World of de Wolfe Pack: The Wolfe's Return (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Avril Borthiry

  Perhaps his jaw tightened a little, but otherwise, De Wolfe simply arched a brow. “I see,” he said, shifting his gaze to Griffin. “Well, young man, are you going to ask your mother’s permission or not?”

  “Yes!” Griffin clapped his hands. “Lord Nathaniel said I could go with him to the farm tomorrow, but only if you say I can. Can I, Mama? Please?”

  “What?” Hannah felt as though her brain had turned to clay. Had the man not heard what she’d said? She’d admitted to having a child out of wedlock. At the worst, she had expected an obvious display of contempt. At best, a discreet air of disapproval. Nathaniel de Wolfe should be looking at her aghast. Or making excuses to take his leave.

  Instead, he was seeking permission to take her illegitimate son on an outing the next day. Damn the man! He did not fight fair. It would have been easier for her to resist a hail of arrows. As it was, Hannah’s honed defenses, which had served to shield her from antipathy and prejudice over the years, collapsed as if made of sand. Tears, those treacherous declarations of vulnerability, blurred her vision. Fearful of them spilling down her cheeks, Hannah held her gaze steady and resolved not to blink. “The farm?”

  “Yes. Please Mama. Please say I can go. I promise I’ll be good.”

  Never had she known her son to be quite so animated, or heard such excitement in his voice. Yet one more arrow to Hannah’s unprotected heart! She managed to stammer out a question. “He… he will not be a burden to you, my lord?”

  “No, I won’t,” Griffin wailed. “I promise I won’t.”

  De Wolfe gave Griffin a stern look. “And what did I tell you about a knight’s promise?”.

  “It must never be broken,” Griffin declared, without hesitation.

  “Quite so,” De Wolfe said, nodding. “You have not yet obtained your mother’s permission, however.”

  Griffin clasped his hands, prayer-like, beneath his chin. “Please, Mama? Can I go?”

  “Um, then, yes,” she replied. “I… I suppose you can.”

  Griffin gave a little squeak and wrapped his arms around Hannah’s legs. “Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled by her skirts. “Thank you, Mama.”

  Yet, even as Hannah gave her permission, a cautionary voice whispered in her ear. This enigmatic new Lord of Allonby Chase had somehow connected with Griffin in a way no other man ever had. That worried her, although she wasn’t quite sure why.

  “Is there someone else in the house?” De Wolfe asked, gesturing toward the cottage.

  “Yes, my lord,” Hannah replied, puzzled by his question. “I have a maid. She takes care of Griffin when I’m with Lady Beatrice.”

  De Wolfe grunted an acknowledgement and looked at her son. “Wait for your mother inside, please, Griffin. I wish to speak to her in private for a few moments.”

  Griffin, bless his loyal little heart, looked to Hannah for confirmation. She nodded and managed to smile over the churning in her stomach. “What do you say to Lord Nathaniel, sweetheart?”

  “Thank you, Lord Nathaniel,” he said, “and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You’re welcome, young man, and yes, you will indeed,” De Wolfe replied. “Be ready, bright and early.”

  He waited until Griffin had disappeared into the cottage before turning his dark, accusing gaze to Hannah.

  Ah, so this is it, she thought, and steeled herself. The man’s earlier, nonchalant reaction to her situation had obviously been feigned. She bit down, and hoped she didn’t look as sick as she felt.

  “I tend to speak the truth as I see it, Miss Hannah,” De Wolfe said. “And I feel compelled to address this situation with your son. I’m afraid I find it—”

  “Believe me, my lord, I’ve heard it all before,” Hannah said, inwardly cursing the quiver in her voice. “There is really no need, then, for you to express your disapproval or to verbally pass judgment on me. I shall simply add you to the long list of those in the ton who look upon me as some kind of Pariah, and shall endeavor to stay out of your way in future. And please, do not feel obliged to fulfill your promise to Griffin now you know the circumstances of his birth. I’m sure I can come up with a fine excuse as to why you are unable to take him with you tomorrow.”

