The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales)

by Sarah Mallory

  He strode off towards a door at the far end of the gallery. Grace knew this was her chance. She could go back the way they had come, escape from the house and from Wolfgang Arrandale. That would be the safe, sensible thing to do.

  It took only a heartbeat for Grace to decide. She followed him out of the gallery and down a different set of stairs, wider and more ornate than the ones they had ascended.

  ‘This is the grand staircase,’ he said, as they reached the first floor. ‘My wife’s room was there, the first door on the far side of the landing.’

  The lantern window in the roof threw daylight onto the cantilevered stone staircase. It incorporated two half-turns and landings, so that it occupied three sides of the square inner hall. Grace looked at the shallow steps and elegant balusters. There was a smooth wooden handrail that would provide a good grip for the daintiest hand. Grace imagined herself emerging from the bedroom to descend the stairs. Her fingers would be on the rail as she crossed the landing, long before she reached the top step. Her companion let his breath go with a hiss.

  ‘I have had enough of this place. Let us go.’ He put out his hand, but let it drop, his lip curling when Grace shrank away. ‘No doubt you will feel safer if I go first.’

  Silently she followed him down the stairs. When they reached the bottom he stood for a moment, looking down at the flagstones as if reliving the awful sight of his wife lying there.

  ‘You said you had just come in,’ she said, trying to think logically. ‘From the front entrance?’

  ‘No, the garden door, that way.’ He indicated a shadowy passage set beneath the stairs. ‘I had taken the key with me. I was in a foul temper and wanted to avoid seeing anyone.’ He looked down at the flags again. ‘I found her just here, on the floor.’

  Grace looked at the spot where he was standing, then she looked up at the landing almost directly above them.

  ‘You are thinking, Miss Duncombe, that she might have fallen from the balcony, rather than tumbled down the stairs. I remember the injuries to her head were commensurate with such a fall.’

  Grace put her hands to her mouth.

  ‘That could not have been an accident.’ She read agreement in his eyes and closed her own, shuddering. ‘Oh, poor woman.’

  ‘Quite.’ He sighed. ‘I beg your pardon, I have said too much. I never intended you to know the full horror of it. Come, let me take you outside.’

  She did not resist as he caught her arm—more gently this time—and led her to the door. When they reached the front steps she stopped and dragged in a long, steadying breath. The sun still shone brightly, a few feet away Robert Jones was holding the two horses. It was only minutes since they had gone into the house, but she felt as if she had come out into a different world. When she spoke she was surprised at how calm she sounded.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Arrandale, you may release me now, I am not going to faint.’

  His hand dropped. ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  Grace set off towards the horses. Without a mounting block she had no choice but to allow him to throw her up into the saddle and she made herself comfortable while he scrambled up on to his borrowed mount. When he thanked Jones for holding the horses the servant lost himself in a tangle of words.

  ‘It was nothing, Master—Mr Arr—I mean...’

  ‘You may be easy, Jones. Miss Duncombe knows who I am now.’

  The man looked as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders.

  ‘Well that’s a mercy. I’ll wish ’ee both good day, then, sir. Miss Duncombe.’

  They trotted away. Grace’s head was bursting. Speculation, arguments, doubts whirled about and they were halfway across the park before she broke the silence.

  ‘If you are innocent, you should have stayed and defended yourself.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So why did you flee the country?’

  ‘My father insisted I leave. He and my wife’s cousin bundled me out of the house before I could think clearly. My father had...connections at Sizewell who would take me across to France.’

  ‘Do you mean smugglers?’

  He nodded. ‘The weather was bad so I remained at an inn on the quay for a few days. It gave me a chance to think it all through. I had just decided to turn back when word reached me that the diamonds were missing and the Sawstons were bringing a prosecution against me for theft and murder. Thus I am as you see me, Miss Duncombe. A fugitive with a price on his head.’

