Sarah Mallory – The Outcast's Redemption (страница 7)

‘Oh.’

Grace stopped in the doorway when she saw their guest was alone. She had deliberately left her entrance as late as possible to avoid just such a situation.

‘Do come in, Miss Duncombe. Your father has gone to his study to find a book for me. He will be back immediately, I am sure,’ he said, as she came slowly into the room. ‘I hope you will forgive me dining with you in my riding dress, but I am...travelling light. And I had not noticed, until I changed for dinner, that this shirt is missing a button.’ Again that dark, intense look that did such strange things to her insides. ‘I hope you will forgive me. It hardly shows beneath the cravat, and at least, thanks to your housekeeper’s services, it is clean.’

Her training as a vicar’s daughter came to her aid.

‘If you will give it to Truscott when you retire this evening I will see that it is repaired. I will have your other shirt laundered, too.’

‘Thank you, ma’am, but Mrs T. is already dealing with that.’

Mrs T.! She bridled at his familiarity with her servants, but decided it was best to ignore it. She turned thankfully to her father as he came back into the room.

‘Here you are, my son.’

He held out a book and Grace’s brows rose in surprise. ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho?’

‘Mr Peregrine wanted something to amuse him if he cannot sleep,’ explained her father. ‘And he is unfamiliar with Mrs Radcliffe’s novel.’

‘I do not see how you could have failed to hear of it. It was a huge success a few years ago,’ remarked Grace.

‘I was out of the country, a few years ago.’

Heavens, thought Grace. It gets worse and worse. Are we harbouring a spy in our midst?

‘Ah,’ cried Papa. ‘Here is Truscott come to tell us dinner is ready. Perhaps, Mr Peregrine, you would escort my daughter?’

Grace hesitated as their guest proffered his arm, staring at the worn shabbiness of the sleeve.

Oh, do not be so uncharitable, Grace. You have never before judged a man by his coat.

And in her heart she knew she was not doing so now, but there was something about this man that disturbed her peace.

‘Do not worry,’ he murmured as she reluctantly rested her fingers on his arm. ‘I shall not be here long enough to read more than the first volume of Udolpho.’

‘I am relieved to hear it,’ she retorted, flustered by his apparent ability to read her mind.

His soft laugh made her spine tingle, as if he had brushed her skin with his fingers. When they reached the dining room and he held her chair for her the tiny hairs at the back of her neck rose. He would not dare to touch her. Would he?

No. He was walking away to take his seat on her father’s right hand.

* * *

Wolf wanted to ask questions. Coming back here had roused his interest in Arrandale. His eyes drifted towards Grace, sitting at the far end of the table. It would be safest to wait until he and the parson were alone, but after ten years of resolutely shutting out everything to do with his family, suddenly he was desperate for news.

‘So Arrandale Hall is shut up,’ he said.

‘But it is not empty,’ said Grace. ‘A servant and his wife are in residence.’

Wolf’s mouth tightened at her swift intervention and the inference that he wanted to rob the place. He kept his eyes on the parson.

‘Do you hear anything of the family, sir?’

‘Alas, no, my son. I hear very little of the Arrandales now.’

‘There was something in the newspapers only last week,’ put in Grace. ‘About the Dowager Marchioness of Hune’s granddaughter, Lady Cassandra. She was married in Bath. To a foreign gentleman, I believe.’

Wolf laughed. ‘Was she indeed? Good for her.’

Grace was looking at him with a question in her eyes, but it was her father who spoke.

‘Ah, yes, you are right, my love, but that can hardly interest our guest.’

‘No, no, of course I am interested.’ Wolf hoped he sounded politely indifferent, as befitted a stranger. ‘I take it there are no Arrandales living in the area now?’

‘No. The house was closed up in ninety-five. There was a particularly bad outbreak of scarlet fever that spring and old Mr Arrandale and his wife died within weeks of one another.’

‘Is that what they say killed them?’ Wolf could hardly keep the bitterness from his voice.

‘It was indeed what killed them, my son.’ The parson turned his gentle gaze upon him. ‘Nothing else.’

‘There had been some trouble earlier that winter, had there not, Papa? At the end of ninety-four,’ remarked Grace. ‘I was at school then, but I remember there were reports in the newspapers. The older son killed his wife for her jewels and fled to France. It was a great scandal.’

The old man shook his head. ‘Scandal has always followed the Arrandales, my love. Not all of it deserved.’

‘You say that because your living is in their gift,’ muttered Wolf.

‘No, I say it because I believe it.’

‘But, Papa,’ said Grace, ‘you believe the best of everyone.’

Wolf did not look up, but felt sure her eyes were on him. Mr Duncombe merely chuckled.

‘I look for the best in everyone,’ he said mildly, ‘and I am rarely disappointed. Do pass me the fricassee of rabbit again, my dear, it really is quite excellent.’

Wolf wanted to ask about the child, his daughter. Had the parson seen her, was she tall, like him, or small-boned like her mother? Was she dark, did she have his eyes? The questions went round and round in his head, but he knew he must let the matter drop. When Mr Duncombe began to talk of more general matters he followed suit, but his long exile had left him woefully ignorant.

‘You appear singularly ill informed of how matters stand in England,’ observed Grace, clearly suspicious.

‘I have been living in the north country, they have little interest in what goes on nearer London. That is why I have come south, to take up my life again.’

She pounced on that.

‘Oh, are you a local man, then, Mr Peregrine? I do not recall any family with that name hereabouts.’

‘No, the Peregrines are not local,’ he replied truthfully.

The parson shifted uncomfortably.

‘My dear, it grows late and I am sure Mr Peregrine would like to join me in a glass of brandy. I do not often indulge the habit, sir, but since you are here...’

Grace rose immediately. ‘Of course, Papa.’

‘If you wish to retire, Grace, I am sure our guest will not mind if we do not send for the tea tray.’

Wolf knew he should agree with his host. They could bid Miss Duncombe goodnight now and he would be free of her questions and suspicions, but some inner demon made him demur.

‘If it is no trouble, a cup of tea before I retire would be a luxury I have not enjoyed for a very long time.’

Grace looked at him, eyes narrowed.

‘You seem to be inordinately fond of the drink, Mr Peregrine.’

‘I believe I am, Miss Duncombe.’ He met her gaze innocently enough and at length she inclined her head, every inch the gracious hostess.

‘Of course Mr Peregrine must have tea if he wishes it, Papa. I will await you in the drawing room.’

With that she swept out of the room.

* * *

As soon as the door was closed Mr Duncombe said, ‘Was that wise, sir? My daughter is no fool.’

‘I am aware of that, but I was not funning when I said I have missed life’s little luxuries.’ The old man’s brows rose and Wolf’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Not tea-drinking, I admit, unless it was in the company of a pretty woman.’ Wolf saw the other man draw back and he hurried on. ‘Pray, sir, do not think I have any thoughts of that nature towards your daughter, I would not repay your hospitality so cruelly. No, I have no interest in anything save clearing my name.’ He looked around to check again that they were alone. ‘On that subject, sir, what do you know of my own daughter?’

‘Alas, my son, I cannot help you. She lives with Lord and Lady Davenport, I believe. Doctor Oswald was dining here the night your wife died and a servant came to fetch him. When we met again Oswald said it was a miracle the baby survived. Your wife never regained consciousness.’ In the candlelight Mr Duncombe’s naturally cheerful face was very grave. ‘He told me, in confidence, that if it had not been for the missing diamonds the magistrate would have recorded your wife’s death as a tragic accident. Alas, both the doctor and the magistrate are now dead.’

‘So you have a new Justice of the Peace?’