The Outcast's Redemption. Sarah Mallory
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He said, ‘If you are going to the vicarage, I will escort you.’
‘Thank you, but before I leave I am going to take the key back to Mr Jones.’
‘Very well, I will wait for you.’
She looked dissatisfied with his answer, but she turned on her heel and hurried away to the house. Wolf followed more slowly. He could only hope that Jones would not give him away.
A few minutes later she returned and he was relieved by her exasperation when she saw him. Clearly she had no idea of his real identity.
‘Yes, I am still here,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I shall escort you back to the vicarage. It is not at all seemly for a young lady to walk these grounds alone.’
‘I have done so many times without mishap.’
‘So you are an unrepentant trespasser.’
‘Not at all, there is a right of way through the park.’
‘And you walk here for pleasure?’ he asked her.
‘Not today. I have been visiting an old lady. It is much quicker to walk home this way than through the village.’
‘It would be quicker still to ride. And having seen you in the saddle I know you ride very well, Miss Duncombe.’
‘One cannot live within twenty miles of Newmarket without riding.’ He detected the first signs of a thaw in her response. ‘However, riding today would not have been so convenient. You see, I came through the village and carried out several errands. I passed on Mrs Truscott’s recipe for a restorative broth to one family, called in upon a mother with a newborn baby to see how they go on and took a pot of comfrey ointment to old Mr Brent, for his leg. That would have been much more difficult if I had been riding Bonnie. I would have been forever looking for a mounting block to climb back into the saddle.’
‘I quite see that. But do you never ride here, in the park?’
‘I would not presume to do so without the owner’s permission.’
‘Are you always so law-abiding?’
‘I am the parson’s daughter and betrothed to Sir Loftus Braddenfield. I am obliged to set an example.’
‘Of course.’
She looked up. ‘I think you are laughing at me.’
‘Now why should I do that?’ He saw her hesitate and added, ‘Come, madam, do not spare my feelings, tell me!’
‘I think...’ she drew a breath ‘...I think that you have very little respect for the law!’
His lip curled. ‘You are wrong, ma’am. I have a very healthy respect for it.’
Grace did not miss the sudden bitterness in his voice. A convict, then. She should be afraid, he might be dangerous.
Not to me.
A strange thought and one she was reluctant to pursue. Instead she looked about her as they made their way through the avenue of majestic elms that led to the main gates and the High Street.
‘It is such a pity that the park is now turned over to cattle,’ she remarked. ‘It was a deer park, you know. I used to love watching them roaming here.’
‘You remember the house as it was? You remember the family?’
‘Of course, I grew up here. At least, until I was eleven years old. Then I was sent off to school. As for knowing the family, my father may be a saint, as you call him, but he was careful to keep me away from the Arrandales. The old gentleman’s reputation as a rake was very bad, but I believe his two sons surpassed him. Thankfully for Papa’s peace of mind, by the time I came back the Hall was shut up.’
‘And just when did you return?’
‘When I was seventeen. Seven years ago.’
His brows went up. ‘And you are still unmarried?’
She felt the colour stealing into her cheeks.
‘I came home to look after my father, not to find a husband.’
‘The local gentlemen are slowcoaches indeed if they made no move to court you.’
He is flirting with you. There is no need to say anything. You owe him no explanation.
But for some inexplicable reason she felt she must speak.
‘I was engaged to be married. To Papa’s curate, but he died.’
‘I am very sorry.’
For the first time in years she felt the tears welling up for what might have been. She said quickly, ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘And now you have a new fiancé,’ he said.
‘Yes. I am very happy.’
* * *
There was a touch of defiance in her words, but Wolf also heard the note of reproof. He had been over-familiar. She was the parson’s daughter and not one to engage in flirtatious chatter, but he had been curious to know why she was still unmarried. She was very tall, of course—why, her head was level with his chin!—and she had no dowry. Either of those things might deter a suitor. But they should not, he thought angrily. She was handsome and well educated and would make any man an excellent wife. Any respectable man, that is.
When they reached the park gates he saw they were chained, but there was a stile built to one side. Wolf sprang over it and, having helped Grace across, he pulled her fingers on to his arm. Silently she disengaged herself. Understandable, but he could not deny the tiny pinprick of disappointment.
* * *
Grace was relieved to be back on the High Street and with the vicarage just ahead of them. This man was far too forward and the tug of attraction made her feel a little breathless whenever she was in his company.
You are very foolish, she told herself sternly. His only advantage is his height. He is the only man in Arrandale taller than you and that is hardly a recommendation!
‘You are frowning, Miss Duncombe. Is anything amiss?’
‘No, not at all.’ Hastily she summoned a smile. ‘Here we are back at the vicarage. It will be quicker if we walk up the drive rather than going around to the front door and summoning Truscott to let us in.’
Grace pressed her lips together to prevent any further inane babbling.
* * *
She is uneasy, thought Wolf. But how much worse would she feel if she knew I was a wanted man?
A large hunter was standing in the stable yard and Mr Duncombe was beside it, talking to the rider, but seeing them approach he smiled.
‘So there you are, Grace, and in good time.’
The rider jumped down. ‘My dear, I am glad I did not miss you altogether.’
Wolf watched as the man caught Grace’s hand and raised it to his lips. He looked to be on the shady side of forty, stocky and thick-set, with a ruddy complexion and more than a touch of grey in his hair. His brown coat was cut well, but not in the height of fashion, and he greeted Grace with an easy familiarity. Even before they were introduced Wolf had guessed his identity.
‘Sir Loftus Braddenfield is our local Justice of the Peace.’
It did not need the warning note in the parson’s mild words to put Wolf on his guard. Some spirit of devilry urged him to tug his forelock, but he suppressed it; Sir Loftus Braddenfield did not look like a fool. The man was coolly assessing him as Wolf made a polite greeting.
‘So you are on your way to London, eh? Where are you from, sir?’
‘I have been travelling in the north for some time,’ Wolf replied calmly.
‘And