  They had reached the gap in the paling and Wolf stopped to let Grace go first. He wondered what she thought of him now. He was somewhat encouraged when she waited on the road for him to join her.

  ‘Well,’ he said, as they moved off towards the vicarage. ‘You now hold my life in your hands.’

  She threw him a troubled look. ‘Pray do not joke about it, Mr Arrandale. It is not a responsibility I want, I assure you.’

  She tensed and he looked up to see Sir Loftus trotting out of the vicarage drive. He nodded at Wolf before turning to address Grace.

  ‘This is the second day in a row that I have missed you, my dear. If I were the suspicious sort I should think you were avoiding me.’

  She laughed and replied with perfect calm, ‘Now how can that be, sir, when I had no idea you were going to call today? I have been taking advantage of the fine weather to show our guest around the area.’

  ‘Indeed? And how much longer do you intend to remain in Arrandale, Mr Peregrine?’

  ‘Oh, I hardly know, a few days, a week.’

  Wolf waited for Braddenfield to ask him the nature of his business here, but Grace gave the man no chance. She reached across and put a hand on his arm.

  ‘It must be nearly dinner time, Loftus. Will you not stay and take pot luck with us? It will give me the opportunity to make amends for not being in when you called.’

  Wolf held his breath. The last thing he wanted was to spend the evening in the company of a Justice of the Peace. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show his relief when Braddenfield declined the invitation.

  ‘Another time, perhaps,’ he said, patting Grace’s hand. ‘My mother is expecting me.’

  ‘Of course.’ Smiling, Grace gathered up her reins. ‘Pray give her my regards.’

  ‘That was close,’ murmured Wolf, as they watched Sir Loftus ride away.

  ‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘I learned last night that his mother’s companion is visiting her family and I knew he would not leave his mama to dine alone. It was quite safe to invite him.’

  A laugh escaped Wolf. ‘By Gad, then it was very coolly done, ma’am.’

  Two spots of colour painted her cheeks.

  ‘It was very badly done,’ she retorted, kicking her horse on. ‘Do not think I take pleasure in deceiving an honest man!’

  * * *

  It was at times such as this that Grace regretted they only had the Truscotts at the vicarage to help them. She would have liked to hand her horse over to a groom and disappear to her room; instead she had to stable Bonnie herself. In normal circumstances she did not object, Truscott already worked very hard and she could not expect him to look after her mare as well as the old cob they kept to pull the gig.

  She had just finished rubbing down Bonnie when Wolfgang Arrandale came into the stable.

  ‘I have brought a bucket of water for your mare.’

  ‘Thank you, but there was no need,’ she told him coldly. ‘What have you done with Mr Styles’s bay?’

  ‘I have returned him and paid Styles handsomely for the loan of his horse.’

  ‘And now you are back to plague me.’

  ‘That is not my intention. I beg your pardon.’

  She sighed. ‘No, I beg yours, Mr Arrandale. You are my father’s guest and I have behaved very badly to you.’

  ‘
That is understandable, if you think me a murderer.’

  ‘Papa believes you are innocent.’

  ‘But you do not, do you?

  She eased herself out of Bonnie’s stall only to find him blocking her way. She knew he would not move until she gave him an answer.

  ‘I do not know what to believe. You...’ She locked her fingers together. ‘You frighten me.’

  ‘I do not mean to.’

  He took her hands. His grasp was gentle, but it conveyed the strength of the man. Odd that she should find that so comforting.

  ‘Believe me, Miss Duncombe, I mean you no harm.’

  ‘No?’ She looked up at him. ‘But just your being here might harm us. Harbouring a criminal is an offence, I believe.’

  ‘Is that why you said nothing to Sir Loftus?’

  Was it? She didn’t know any more.

  He was still holding her hands and gazing down at her with no hint of laughter in his face. Her mouth dried. Suddenly everything seemed sharper, she was aware of the dust motes floating in the band of sunlight pouring in through the window, the soft noises from Bonnie as she munched the hay from the rack, the faint cries of a shepherd and his lad driving their sheep through the village.

