Matthew Wolfe: Revelations

By Blair Bancroft

Matthew Wolfe's life has been one problem after another, most of them dramatic, many dangerous, and some heart-breaking. Despite all the friends he has made and all he has learned along the way, he knows only a tantalizing hint of his father's family and nothing about his mother's. As Book 3 opens, he is hoping to combine the pursuit of an elusive gang of gem thieves with a closer look into a possible personal link to the royal family of a small Alpine country, when, suddenly, Jocelyn Ainsley pops back into his life, and, along with her, his worst problem—the trauma of his mother's death in childbirth, which has left Matthew determined never to marry. (Even if a bastard from Seven Dials could ever raise his eyes as high as the daughter of a baronet.)

In this final book of the series, Matthew's dramatic past, his adventurous present, and his remarkable future finally come together as he discovers both sides of his heritage, settles the Affair of the Gem Thieves in an unexpected and bittersweet fashion, and, with perhaps too much advice from friends and family, is forced to face the final challenge standing in the way of Happily Ever After.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Bancroft
• Release date: May 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736799918

Blair Bancroft

Blair Bancroft recalls receiving odd looks from adults as she walked home from school at age seven, her lips moving as she told herself stories. And there was never a night she didn't entertain herself with her own bedtime stories. But it was only after a variety of other careers that she turned to serious writing. Blair has been a music teacher, professional singer, non-fiction editor, costume designer, and real estate agent. She has traveled from Bratsk, Siberia, to Machu Picchu, Peru, and made numerous visits to Europe, Britain, and Ireland. She is now attempting to incorporate all these varied experiences into her writing. Blair's first book, TARLETON'S WIFE, won RWA's Golden Heart and the Best Romance award from the Florida Writers' Association. Her romantic suspense novel, SHADOWED PARADISE, and her Young Adult Medieval, ROSES IN THE MIST, were finalists for an EPPIE, the "Oscar" of the e-book industry. Blair's Regency, THE INDIFFERENT EARL, was chosen as Best Regency by Romantic Times magazine and was a finalist for RWA's RITA award. Blair believes variety is the spice of life. Her recent books include Historical Romance, Romantic Suspense, Mystery, Thrillers, and Steampunk, all available at Smashwords. A long-time resident of Florida, Blair fondly recalls growing up in Connecticut, which still has a piece of her heart.

Book preview

Matthew Wolfe – Revelations

by Blair Bancroft

Published by Kone Enterprises

at Smashwords

Copyright 2021 by Grace Ann Kone

For other books by Blair Bancroft

Please see https://www.blairbancroft.com

1

From Books 1 & 2 of the Matthew Wolfe series . . .

Although born and raised in the London rookery of Seven Dials, Matthew has learned he may have royal blood in his veins. But pursuing his heritage is no more than a will-o-the-wisp as he moves on from the refuge of a hops farm in Kent, does a stint in the rough and ready Harding’s Hellions, and becomes a partner in the firm of Harding & Wolfe – Private Investigations and Security.

Matthew has two primary women in his life: his former fishing companion from Kent, Jocelyn Ainsley, and the elegant widow, Ardella Strathmore. But as Book 2 ends, his attention is entirely taken up by a gang of thieves who are seizing shipments of gold, diamonds, and other precious gems. Until, just as he is about to depart for the Continent in pursuit of the thieves . . .

Chapter 1

The office of Matthew Wolfe

Soho, London - June, 1823

Miss Jocelyn Ainsley clasped her hands before her and in ringing tones declared, I have run away! And no matter what you say, I am not going back.

Wooden-faced, Matthew rose from behind his desk. Never taking his eyes from Jocelyn’s blazing blue-green eyes, firm-set chin, and slightly quivering lips, he said, You may leave us, Mr. Latimer. Matthew’s usually unflappable secretary, jaw agape, hastily bowed his way out, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Sit, Matthew ordered. Hands clenched, Jocelyn did as she was bid, though the fulminating look she raked over him was clearly designed to inform her old friend that she was not at all pleased by his cool reaction to her plight. Matthew resumed his seat, leaned back in his chair, the emotion behind his eyes as cold as their ice blue color. Come down off your high horse, my girl, and tell me what you mean by this nonsense.

Matthew! she wailed.

You are seventeen, Joss, scarce old enough to make your way across town. How can you possibly think you can fend for yourself?

And you are a great looby if you think I don’t know that, Jocelyn retorted with no little heat. And besides not knowing how to go on, I have only a bit of pin money—

Then how can you say you’re running away? Matthew demanded.

"Because I was running to you," Jocelyn returned, eyes wide, thoroughly astounded he had to ask.

I beg your pardon? Matthew straightened in his chair, shoulders stiff, his tone turned ominous. Surely they had settled the matter of Jocelyn’s foolish dreams some weeks ago. He was a bastard who did not know his own mother’s rightful name, let alone his father’s. And though he was clawing his way to respectability, he had spent time in some of His Majesty’s most notorious prisons. He lived in three rooms above his office. There was no way he could marry the daughter of a baronet. Even if he was ready to marry. Which he was not.

