After his conversation with Bat, Will found it impossible to stay at the dinner party. He was itching to read the lease contract and see the house. After managing to make polite conversation for the next hour, he finally made his apologies and headed out into the night.

Out the front of the house he hailed a hack. It did not take long for him to reach Newport Street.

As the carriage drew to a halt outside number forty- three, he looked up and checked the windows. There was no light to be seen in the upper windows of the house. If Hattie was indeed hiding out in her parent’s house she was being cautious and making sure not to draw attention to the house.

He paid the driver and got out. He waited in the light evening rain until the hack had disappeared around the corner, before walking up to the high stone wall which hid most of the house from the street. In the middle of the stone wall was an iron gate. He tested it and found to his annoyance that it was not locked. He would be making new arrangements regarding security as soon as he moved in.

At the gate, he peered inside the front garden. Black painted door. Small, badly tended flower pots on either side of the front door. One pot broken.

With calculated stealth he unlatched the gate. He left it opened just enough to allow him a hasty departure if one was required. Who was to say that the Wright family did not have a large and unfriendly dog that they had left behind? Will was taking no chances.

The house would be his as of tomorrow, but he wanted to gain an understanding of where Hattie was in the house before he moved in. After tonight, she would be on her guard. Tonight, she still thought she had gotten the better of him.

He was looking forward to finally seeing her face when she discovered that he was the new tenant of her family home.

“You have some explaining to do young lady,” he muttered.

It was frustrating to know that the woman he was so intent on throttling was the very same woman who inhabited his nightly dreams. Heated, lust filled dreams.

Breaking into other people's gardens and snooping about was beneath a gentleman of his birth. If anyone stopped and asked what he was up to, he had a convincing drunk act at the ready. Getting arrested or shot as a suspected burglar would not go down well with his family.

Reaching the back door, he slipped a set of skeleton keys from out of his coat pocket and set to work picking the lock. He stole inside and silently closed the door behind him.

He headed upstairs. The first thing he noticed as he crept about the upper floors of the house was the chill in the air. From the feel of it, fires had not been lit in the various rooms for many days.

He got to one door in the middle of the long hallway and stopped. A faint light could be seen under the bottom of the door. Someone was living in the house.

The temptation to open the door and step into the room was tempered by the knowledge that he had no legal right to be in the house. If Hattie was in residence, she would be well within her rights to shoot a late-night intruder.

He put his face close to the door and whispered.

“Tomorrow my love. Sleep well tonight.”

* * *

The following morning Will caught up with his father before heading out to meet with the agent who was handling the lease of the Wright’s house. There was no point in delaying the news that he was not going to be staying at Dover Street for much longer.

“Your brother and sisters will be disappointed, not to say anything of how your mother will take this news,” remarked Charles.

Will grimaced. There was never going to be an easy way to inform his family that he was moving out of Dover Street and into his own house.

“I'm sorry father, but it has to be this way. I have lived too many years on my own, I find it difficult to live here. No offence intended,” replied Will.

His father nodded.

“None taken.”

As soon as he had arrived back in London, Will knew the days he could stay in his childhood home were numbered. In the years since Yvette's death he had become used to his own company. The silence of the house in Paris where he had lodged with Madame Dessaint had been a blessing. The calm quiet had allowed him to mourn his wife's death and attempt to find the inner peace he so desperately craved.

The near constant interaction with his family was confronting. At times he found himself wincing at the volume of the discussion around the breakfast table.

“I won't be far away. Bat has managed to find me a house in Newport Street. That’s why he called in last night. Besides the sooner I have my own digs, the sooner I can look to securing a wife,” he replied.

“I am pleased that you are ready to move on with your life. Not that you will ever forget Yvette.”

It was comforting to know that he could now talk about Yvette without feeling that the blackness of grief would overwhelm him.

As for his parents, they had made no secret of the fact that they wished to see all their children settled in happy marriages. If Will remained at home, then Francis and Caroline would feel under no obligation to enter the marriage market. He owed it to them and himself to set up his own home.

There was another bonus to having his own home. By being away from Dover Street he could find out more about Eve’s potential husband Freddie Rosemount without her knowledge. Saving his sister from an imprudent marriage was worth more than a year’s lease on his new home.