The Wolfe's Mate

After that she would be conducted to the Turkish drawing room—a salon designed and furnished by a seventeenth-century Wolfe who had been an Ambassador to that country—where the teaboard would be ready and where he would at last introduce himself to her.

As was his usual habit, he had planned everything carefully to the last detail so that nothing would go wrong and all would go right. Even the clothes he was wearing had been chosen with great care to give off the right aura of effortless self-command and good taste. They were neither careless nor were they dandified, but somewhere in between. His boots, whilst black and shiny, bore no gold tassels. His clothes had been cut for him by a tailor whose taste was impeccable—there were to be no wasp-waisted jackets or garish waistcoats for Mr Ben Wolfe.

He sat himself down to wait for Jess to report to him, after which he would visit the drawing room where Miss Western would be waiting for him.

Susanna stared numbly at the beautiful façade of The Den when a footman opened the chaise door and Number One helped her out. When she had first been kidnapped she had supposed that she might be taken off to some low nighthouse either in the Haymarket or London’s East End. When, instead, they had obviously been driving into the country, she could form no idea of what her ultimate destination might be like.

Such splendour as Susanna saw all about her in the house and gardens awed her, and for the life of her she could not imagine why it had been necessary to carry Amelia off and bring her here. Surely the owner of such magnificence would be able to court Amelia in proper form, with no need to treat her so cavalierly? And surely, also, the owner of it would be shocked to learn that he had merely acquired a plain and poverty-stricken duenna and not the wealthy heiress she had been guarding for the past half-year.

When she walked up the steps to the double doors held open by splendidly liveried footmen she found herself shuddering slightly, not from cold or fright, but for some reason which passed her understanding. It was as though, once she walked through them, she knew that, somehow, she would find herself in a totally new world, where nothing that had happened to her in the past mattered, only what would happen in the future.

And then this sensation disappeared as though it had never been and she was plain-spoken, downright, sane and sensible Miss Susanna Beverly again, who never suffered from whim-whams or premonitions and was about to give a piece of her mind to the fool or knave who had caused her to be kidnapped.

But not yet. She had to endure a fluttering little maid and a pleasant middle-aged woman who led her upstairs to a suite of rooms so beautiful and grand that she was overset all over again. Indeed, the splendours she saw all about her temporarily silenced her so that she did not complain of her mistreatment to the women even when they called her Miss Western and tried to persuade her to change into the beautiful garments laid out on the bed.

She shook her head in refusal dazedly, but she did use the other facilities offered her—to put it delicately—and finally washed herself and allowed her hair to be ordered a little by the maid.

Then she was taken downstairs by the motherly body into a drawing room which was even grander than the upstairs rooms, where she was offered a seat and tea, which she also refused. When the motherly body, shaking her head a little at her silence, retreated, she sat down at last—to stare at a wall full of beautiful paintings and prints of a foreign civilisation such as she had never seen before.

Outside the sun was shining. In the distance a fountain was playing. Standing in the window through which she was looking was a new pianoforte. Objects of great beauty and vertu surrounded her. It would almost be like living in a rare and well-arranged museum to take up residence here, she thought in confusion.

And then the double doors were thrown open, and a man walked in.

A man who was her captor—and he was, of all people, Mr Ben Wolfe looking his most wolfish.

Mr Ben Wolfe, who had nodded and smiled at her at Lady Leominster’s ball.

This must, Susanna decided, be a nightmare. She would shortly wake up to find herself safely back in bed in the Westerns’ Piccadilly home. Except that everything about her seemed as sharp and well defined as objects are in real life, not at all cloudy and shifting like those in a dream. Only Mr Ben Wolfe’s presence partook of the dream.

And if he were truly here, in this disturbing and unreal present, then she would give him as short shrift as she was capable of offering in her unfortunate position. She could form no notion at all of why he had had her kidnapped or why he was bowing and smiling at her in a manner he doubtless considered ingratiating.

Well, she would not be ingratiated, not she! He could go straight to the devil and ingratiate himself with him if he could. She would demand to be sent straight back home, at once, on the instant…

Except, except…it was already late afternoon. There was no way in which she could be returned before nightfall and offer any reasonable explanation of where she had been and what she had been doing. Indeed, by now, her absence would already have been discovered.

If anything, this dreadful thought inflamed her the further. So she said nothing, merely stared at Mr Ben Wolfe, who was bowing low to her. That over, he motioned her to a seat before a low table on which a teaboard was set out, saying, ‘Pray be seated, Miss Western. You are doubtless wondering why you are here. May I say that I intend you no harm. Quite the contrary.’

It was the first time she had heard him speak. He had a deep gravel voice, eminently suited to his harsh features. Susanna’s first impulse was to inform him immediately that he was much mistaken: she was not Miss Western, his hired villains having carried off the wrong woman.

She wondered briefly why Amelia was the right woman. For what purpose would she have been brought here? She made an instant and daring decision: she would not tell him straight away that she was not Amelia, and then only after she had discovered what his wicked game was. It would be a pleasure to wrongfoot him.

Aloud she said, ‘No, I will not be seated. And I do so hope, Mr Ben Wolfe—you are Mr Ben Wolfe, are you not?—that you have a satisfactory explanation for my forced presence here.’

He smiled at her, displaying strong white teeth—all the better to eat you with, my dear, being Susanna’s inward response to that for was he not behaving exactly like the wolf whose name he bore in the fairy tale Red Riding Hood?

Mr Ben Wolfe, on the other hand, evidently thought that he was the good fairy in Cinderella, murmuring in a kind voice, ‘Do not be frightened. Miss Western. My intentions towards you are strictly honourable, I do assure you. As for my reasons for bringing you here thus abruptly, you will forgive me if I leave any necessary explanation for them until later.’

