Chapter Thirteen #2
What would her mother think of her now? She wondered as she took in her plain gray day gown and her pale skin.
Petra hoped that perhaps she would be proud of all that she had accomplished, although, sadly, she hardly remembered the woman who had given her life.
She recalled a version of herself, though slightly altered, and she realized her mother had not been much older than she was now when she lost her life.
What would her mother think of Lord Wolfridge? Petra turned away from the mirror as her cheeks began to color, still unsure of how she felt about the man and what he had said to her before he left.
“Because that was before I realized I loved you.”
What did she know of love? The only people she loved were the ghost of her mother and a cousin who was now oceans away.
With a boldness that perhaps served as a distraction from her innermost thoughts, Petra donned her black paletot and veiled bonnet. While the quality of the outer garments stood out, she prayed no one would notice her in her dark colors as she left Cecile a quick note of where she was going.
Stepping outside for the first time in weeks, Petra relished the warmth of the sunlight on her skin, even through her veil.
The rays restored something within her, the feeling only a sunny day could bring.
The smell of hot meats wafted on the air as she made her way to turn right on Russell Street, where a large crowd surrounded what appeared to be a magician.
As the crowd made an “ahh” sound, the man pulled a coin, then blew on it, sending a burst of smoke through the air.
The next thing Petra knew, his hand was empty as he showed the crowd there was nothing up his sleeve.
One man who had clearly imbibed too much ale raced forward to look for the coin, running into a couple ahead of her and knocking the belongings from their hands.
Petra moved forward to assist the couple, who she judged to be her father’s age, as the man stumbled, and the petite woman tried to steady him.
“Please, let me help you.” Petra pushed back her veil as she picked up the books from the uneven cobblestones. Glancing at the cover of the books, she recognized several by her favorite author. “Mrs. Gaskell!” She explained, then sheepishly stood up.
The older couple regained their balance and had linked arms before. Petra stood back as the woman brushed the man’s morning coat, touched by the gentleness they showed each other.
“I…she is one of my favorite authors.” Petra held out the books, not quite knowing what to say.
“Oh, thank you dear,” the woman reached forward to take the books but then seemed to think the better of it as her husband appeared to wobble.
“Mine as well.” From their clothing and manners, Petra judged they were likely not from London, but she could not tell their background from how they were dressed, which was informal but clean and with fine materials.
Not that it mattered. Growing up as a witness to her father had forced her to learn how to read people quickly.
Petra cleared her throat. “You must let me carry these home for you. I could never let a fellow admirer of Mrs. Gaskell miss out on her work.”
“Oh, that would be too kind, how about you accompany us back to our carriage, which is this way? I am Diana and this is my husband, Elliot.” The woman patted her husband’s arm and smiled at her, linking her other arm through hers.
Enjoying the informality of the introduction, so at odds with the usual standing on ceremony of the ton, Petra was overcome with a sense of familiarity that she had only ever attached to her own mother or Jillian as the woman went on, “I believe Mrs. Gaskell’s most recent is in Mr. Dickens’ All the Year Round periodical. ”
“Yes, Lois the Witch, which was a bit mysterious and dark I suppose.” Petra tried not to reveal how much she enjoyed that darkness, that sense of wonder and dread that a mystery engendered in her, even as that work ended tragically.
“You sound like my nephew, he loves a dark mystery. In fact, I found him writing notes in his book on a dark and rainy day for his…” The woman paused in her speech, glanced at her husband, then looked more closely at Petra.
Just as she was about to speak, Petra’s heart stopped when she spied a familiar face in the crowd.
A face whose yellow eyes had always haunted her.
Horace Jaspen was a man she had only seen several times in her father’s study, as he always took the servant’s entrance.
In her father’s eyes, the man was good enough to intimidate his political opponents but not good enough to enter his townhouse on the same level as a gentleman.
Only too late did Petra realize that her veil was pushed back so she could speak to the couple.
Only too late did she see those yellow eyes of the former mercenary turn on her as recognition and a predatory awareness pulsed within them, even at a distance.
