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your cheeks, and in good time,” Alfreda said. “We are turning into the last stretch of road to the house.”

Chapter Eight

    T REES LINED THE DRIVE but not evenly, so perhaps they hadn’t been planted there by design. Ivy did indeed cover the manor house’s dark gray stone exterior walls, but it had been trimmed back from the front windows. Brooke saw a large circular stained-glass window centered above the front entrance, but couldn’t tell from the outside if the colored glass formed a picture. Manicured shrubs hugged the walls on either side of the double doors. Eavesdropping below the windows here wouldn’t be easy.
    One of the Whitworth footmen assisted Brooke out of the coach. She straightened her lilac pelisse coat, which fell to her knees, and looked down to make sure the hem of her pink dress reached her shoes. She decided not to put on her feathered bonnet, which she had removed during the drive, and just carried it in her hand. The sun broke through the clouds just then. A good omen? she wondered. Probably not. Just no rain, after all.
    Alfreda followed her out of the coach with Raston in her arms and remarked in a disagreeable tone, “You would thinkthey would have seen or heard us arriving and be out here to greet us. They must have a lax staff if we have to knock on the door.”
    “Perhaps no one lives here. We could be at the wrong house.”
    “Don’t sound so hopeful, poppet. We had good directions from that last coaching inn.”
    It could also be a not-so-subtle way of saying she wasn’t welcome, but Brooke didn’t mention that again. Her stomach was tied in knots and had been for days, but now it was much worse. If she vomited, she would be mortified. Whichever servant had to clean it up would hate her. Not a good start if they did get in.
    The footmen were waiting for her order to unload the trunks. She didn’t give it yet, didn’t move, either. Alfreda didn’t notice that Brooke was rooted to the spot, merely said, “Come on, then,” and started toward the doors. But Raston hissed loudly as the maid got closer to the house and fought to get out of her arms. They watched as he ran along the side of the house and disappeared.
    “What the devil’s got into him?” the maid said in surprise.
    “Maybe they keep dogs in the house that he can sense.”
    “Or maybe it’s because there really is a wolf in there,” Alfreda countered, hinting that she believed in folklore after all. “Raston usually scares dogs away. I’ve yet to see one that frightens him.”
    “It’s a new place. He doesn’t feel at home yet.”
    “And neither do I with this lack of welcome.”
    “Let’s go after him.”
    “No, let’s get you settled first. Raston won’t go far. He’ll likely head straight for the stable. It’s what he’s used to.”
    “Let’s wait,” Brooke said. “If that door doesn’t open, we’ll have good reason to leave.”
    “I know you’re nervous, but—”
    “Really, let’s wait. The sun is out now. I’d like to enjoy . . .”
    Brooke fell silent before she started babbling. She was nervous. So much hinged on what happened today. Alfreda, peering closely at her expression, quickly nodded. Did she look that afraid? She took a few deep breaths, which didn’t help.
    Ten minutes passed, possibly more. It really did seem as if no one was in residence today. Or maybe the Wolfes didn’t have servants? No, her mother had said they were an eminent family of means. This was a rebuff. The wolf was going to tell her to be gone if she came face-to-face with him. This was his way of avoiding that. She almost breathed easier, until she realized she had too much hanging over her own head to just make assumptions like that.
    Brooke finally straightened her shoulders and nodded at Alfreda, who took the last few steps and raised her fist to the door—and almost lost her balance when one of the two doors finally opened and she hit air instead. Alfreda glared at the man standing there.