  De Wolfe regarded her in grave silence for a moment. “It seems to me, Miss Hannah,” he said at last, “that you are the one passing judgment by assuming to know the direction of my thoughts. And you are wrong in your assumption. The details surrounding Griffin’s birth are none of my business, nor do I pay much heed to gossip or whimsy. I have no intention of reneging on my promise to your son, and if I were, I would explain my reasons to him personally. I would never expect you, or anyone else, to concoct an excuse on my behalf. My concern about Griffin lies elsewhere and, with respect, I would like you to hear it.”

  Hannah’s collected thoughts scattered like a handful of marbles dropped on a stone floor. “I… I beg your pardon, my lord. I thought… I mean, um, of course I will hear your concern. Griffin didn’t misbehave, did he?”

  He smiled. “No, Griffin did not misbehave. He’s a well-mannered and intelligent boy. But he is also young and somewhat fragile, which begs me to wonder why I found him sitting alone amid the ruins of Castle Canaan. He claims you knew where he was, and I believe him. But that forces me to ask the question why you agreed to let him go there alone. You are not obliged to explain yourself, of course, but I feel compelled to voice my concern.”

  “Of course I knew where he was.” The inherent desire to defend herself returned and purged the quiver from Hannah’s voice. At the same time, the sincerity of De Wolfe’s concern for Griffin’s welfare tugged at her heart. “And you are correct, my lord. I am not obliged to explain myself. But, given that you escorted Griffin safely home, you do, I feel, merit an explanation. To begin, I can assure you that I’m not the irresponsible parent you might suspect me to be.”

  Another brief smile touched De Wolfe’s mouth. “I questioned my suspicions after I’d spent some time with Griffin. Your son is a credit to you.” He gathered up the reins and swung into the saddle. “Right now, though, I have other things requiring my attention, but I would like to finish this later. Seek me out this afternoon when my aunt is taking her nap. Good day.”

  Without giving Hannah time to respond, De Wolfe pressed his horse into a canter and, with his loyal wolfhound at his side, headed toward Allonby Chase.

  Seek him out? This afternoon?

  * * *

  “What about Lord and Lady Lytham?” Lady Beatrice asked. “Have they replied yet? They have two charming daughters. Francine and… oh, what is the other one called? My memory isn’t what it was. Marcelle, I think. Piers, the son and heir, is a pampered idiot, however. Lady Lytham is bred from old Belgian stock. Ye gads, I make her sound like a draft horse. Anyway, I believe one of the girls is already betrothed, but not the other. A definite possibility.”

  “Yes, they’re all coming,” Hannah answered, hiding her smile as she slid her gaze down the neatly penned list. “We have a total of seven couples confirmed so far, three of them with at least one available daughter. A total of twenty two guests altogether.” She twirled her quill and turned to regard her elderly patroness. “Does Lord Nathaniel know you’re lining up potential wives for him?”

  And do you have any idea how much that bothers me, fool that I am?

  “I told him we’re having a shindig to celebrate him being chosen as my heir, but he’s no fool.” Lady Beatrice, reclining on her purple-velvet chaise longue like some ancient, Roman consort, waggled a silver brow. “I would say he definitely suspects what I’m up to and, since he proclaims to be adamantly against marriage, probably disapproves. His attitude will change the moment he meets the right woman, of course. But introducing my nephew to a potential wife is only part of the reason I’m doing this. Truth is, I yearn to hear the sound of music and laughter echoing through the hallways of this house again. It’ll also be nice to hear the rumble of carriage wheels on the gravel. An odd thing to say, perhaps, but
I always loved that sound.”

  “I’m sure the gathering will be a huge success, my lady.” Hannah fidgeted and released the question perched on the edge of her tongue. “May I know why Lord Nathaniel is so against the idea of marriage?”

  Lady Beatrice hummed and peered at Hannah through her quizzing glass. “I close my ears to gossip, my dear, as you are well aware. But since you ask, I gather it’s because he caught his fiancée in a somewhat delicate situation with his best friend. Happened a little over a year ago, as I recall. Just before we visited London, in fact.”

  “Oh, my goodness, how awful.” Hannah shook her head. “I had no idea he’d even been betrothed.”

