snuffling in the dish and wondered if the heroic admiral would consider it a compliment.
‘Mr Peregrine was up betimes and is even now preparing to leave,’ her aunt continued, with a warning glance towards the butler. ‘I was a little concerned that the poor young man might be a little, indigent, but he assures me he has sufficient funds. One would never think it, to look at him.’
Grace was silent while Jenner served her with coffee and bread rolls.
She said, as the door closed behind him, ‘He paid for everything on the journey here, ma’am, including the tickets. I believe he made his present fortune abroad, although it might be unwise to enquire too closely into his methods of acquiring it,’ she added darkly.
‘Very true! The boy was always a scapegrace. My dear, what is the matter? You are looking very censorious.’ Aunt Eliza put down her cup. ‘Pray do not say you have grown into one of those disapproving females who finds no fun in anything.’
Grace waved her hand, unable to express herself. How was she to explain the confusion she felt about Wolfgang Arrandale? There was a darkness about him. It was like an aura. She had felt it from the first moment they had met. He had lived outside the law for so many years that perhaps he no longer knew the difference between right and wrong. He reminded her of an animal, a panther, lithe, alert and ready to spring. He was dangerous, she knew it in every fibre of her being. He fascinated her and that was dangerous too.
Her aunt sighed.
‘You were such a lively little girl, Grace. You were forever climbing trees and tearing your gown, reading books full of knights and princes, always looking for adventure. What happened to that love of life, my dear?’
‘I grew up,’ Grace replied stiffly. ‘And I am now engaged to a Justice of the Peace.’
* * *
When she had finished breakfast Grace took her reading book into the drawing room, but she left the door open, and as soon as she heard Wolfgang’s deep voice in the hall she went out.
‘So it is time for you to leave us, sir.’
‘It is.’ He turned to her. ‘I am very grateful to your family for your hospitality. You need not be polite and say it was nothing. I am aware it was a great deal.’
‘No more than any Christian would do,’ she murmured. ‘Shall we see you again?’ The enormity of the task he had set himself filled Grace with dread and she had to ask, ‘What will you do, if you are not successful?’
He shrugged. ‘Go abroad again. Make a new life elsewhere.’
She put out her hand. ‘I wish you good fortune in your endeavours, sir.’
‘And I wish you good fortune in your marriage, Miss Duncombe.’
She watched as he raised her fingers to his lips, a last chance to memorise every detail of that darkly handsome face, then he was gone.
* * *
Wolf heard the door behind him close as he walked away. It was a sound he had heard many times in his career, physically and metaphorically. As a wild young man, respectable mamas had shut their doors on him to protect their daughters, even though those daughters were only too eager to fall into his arms. Friends of his schooldays had turned their backs on him when his exploits became too outrageous, so he had entered doors that were never closed to a rich young man, those belonging to ladies who lived in discreet little houses in Covent Garden, the less reputable gambling dens and the dingy drinking taverns, where the night invariably ended in a bloody brawl. The only one that had ever hurt was the door to his father’s study, resolutely shut upon his sons unless they were hauled in for a reprimand. Even the beating that regularly ensued was preferable to the cold indifference his parents usually showed him. They saw him as a commodity, a means of continuing the family name, and Wolf was mostly referred to as a confounded nuisance. And his father believed him capable of murder.
Wolf felt the familiar black depression creeping over him. It had overwhelmed him during those early years in exile when his innocence seemed far less important than the shame he had brought on the family. He had decided then that it was his turn to shut the door. He made it clear he wanted to hear nothing more about England and the Arrandales. He had gone his own way, survived, prospered by fair means or foul and had expected to spend the rest of his life wandering through Europe as Monsieur Georges Lagrasse. Until last winter, when he had learned he had a daughter.
Florence. Named after her mother. Did she look like her namesake, or was she a dark, thin child, as he had been? Was she happy? It was most likely she did not know what had happened to her mother, for she was only a child, but that would change. When she grew up and took her place in society the gossip mongers would not hesitate to drag up all the sordid details of her parents’ tempestuous marriage and its tragic end.
When he had learned of his daughter’s existence he had realised it was impossible to shrug off all responsibility for the past. He must prove his innocence. If he could not do so then she, too, would find that many doors were closed to her, save those of generous, kind-hearted people like the Duncombes.
The thought brought him back to Grace. She would not close her door to his daughter, he was sure, but he wanted her to know he was innocent, too. The thought took hold; he imagined how it would be to have her trust him. Perhaps even to like him. He remembered when she had come upon him washing himself at the kitchen pump, the hectic flush that had disturbed her calm serenity. Even now the thought made him smile. She was such an innocent he doubted she had ever seen a naked chest before! She had been shocked, but not frightened.
He had wanted to pull her against him then and there, so she could feel his skin against her breast while he kissed that luscious mouth. And later, in the stable, he had allowed himself to give in to temptation. Why, he had no idea. She was not his type at all, far too tall and willowy for his taste. And far too respectable. Dammit, he didn’tlikegood women!
But there was no denying that he wanted her approval. Wolf gave a little grunt of annoyance. It made no sense. She was about to be married to a man as good and respectable as Wolf was bad. But he could not bear the thought of her thinking ill of him.