Matthew . . . Jocelyn narrowed her eyes at him, heaved a huff of disgust. At herself for committing the fatal error of revealing feelings she knew quite well she should have kept hidden in the depths of her being. Matthew wasn’t ready. Of course he wasn’t ready—gentlemen seldom were. Or so she’d been told. But somehow she’d thought Matthew was different . . .

How to recover without making a further great fool of herself? Jocelyn gulped and began again. I cannot stay in town a moment longer, and I knew you would stand my friend. When Matthew’s stony expression showed no sign of softening, she added, "Step-mama expects me to accept an offer this Season, you see, but I cannot, I simply cannot. I am not ready, Matthew." And there was the worst plumper she’d ever told.

Jocelyn assumed her most woebegone pose, shoulders drooping. She even managed a welling of tears, not a difficult feat with Matthew turned as stubborn as a mule. I have had several offers, you see, and Step-mama insists I accept one of them.

Offers? Despite Matthew’s determination to free her from any fancies she might have about him, Jocelyn, his Jocelyn, receiving offers of marriage shocked him. From whom? he demanded.

Three gentleman of the first stare, or so Step-mama says, Jocelyn grumbled. One of them your friend, Mr. Durrant.

Matthew blinked. "Durrant offered for you?"

Indeed.

But he is a brilliant match, Joss. You could not do better, Matthew’s mouth spouted the conventional words, even as he pictured Brandon Durrant lying dead at his feet.

Jocelyn’s small fist thudded down on his desktop. How dare you say such a thing to me when I have just told you I am not ready to be married?

Sorry, sorry, Matthew muttered. Give me a moment. Casting out the view of one of his best friends lying on the grass in a pool of blood, Matthew grappled with the reality of Jocelyn and the problem she presented. Jocelyn here. Now. And refusing to go home. Surely your father will not let your step-mother push you into marriage? he offered.

I thought not, Jocelyn returned with a glower, but I fear he is more in need of someone to raise his younger children than ensure the happiness of a dead wife’s child.

And warm his bed, Matthew added silently—and not pepper him with constant complaints. Sir Joshua was a good and kindly gentleman but not what anyone would call dynamic, or even courageous.

Jocelyn . . . Matthew paused, his mind searching frantically for answers, even as his mouth formed placating words. I begin to understand why you ran, even why you came to me, but what happens next? He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It is gone two in the afternoon, and there is no way you can stay here.

Yes, I can. You must hide me until Papa is willing to listen to me!

Matthew leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. Ah, I have the right of it. You wish to see me back in prison. Or transported. He cocked his head to one side, ostensibly considering the matter. No, more likely hanged. A fine friendship indeed, my girl.

Do not be absurd!

Come! Matthew stood, rounded his desk, and grabbed her hand. Up, up, my girl. Let me show you what you think you want.

His much-vaunted sangfroid vanished, Matthew dragged Jocelyn out the door and across the outer office with no regard for her shorter legs or Adrian Latimer’s shock. Along a short corridor, up a wooden staircase so narrow his broad shoulders barely had room to spare. Throwing open a door at the top of the stairs, Matthew tugged her inside, dropped her hand, and spread his arms wide, encompassing a modest-size sitting room, comfortably furnished but stark. The home of a man who spent more time away from it than sitting before the fire appreciating his surroundings.

This is it, Joss. All there is. Sitting room, a kitchen so small you’d scarcely notice it, and a bedroom not much bigger. No servants, no one to cook and clean. (Which was not quite true, of course, but Joss didn’t need to know that.) No horses, no carriage, no one you know, and very little money, he added with considerable emphasis. And even if this place was as fancy as Mayfair, you could not hide here, for the scandal would ruin you."

Not if you married me! Stricken, Jocelyn clapped her hands over her mouth. She knew better, yet he had goaded her into it, miserable man!

The ice snapped back—in his eyes, in the grim line of his mouth, his frozen stance. "Particularly if I married you, you foolish— Matthew broke off, gave her a sharp look. Did you not just tell me that you were too young to marry?"

Jocelyn hung her head, toed the carpet. She did not look up. I did, yes, but I—ah—am well aware I could not stay here else.

Matthew did not bother to stifle his groan. Sit, he growled, pointing to a brown leather sofa set before the empty fireplace. Meekly, Jocelyn did as she was told.

His most stern expression firmly in place, Matthew stood over her, ruthlessly shutting out every last twinge of emotion. I repeat, he pronounced, even if I lived in a fine house in Mayfair . . . even if you were one and twenty instead of seventeen, I could not marry you. Be quiet! he barked over Jocelyn’s protest. It is the way of the world, and I’ll suffer no back talk! Marrying me would ruin you. You would never be accepted back into society. Matthew flung out an arm, once again encompassing the small flat. This could be all you’d ever have, and I won’t allow that. Ever!