  “Yes, it was quite the scandal.” Lady Beatrice sniffed. “Marielle Fitzgibbon is the youngest daughter of Lord Harry Fitzgibbon of Scunthorpe. Nathaniel was apparently besotted with her. She, unfortunately, decided to dangle after Percival Townsend, eldest son of the Lincolnshire Townsend’s. Percy and Nathaniel had been friends since childhood. I believe they boarded at Winchester together. The engagement was called off, off course.” Beatrice glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “As I believe I mentioned once before, Nathaniel’s behaviour has been less than stellar since then. Well, until he came to Allonby Chase, that is. There’s little here to tempt him.”

  “Did the girl – Marielle – stay with Lord Townsend?”

  “Yes, indeed. She married the blighter. Had no choice, really. I understand neither of them have been seen in many social circles since, though. You know how it is, I’m sure.”

  How well she knew it! Discomforted, Hannah returned to the subject at hand. “Have you thought about music for the Saturday soiree, Lady Beatrice?”

  “Yes, indeed. Lord Scarborough’s youngest daughter, Cynthia, is an accomplished pianist.” Lady Beatrice waggled her brow again. “If this was a horse race in, my bet would be on Lady Cynthia. I haven’t seen her since she was a child, and she was quite lovely then. I understand she’s now a diamond of the first water. Missed coming out this past season due to her gallivanting around some foreign terrain with her illustrious Papa, or I’m sure she’d have been snapped up already. I’m hoping she’ll catch Nathaniel’s eye.”

  “She sounds wonderful,” Hannah said, forcing a smile. For a singular moment, her thoughts veered toward a desolate path, one that led to a lonely future with neither husband nor security. She drew a breath and collected herself. She’d made her choice and it had been the right choice. The only choice. She was blessed, not burdened.

  “And you’ll play the harp, of course,” Lady Beatrice added. “You can entertain us at supper.”

  “Me?” A cold hand settled between Hannah’s shoulder blades. “Oh, no, Lady Beatrice. I couldn’t possibly.”

  Up went the quizzing glass again. “Why ever not?”

  “Well, because… I mean, what if they realize who… who I am?”

  “So, what if they do? It’s been several years, my dear. It’s not wise to hide in the shadows any longer. As my companion, your identity has become something of a mystery, which only serves to stoke the fires of curiosity. I’ll introduce you simply as Hannah Sedgewick, and fend off any troublesome questions. There’ll be no mention of your father’s name, so I highly doubt anyone will even make the connection.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I’m not afraid of how they’ll react to me, Lady Beatrice. It’s your reputation I’m concerned about. It’ll look bad on you if they realize who I am.”

  Lady Beatrice waved a hand. “Oh, fiddle-faddle. I’m nearly ninety years old, which affords me a certain amount of impunity. Besides, what’s the worst they could do? Ostracize me? Pah! As if I care about that. If not for you, I’d be having conversations with myself. No, there’ll be no argument, Hannah. You’ll play for us at supper. I have no objection if you wish to take your leave after that.”

  The latter remark eased Hannah’s worry a little. Fear of recognition aside, she’d never been one for social gatherings. She had nothing recent to wear, either, but could scarcely use that as an excuse. Besides, if she dug deep into the truth of it, she had no desire to watch the lovely Lady Cynthia, or any other of the potentials, making eyes at Nathaniel de Wolfe.

  “In that case, it will be my pleasure.” Hannah set her pen down. “Would you like me to read the attendee list back to you?”

  Lady Beatrice squinted at the mantel clock. “Actually, I believe I’m ready for a little nap. It’s a bit early, perhaps, but I didn’t sleep too well last night, damn these achy old bones. Wake me at four o’clock, and we’ll go over the list again then. I’d like Cook and Mrs. Taylor to be present as well, so we can discuss menus and accommodations, et cetera. I need to be sure we’re in good fettle, as my beloved Papa used to say.”

  Hannah stood. “As you wish, my lady. Are you comfortable enough here, or would you prefer to retire to your chamber?”

  “Here is fine. The stairs are becoming a bit of a trial for me.” Lady Beatrice settled back and closed her eyes. “Draw the curtains, my dear.”

  After passing on Lady Beatrice’s instructions as requested, Hannah found herself standing, alone and somewhat aimless, at the foot of the grand staircase.

  Seek me out.