  Then everything around them faded into nothing. She was aware only of the man holding her hands, his powerful presence calling to something inside. It set her heart pounding so heavily she thought she might faint. His eyes bored into her and, fearing he could read her thoughts, she dragged her gaze away, but only as far as his mouth. Strong, unsmiling, sensual. She wondered what it would be like to have those finely sculpted lips fixed on hers. As if in answer his hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer and she leaned into him, her face turned up to receive his kiss.

  It was no gentle, reverential salute, it was rough and demanding and Grace responded instinctively. She clung to him, her lips parted. Following his lead, she let her tongue dip and dance and taste. She felt intoxicated, an explosion of excitement ripped through her, leaving her weak, and when Wolf raised his head to drag in a deep, ragged breath she remained in his arms, her head thrown back against his shoulder, gazing up at him in wonder.

  Fear rushed in. With a little cry of alarm Grace pushed herself free and ran from the stable. He overtook her as they reached the house.

  ‘I frightened you, I am sorry,’ he murmured, stepping past her to open the door.

  She did not pretend to misunderstand him. ‘I frightened myself.’

  ‘Grace—’

  She put up her hand and shook her head. Tears were very near. ‘I am not free to, to like you!’

  And with that she fled.

  * * *

  Wolf stood and watched her disappear into the house. Like him? Like was too mild a word for what had passed between them and he cursed himself for allowing it to happen. He must concentrate on clearing his name. There was no time for dalliance and certainly not with a gently bred vicar’s daughter. What if she developed a tendre for him? He glanced down at his hand. The weal where her riding crop had caught him was still bright, a testament to the passion he knew she possessed. His mouth twisted. She was one who would love fiercely and he had no wish to break her heart.

  He exhaled, the breath whistling out. That would be a dastardly way to repay all the kindness the parson had shown him. No, he had learned all he could in Arrandale and it was time he moved on and forgot all about Miss Grace Duncombe. Closing the door carefully behind him, Wolf went in search of his host.

  * * *

  Grace summoned Betty to help her out of her riding habit. She was still shaking and her lips still burned with the memory of that kiss. It frightened her that she could lose control so easily. Perhaps she was like those wanton women of the Bible such as Jezebel or the daughters of Zion. A dispiriting thought and it made her ask Betty to look out her grey silk. It was her most sober dress, a plain, high-necked gown with long sleeves and only a tiny edging of lace at the neck and cuffs. Even Papa had joked that it made her look like a nun.

  Once she was dressed she dismissed Betty and sat down before her looking glass to re-pin her hair, but for some moments she did nothing but gaze at her reflection. There was no doubt she looked very severe. Some months ago Mrs Braddenfield had commented favourably upon the grey silk and in a rare moment of rebellion Grace had put it away, determined never to wear it again. However, this was a necessity, she thought, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it through her hair with quick, jerky movements. She needed to be covered from neck to toe from the glances of men, glances that could bring the blush not only to her cheeks but to her whole body.

  Her hand stilled. No, it was not men in general. Loftus had never made her blush in that way. In fact, it had never happened before in all her four-and-twenty years. What was it about Wolfgang Arrandale that caused her pulse to race and the blood to sing in her veins?

  ‘It is because he is so tall,’ she told her reflection. ‘Not since you were a child have you had to look up to a man. It is a novel experience, and you have allowed your fancy to run away with you.’

  Yes, that was it. She finished brushing her hair and quickly pinned it up. It was the novelty of the man. He was so tall and dark and...

  ‘And dangerous.’

  Her words echoed around the bedchamber. She had so little experience of the world. Of men like Wolfgang Arrandale. She gave a sigh. Mama had died when she was a baby and Grace had never felt her lack, until now. Now she wished quite fervently that she had a mother to advise her. She glanced at the small writing desk in the corner, where she had tossed her aunt’s letter before going out for her ride. Aunt Eliza had stood in place of a mother once, until she had married Mr Graham. Grace had felt bereft then, and a little aggrieved, but her aunt had never stopped loving her. And Aunt Eliza was so much more worldly-wise than Papa. That was the solution. Grace moved across to the writing table and sat down.