‘No, indeed, I do not forgive you at all. I don’t believe in your so-called honourable intentions; I have no notion of whether you intend to wed me or bed me. Or neither. I do so hope it’s neither. I should like very much to return home untouched—and as soon as possible.’

His smile this time was rueful. ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Miss Western. You see, I wish to marry you, to make you the wife of one of the richest men in England instead of one of the poorest. I’m sure, on mature and rational consideration, you—and your family—would prefer that.’

Susanna stared at all six foot one of masculine bravura, superbly turned out from the top of his glossy black head to the tips of his glossy black boots.

‘Then, in the name of wonder, Mr Benjamin Wolfe, why did you not approach my parents in proper form and make an honourable offer in an honourable fashion instead of having me carried off, hugger-mugger, like a parcel from the post office?’

She was beginning to enjoy herself, hugging gleefully to her bosom the knowledge that he was not talking to his proposed forced bride at all but to her unconsidered and poverty-stricken governess. He evidently believed her to be Amelia and had no suspicion that he was mistaken. The longer she continued to deceive him, the more her pleasure grew.

On the other hand, by the looks of him he had a fine and wilful temper, which offered her the problem of how he would react when she finally enlightened him as to her true identity. But that could wait. Susanna had endured her disastrous fall into penury by living only for the moment and ignoring the future. What will come, would come, being her motto.

Mr Ben Wolfe bowed to her again. ‘My dear girl, I have already informed you that I have my reasons and will reveal them to you on a suitable occasion. That occasion is not now. Now is the time for us to come to know one another better. To that end, pray pour us some tea before it grows cold. We shall both feel better for it.’

‘There are only two things wrong with your last remark, Mr Ben Wolfe,’ returned Susanna, all sweetness and light. ‘The first is that I have no wish to know you any better—quite the contrary. The second is that I have no wish either to pour you tea, or drink it myself—I should certainly not feel any better for it. A fast post-chaise and an immediate return to London are the only requests I have to make of you.’

They were standing at some distance apart, for Mr Ben Wolfe had entered with no immediate desire to frighten his captive. On the other hand, he had expected to meet a young girl whom he could easily control by the gentlest of means. Instead, he was confronted with a talkative, self-possessed creature, older than her eighteen years in her command of language, who was evidently going to take a deal of coaxing before she agreed to become Mrs. Ben Wolfe without making overmuch fuss.

He decided to continue being agreeable and charming, praying that his patience would not run out. ‘I regret,’ he told her, bowing, ‘that is one of the few requests which you might make of me which I must refuse. My plans for you involve you remaining here for the time being. Later, perhaps.’

‘Later will not do at all!’ said Susanna, who wished most heartily that he would stop bowing at her. Most unsuitable when all he did was contradict her. ‘I have my reputation to consider.’

Mr Ben Wolfe suddenly overwhelmed her with what she could only consider was the most inappropriate gallantry, all things considered. ‘No need to trouble yourself about that. I shall take the greatest care of you.’

‘Indeed? I am pleased to hear it—but I am a little at a loss to grasp the finer details of that statement. I ask you again do you intend to wed me—or to bed me?’

This unbecoming frankness from a single female of gentle nurture almost overset Ben Wolfe. Nothing had prepared him for it. Might it not, he momentarily considered, have been more useful for him to have been equally as frank with her from the beginning of this interview?

No matter. He smiled, and if the smile was a trifle strained, which it was, then damn him, thought Susanna uncharitably, it is all he deserves.

‘Oh, my intentions are quite honourable. I mean to marry you and to that end I have already procured a special licence from the Archbishop of Canterbury himself.’

Marriage! He proposed to marry her—or rather Amelia. In the cat-and-mouse game she was playing with him Susanna had almost forgotten that she was not the target of Mr Ben Wolfe’s plans. For a moment she considered enlightening him immediately, but he deserved to live in his fool’s paradise a little longer, for was there not an interesting reply which she could make to his last confident declaration?

‘You do surprise me, sir. First of all, you seem to forget that you have not yet asked me whether I wish to marry you and, all things considered, I’m sure that I don’t; secondly, aren’t you forgetting that I am already betrothed to George Darlington?’

‘No, indeed—for that is precisely why you are here.’

His eyes gleamed as he came out with this, and the look he gave her was so predatory that Susanna shuddered. She was playing with a tiger. A tiger who had intended to kidnap an innocent young girl and force her to marry him in order, apparently, to prevent her from marrying George, Viscount Darlington.

Now Susanna did not like George Darlington and, by the look on his face when he had uttered his name, neither, for some reason, did Ben Wolfe, but she didn’t think that he deserved to be treated quite so scurvily as to lose his proposed bride, and when she had finally confessed who she truly was she would so inform her captor.

If he was prepared to let her get a word in edgeways, that was—for she was beginning to understand that Mr Ben Wolfe in a thwarted rage might be a very formidable creature, indeed.

Unconsciously they had moved closer and closer together so that, when Susanna echoed him again by murmuring ‘By saying “Precisely why you are here”, you mean—I take it—that you have kidnapped me in order to thwart George Darlington by depriving him of his bride—and her money,’ he bent down to take her hand, saying,

‘Yes—and you are a clever child to have worked that out so quickly. I think that I may be gaining a real prize in marrying you, Miss Western.’

Susanna smiled up into his inclined face. ‘Oh, I think not, Mr Ben Wolfe. All of this would be very fine if I were Amelia Western but, seeing that I am not, you have given yourself a great deal of trouble for exactly nothing.

‘Your hirelings have only succeeded in kidnapping not Miss Western, but her poverty-stricken nothing of a governess, Susanna Beverly, who possesses no fortune and no reputation, either. By carrying me off by mistake you have destroyed the last remnants of that for good—and gained only frustration for yourself.’