  Yet it seemed unseemly, somehow, to go searching for Lord Nathaniel. Besides, he’d likely put any idea of meeting with her out of his mind. Hannah wiped her palms down her skirt. No, she decided. If he truly wanted to see her, he’d have to seek her out. Resolved, she set off down the west hallway toward the library.

  She hadn’t visited it for a while.

  Lord Parsonby, Lady Beatrice’s father, had been an avid historian. Consequently, the Allonby library boasted a vast selection of reference material, encompassing many eras and epochs. Whenever she’d had some time to spare, Hannah had been exploring the contents.

  One book in particular had snared her attention. Locally printed and bound, it had been written by Lord Parsonby himself, and only one copy had ever been made. This Hannah knew, since she had asked Lady Beatrice about it.

  L’abre Généalogique, or The Family Tree, was exactly that; an ancestral record of the Parsonby line that stretched back to the Norman Conquest. It included more than birth and death records, however. Lord Parsonby had also included snippets of history, stories about his ancestors gleaned from historical archives. It listed the battles they’d fought, lands and estates won and lost, and allegiances made and broken.

  And then, at some point, Lord Parsonby had evidently stumbled onto a distant family connection. Not a blood line, but a somewhat tenuous marital link. It might not have been otherwise of interest, except that it led back to Castle Canaan.

  And the De Wolfe family.

  It appeared Lord Parsonby had decided to research the history, likely because the castle ruins now sat on Allonby land. His findings had been recorded in an academic and factual manner, but the account of the first De Wolfe occupant of Castle Canaan had captured Hannah’s imagination. A love story lingered behind the pragmatic account. An unlikely, yet fated union, of two souls – Scott De Wolfe and Avrielle Huntley de Rennic. And it had captured Hannah’s imagination and stoked a fascination for the De Wolfe family history.

  The previous year, when Hannah had discovered they’d be staying at the Duke of Gifford’s London home, she’d considered setting her fears of recognition aside. The Duke was a De Wolfe, and she’d loved to have questioned him about his ancestors’ rich history. But, in the end, she’d done nothing but disturb some drunken guest who’d been sleeping in the library. Hannah didn’t mention the encounter to anyone and nothing had been said to her. Sometimes, she wondered if she’d imagined or even dreamt the entire episode.

  If time past had a scent, the library at Allonby Chase exuded it. It leached from the pages of a thousand books, the worm-eaten bookshelves, a mishmash of shabby furniture, and two pairs of faded, gold silk curtains. The combination created a museum-like odor that infused the air. Hannah wrinkled her nose at the familiar smell as she squinte
d at the bookshelves. The afternoon had turned dreary, and the subdued light gave the place a gloomy, abandoned air.

  On her previous visit, she’d noticed a volume of poetry, written and published by two local poets, Wordsworth and Coleridge. She’d thought of it a time or two since and resolved to borrow it. It was not a hefty book, and would make nice bedtime reading, she thought.

  “Now, where was it?” she murmured, lighting a candle. Her gaze came to rest on the shelves beside the fireplace. Yes, that’s where she’d seen it! She approached and held the candle aloft, searching for a dark-green book spine with gold lettering.

  “Aha,” she said, spying it on the third shelf up. She turned to set the candle down, and almost dropped it in fear at the sight of a dark figure standing in the doorway.

  “Lord Nathaniel!” Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, my goodness. You startled me.”

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  Hannah frowned, wondering if she’d misheard. He stepped into the room, staring at her with such intensity that she felt an urge to step back. Was he angry that she hadn’t sought him out? Surely not.

  Unsettled by his demeanor, Hannah fidgeted. “Is everything all right, my lord?”

  Her question seemed to rouse him from his odd abstraction. He blinked and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Yes, everything is fine,” he said. “Forgive me, Miss Hannah. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Did you forget about our arrangement?”

  “Actually, no, I didn’t.” Hannah gave a nervous smile. “I felt unsure about seeking you out, that’s all. I was concerned that you might be busy.”

  “Well, I’m not.” De Wolfe approached and stepped past her, his upper arm brushing lightly against her shoulder as he did so. “Which volume did you want?”

  His touch sent a tingle straight to Hannah’s toes and she struggled to focus on her response. “Er, the green one, there. On the third shelf.”

  “Lyrical Ballads?” De Wolfe raised a brow as he handed her the book. “You like Wordsworth?”