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Sir Loftus Braddenfield of Hindlesham Manor,’ the parson informed him. ‘And that is another reason you might wish to avoid being in Grace’s company, my son. She is betrothed to him.’

Chapter Three
    G race blew out her candle and curled up beneath the bedcovers. She really could not make out Mr Peregrine. She turned restlessly. In general Papa was a very good judge of character, but he seemed to have fallen quite under this stranger’s spell.
    She had to admit that dinner had been very enjoyable, the man was well educated and there had been some lively discussions of philosophy, religion and the arts, but he lacked knowledge of what was happening in the country. Surely the north was not that backward. Fears of Bonaparte invading England were never far away, but she thought if the man was a spy he would be better informed. Had he been locked up somewhere, perhaps? She was more thankful than ever that he was in the groom’s accommodation and that she had reminded Truscott to check the outer doors were secure before he went to bed.
    Perhaps he had been in the Marshalsea. Many men of good birth were incarcerated there for debt, or fraud. With a huff of exasperation she sat up and thumped her pillow.
    Such conjecture is quite useless. You will only end up turning the man into a monster, when he is probably nothing more than penniless vagrant, for all his talk of having business in Arrandale.
    But would he be in any hurry to leave, if they continued to treat him like an honoured guest? She settled down in her bed again. The man had clearly enjoyed his dinner and he had been eager to take tea with her after. A knot of fluttering excitement twisted her stomach as she remembered his glinting look across the dining table. It was almost as if he was flirting with her.
    Yet he barely spoke two words to her in the drawing room. Once the tea tray appeared he lost no time in emptying his cup and saying goodnight. She tried to be charitable and think that he was fatigued. Sleep crept up on Grace. No doubt matters would look much less mysterious in the daylight.
    * * *
    ‘Good morning, Mrs Truscott.’ Grace looked about the kitchen. ‘Is our visitor still abed?’
    ‘Nay, Miss Grace, he went out an hour ago.’
    ‘Goodness, what can he be up to?’
    Mrs Truscott smiled. ‘Well, you know what your father always says, miss. Only those who rise early will ever do any good.’
    Grace laughed.
    ‘It is quite clear you approve of Mr Peregrine! But never mind that. I have come down to fetch tea for Papa. We are taking breakfast together and then I am going to visit Mrs Owlet. Perhaps you would pack a basket for me to take to her.’
    ‘I will, Miss Grace, but it goes against the grain to be helping those that won’t help themselves.’
    ‘Mrs Truscott! The poor woman has broken her leg.’
    ‘That’s as may be, but if she hadn’t been drinking strong beer she wouldn’t have tumbled off the road and down the bank, now would she? And that feckless son of hers is no better. I doubt he’s done an honest day’s work in his life, not since the hall closed and he lost his job there.’ The older woman scowled. ‘It’s said there’s always rabbit in the pot at the Owlets’ place, courtesy of Arrandale woods.’
    ‘I am sure young Tom isn’t the only one to go poaching in the woods and there is more than enough game to go round, since the woods are so neglected.’
    ‘That’s not the point, Miss Grace. It’s breaking the law.’
    ‘Well, if the law says a man cannot feed his family when there is such an abundance of rabbits on hand, then it is a bad law.’
    ‘Tsk, and you betrothed to a magistrate, too!’ Mrs Truscott waved a large spoon in her direction. ‘Don’t you go letting your man hear you saying such things, Miss Grace.’
    ‘Sir Loftus knows my sentiments on these things and I know he has some sympathy with the poorer villagers, although it would never do for him to say so, of course, and I suppose I should