  * * *

  Grace went downstairs just in time to go in to dinner. The conversation was desultory while Truscott placed the last of the dishes on the table, but once they were alone Grace braced herself for the inevitable.

  ‘So, Grace,’ said her father. ‘You know our guest’s little secret.’

  ‘Not such a little secret, Papa.’

  ‘No, indeed, my dear. I would rather he had not told you, but perhaps you now understand a little better the need for secrecy.’

  ‘I do understand it, Papa, but I could wish Mr Arrandale had not put such a burden upon you.’

  ‘Believe me, Miss Duncombe, if I thought I could trust anyone in Arrandale half so well I would not have done so.’

  Enveloped in her grey gown and the width of the dining table between them, Grace thought she might risk a glance at the speaker. A mistake. He looked dark and saturnine in the dim light. There was a pent-up energy about him, like a wild animal poised and ready to spring. Having raised her eyes to his, she found it difficult to look away.

  Her father gave one of his mild exclamations.

  ‘My dear sir, I am glad you came to me and, despite my earlier concerns, I cannot regret that Grace knows the truth.’ He put out his hand to her. ‘We have never had secrets from each other, have we, my dear?’

  She reached for his fingers and gave them a squeeze.

  ‘No, Papa, we have not. And that reminds me, there is something I have to tell you.’ She paused as Truscott and Betty came in to clear away the empty dishes, but only for a moment. After all, what she was going to say was not really a secret. ‘I have had a letter from Aunt Eliza.’

  ‘My sister,’ Papa explained to their guest. ‘She kept house here and looked after us until Grace went off to school. Then she left to get married.’

  ‘I remember Miss Eliza Duncombe from my visits to Arrandale as a boy,’ he replied, when the servants had withdrawn again. ‘How is she, sir?’


  ‘My sister is a widow now, alas, although her husband provided for her very well. She has a house in Hans Place and lives there very comfortably, I believe.’

  Grace nodded. ‘Her letters are always cheerful, however I think she is a little lonely since Mr Graham’s death a few years ago. You will know, Papa, that whenever she writes she invites me to visit. Indeed, you have been urging me any time these past twelve months to do so.’ She took a breath. ‘I have just now sent off a note, accepting her invitation. I plan to join her within the week. I hope you do not mind, Papa?’

  Grace looked up, expecting surprise from her father and even a little regret that she would be leaving him. She had mustered her arguments: if he said he would be lonely she would point out that he had Mr Arrandale to keep him company, and if he expressed concern at her going away when they had a visitor she would have to explain that she could not be easy in her conscience, harbouring a fugitive.

  In the event, her preparations were unnecessary. Papa looked surprised, but only for a moment, then he gave a wide smile.

  ‘Why, that is excellent news, my love. I am delighted for you.’

  She gave a sigh of relief. ‘I thought perhaps you would wonder at my going now...’

  ‘Not at all, my dear, not at all. In fact, the timing could not be more propitious. You see, Mr Arrandale is off to London, too, so you may travel together.’

  Chapter Five

  Wolf almost laughed at the look of horror upon Grace’s face.

  He said drily, ‘I think you will find Miss Duncombe’s intention in leaving Arrandale is to remove herself from my presence.’ He added with a touch of bitterness, ‘She does not share your belief in my innocence, sir.’

  ‘That may be,’ said the parson, ‘but I am sure Grace is as keen as I am to see justice done.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘Of course, Papa, but...’

  ‘It would be quite ridiculous for you to travel to London separately. Why, you would be following one another within a matter of days, and what is the sense in that? And, Grace, I would be much happier to know you had a gentleman to escort you to your aunt’s door.’