Fists clenched, Jocelyn glared at him. Then you must prove you are a prince! she cried.

"Bastard prince, Matthew shot back. Much good that would do."

"You are wrong, wrong, wrong! Papa would grovel. Even Step-mama would be aux anges."

The more the fools, they, Matthew ground out. When Jocelyn’s eyes continued to blaze, the passion of a Crusader lighting her piquant face, he slumped into an adjacent armchair, head in his hands. For a long minute they sat in seething silence. Point non plus. The irresistible force versus the immovable object.

Speaking of your family, Matthew said at last, imagine how they will feel when they find you gone. Even your step-mama cannot be so lost to all proper feeling that she is not frantic. And your poor papa. He gave her a sharp look. Did you leave some dramatic note upon the mantel, entrust it to your maid? Come now, Joss, surely you did not fly out the door without a word?

Shoulders hunched, Jocelyn stared at the toes of her half-boots peeking out from beneath the hem of her gown. I left a note with Kitty, my maid, she mumbled, telling them not to look for me and not to worry, for I would be safe with a friend.

Suddenly, all Matthew could see was himself in Nicholas Black’s bookroom, reading his mother’s letter. The letter in which she confessed to telling her parents not to look for her, for she was running away with the man she loved. A blatant falsehood.

But this time . . .

This time, the runaway was Jocelyn, and Matthew was . . . what?

Older, more experienced—far more experienced. The one who must find a way out of this coil.

Grasping the scattered remnants of his sangfroid, Matthew reassembled the wall he customarily kept around his emotions before suggesting, You must have relatives who would take you in. Aunt, grandmother, godmother, second cousin twice removed?

You are not amusing.

Agreed. Well?

My father’s people would send me back on the instant.

Your mother’s family—are you acquainted with any of them?

Jocelyn frowned. After my mother died, we had very little contact. My grandmother is not in good health, and my Aunt Blanche, my mother’s sister, followed the drum, so I scarcely know her. She was widowed at Waterloo and now lives, much retired, in Bath.

Waterloo was some years ago, Matthew offered gently. Perhaps she would like the spark of a young companion in her life.

Jocelyn’s lower lip moved into a decided pout. Bath is a place where invalids drink the waters and exchange tales of their ailments, she returned with scorn.

Bath is a highly respectable venue for a young lady of good family.

I hate you, Jocelyn declared, though with very little heat. And besides, it is highly unlikely she will agree.

She will take one look and welcome you with open arms, Matthew declared.

And if she does not? his inner voice taunted.

I’ll find a way. This was, after all, Jocelyn. She’d been right to trust him, even if their solutions to her problem varied as sharply as night and day.

I must make arrangements, Matthew announced. While I’m gone, you will write a note to your family explaining where you have gone—"

But what if Aunt Blanche—?

Do it! Matthew snapped.

Matthew! she wailed. But he was gone, the door clicking shut with depressing finality.

Frowning, Matthew paused beside his secretary’s desk. Adrian, am I correct that one of the Babbage sisters was companion to a much-traveled lady before her retirement?

Miss Clara, sir. Long-time companion to Lady Heloise Dunstable.

You constantly amaze me, Mr. Latimer, Matthew drawled. I’m off to see Miss Clara then. Kindly send one of the boys to order a post chaise. And see that our guest—Matthew cast a significant eye upward—stays where she is.

Yes, sir. Adrian had no need to hide his interest in the intriguing situation of a very young lady in his employer’s private rooms, as Matthew was already out the door. Lips twitching, he followed in Matthew’s wake, calling for one of the street urchins always alert for a chance to earn a penny or two.

When Matthew returned a scant forty minutes later, Jocelyn had not changed her tune. Truly, Matthew, I cannot go to Bath unannounced. Aunt Blanche will be shocked.

Better shocked by your arrival, Matthew, at his most intransigent, returned, than by word you’ve been compromised beyond repair.

But—

Which you will be if you remain in my flat another moment. Now move!

No, truly, Matthew, I cannot!

Then it’s back to Upper Brook Street. Your choice.

Matth-ew! This was not at all how it was supposed to be!

Did you write the note? he demanded, seemingly totally indifferent to her anguish.

Pouting, not prettily, Jocelyn thrust it into his hand. With a curt nod, Matthew tucked it into an inner pocket for safe-keeping until one of his young runners could deliver it to Upper Brook Street.

Jocelyn, now turned as cold and stubborn as her one-time friend—the man she’d once trusted—allowed Matthew to guide her out the door and down the ugly narrow staircase, moving with every step further away from all her hopes and dreams, no matter how foolish they might have been.

Although Miss Clara Babbage had leaped at the opportunity to come to the rescue of a young lady and earn a tidy sum while she was at it, Matthew thought it best not to introduce her to her charge while ensconced in the midst of a bachelor