Page 41 of Lady Petra and the Wolf

“May I ask, how bad is it? What does he need to do?” Diana asked, quite directly.

Petra paused in the motion of drinking. “What does who need to do?”

“Julian, how badly did he mess up? Does he need to grovel? Because I have on good authority that he will grovel if necessary.”

Releasing a puff of nervous laughter, Petra responded before she tried her tea. “I…I do not know. He has not apprised you of what happened between us?”

Diana shook her head. “Only that he trapped you and that he is ashamed of his actions.”

“I hope you understand, I will keep that matter between us. I would not want you to think…ill of him.” She could not quite explain this fierce protectiveness that came over her, only that she did not want to sully Julian’s name with his beloved aunt.

Diana took a long sip of tea. “I see. You do not wish me to think ill of him.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “While I deplore that he hurt you, I could never think ill of him. I know the heart of that boy and it is pure gold. It may have been tarnished by that monster of a father of his who tried to mold it into something in his own image, but deep down, he stayed true. He just got lost along the way. You wouldn’t know anything about monstrous fathers, would you?”

Petra stared down at her tea as she felt that door she had shut inside of her rattling again, unsure of whether she should open that door or nail it shut.

“Yet, you should not judge a man solely on his apologies or his words, but his actions. May I show you something?” Diana rose and held out a hand to Petra, who could think of no reason not to follow the woman.

Leading her down a warm hallway, Diana opened the door to a room of deep mahogany bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and the wonderful smell of a library filled Petra’s senses. The flames of the hearth reminded her of another moment in a library and Petra steeled herself as she thought again of Pemberley. You cannot fall in love with a man merely because of his library, she chided herself.

While the chamber itself served as a masterclass in order and balance, a massive writing desk stood in striking defiance of the room’s prevailing symmetry, encumbered by a chaotic and haphazard accumulation of books. Upon venturing nearer, Petra perceived that these volumes were teeming with slips of parchment, each bearing a multitude of annotations in a faint graphite hand. Finding her curiosity thoroughly ignited, she cast a questioning glance toward Diana, who merely bestowed a silent gesture of invitation for her to be seated at the desk.

“But I cannot.”

“I think you need to see this, Lady Petra.” Diana said firmly, and the power of the petite woman’s voice moved her to sit.

One leather-bound collection was open to a particular story and Petra read the title:

The Murders at the Rue Morgue.

A small ping shot through Petra as this brought back an unclear memory. Why was this title so familiar? Turning a few pages, Petra began to read. Once the main character was described, an analytical sort, a note on a separate piece of paper appeared in the text that read “Would P like this detective?” That small ping transformed into a heaviness in her chest and a dampness behind her eyes. What was this note? She kept reading and throughout the short story, she found other notes, ones such as “What would P predict here? Would P be surprised?” until she reached the end of the tale. While the culprit surprised her, that surprise paled next to the tide of wonder that flowed throughout her as she noticed the stack of books and periodicals next to her teeming with a multitude of further annotations.

Finally looking up to find Diana had absented the room, Petra sensed the very door she had thought shut and locked inside her had transfigured into air.

Chapter Fourteen

For the third, and hopefully final time, Wolf sat in Lord Kemberley’s study. At this point, he was thoroughly ill from the ostentatiousness of the place and beyond disgusted by the man sitting behind the desk in front of him. While his instincts had initially told him not to trust Kemberley, he had never imagined the depths he would sink to. The harm he had caused innocent servants. The pain he had caused his own daughter. Bile filled Wolf’s throat as he thought of young Petra’s betrayal and he forced the horrible image from his mind’s eye.

Petra was strong. Far stronger than her father believed. Far stronger than Wolf had given her credit for, he thought with great shame. She had taken the wreckage of her past to forge a sanctuary for others.

He couldn’t love her more if he tried. That thought forced the bile away, but left an unfortunate melancholy aftertaste. Petra didn’t love him.

She doesn’t ever have to love you, but she will never be at the mercy of Kemberley again.

You can do that for her.

“Wolfridge,” Despite his schooled features, the man harbored a distinctly knowing gleam within his gaze that Wolf did not like one bit.

“Kemberley,” Wolf growled.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Is it perhaps that you have found and secured my daughter’s hand after all? My sources tell me that she has been seen visiting your townhouse.”

“Your sources are incorrect.” Wolf spat.

That knowing look wavered with a brief, flickering uncertainty, yet it failed to perish entirely from his countenance. “Is that so?” Kemberley rose and strode toward the bell pull, summoning his butler. He spoke to the man in a whisper that Wolf could not hear before the man returned to his desk.

“Would you care for a libation, Wolfridge?”

Wolf gave a slight shake of his head, willing this meeting to proceed quickly. He needed to understand why Kemberley believed Petra to be at his townhouse.