Swallowing, Petra spoke quickly. “I do not wish to bring trouble to your door, but might I briefly join you in your carriage?” she asked, picking up her pace as they turned onto Tavistock Street and dozens of carriages came into view. I cannot go back. I cannot risk him finding the sanctuary.
“Yes, it’s just over here.” The man, Elliot, finally spoke, stepping away to go speak with the coachman. She resolved to call them Elliot and Diana in her mind, as she had not caught their surname.
“Are you in trouble, my dear?” Diana asked quietly.
“Perhaps, but I do not wish to bring that trouble to you.” Petra glanced behind her then turned back to where Elliot was thanking the coachman and signaling to his wife, her eyes dropping to the symbol embossed on the black lacquer.
“But…but that is the Wolfridge carriage,” she whispered as something seemed to dawn behind the woman’s eyes.
“It’s you!” Diana exclaimed, pulling Petra with her to the carriage door as Petra glanced back, looking for Jaspen again.
“It’s me?” Petra repeated back to the woman as her husband helped them both inside the conveyance.
“It’s her, Elliot,” Diana squeezed her husband’s forearm as she sat next to him.
Torn between her curiosity at this new mystery and her fear of Jaspen, Petra pulled back the curtain to search for him. The coast appeared to be clear.
“I’m still so sorry to ask this of you.”
The woman shook her head. “You could have asked us for the moon and we would try to give it to you. You’re the girl. The one who has Jules in a knot. A good knot that is.”
“Jules…oh, are you, you are Julian’s aunt and uncle?” Petra’s mind finally connected all of the clues that she might not have missed had she not been so distracted by Jaspen.
Diana turned to her husband and lightly nudged him in the arm. “She called him Julian, he’s still got a chance!”
Nonplussed by this behavior and still preoccupied by Jaspen’s whereabouts, Petra glanced outside again.
“Yes, he gave me leave to use his Christian name.” She hoped Diana did not notice the blush she could feel starting at her chest at how he last requested she use his Christian name.
“But that aside, I do not wish to put you in danger.”
“Posh,” Diana swiped the air as if swatting away the thought.
“You are important to my nephew and we share the same favorite author, we are not going to leave you behind. Besides, we are hearty stock. You should have seen Elliot when one of our timber importers tried to dock a ship he had not negotiated docking rights to port, he was something fierce.”
Elliot gave an affectionate chuckle, “That was you, Di.”
Diana, who clearly already knew this, responded with a mischievous smile. “Well, together, we were a force to be reckoned with.”
Petra felt the urge to tear her eyes away, as if she were intruding on something sacred, so casual and kind was the affection between the two sitting before her.
She had rarely seen such a thing in her life and the image drew to mind Julian’s confession of love.
What did she know of love? Petra asked herself again.
She had never seen an example such as the one before her while he had known it most of his life.
Could she trust in such a thing, even after his betrayal?
“I appreciate that,” Petra tried again. She could not risk Julian’s aunt and uncle who had raised him. “But I must tell you, my father is the Earl of Kemberley. He does not take kindly to those that oppose him. I would not wish you to be caught in his line of fire.”
Diana nodded. “I understand, I do.” Peering more closely at her, she leaned forward to touch Petra’s hand, which was resting on her knee.
“You are a kind soul, I can understand why he…” She trailed off when her husband coughed loudly.
“But we are not afraid. We have strength that your father lacks. Besides, Kemberley has tried for many years to find inroads to Herron Shipping. He would rather have a piece of us than destroy us. It would not benefit him to harm us.”
Petra rolled this information about her head. “I see I cannot convince you, but I urge you to be wary.”
Patting her reticule, Diana grinned. “My dear, my grandfather was a dockworker. I am always wary and I am always ready.”
Petra tried to sort through the implications of her cryptic statement, but her thoughts were cut off as they pulled in front of what she believed to be Wolfridge House.
Unlike her father’s dark brick townhouse with an imposing black door, there was something inviting and slightly whimsical about the light stucco exterior and deep blue door of Wolfridge House.
“Would you like us to send for your things?” Diana asked as Elliot helped the ladies down with a shaky arm, which Petra had noticed earlier.
“No, thank you, I do not wish for my father to know where I am.”