Matthew Wolfe by Blair Bancroft

Author:Blair Bancroft
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency historical adventure, regency historical friends and family, regency historical lighthearted, regency historical mystery suspense, regency historical new adult, regency historical rags to riches, regency historical serial
Publisher: Blair Bancroft

Chapter 12

Autumn, 1822

Matthew woke to the familiar sounds of Soho in the morning—rumbling wagon wheels, the cries of vendors offering their wares, the hustle and bustle of tradesmen preparing for an influx of customers into this mix of shops and once-grand dwellings that lay between Mayfair and the shadowed rookeries nearer to St. Paul’s and the Tower. When Matthew helped Jack look for a space for their fledgling business, the last place he expected to end up was scant blocks west of Seven Dials. Yet here he was, in an area cheek by jowl with the place of his birth, yet as respectable as Soho’s most renowned shop, Rundell and Bridge, jewelers to the ton.

While Jack lived happily with his Victoire in Mayfair, Matthew was pleased to live above their office, enjoying the expanse of a good-sized parlor, a bedroom, and even a small kitchen, where he managed to fend for himself, with the aid of Mrs. Gwen Pickering, a neighboring bakery-owner of uncertain years, who was happy to earn a bit extra cleaning and doing his laundry, as well as providing a steady stream of delectable pies and pastries.

Life was good. Matthew had no complaints. He had, in fact, been too busy helping Jack establish the business to ask himself if he had found his true calling. He still attended an occasional social evening, when his friends would not let him say nay, but for the most part, he ventured into Mayfair only when Harding & Wolfe were asked to solve a problem. Or when he visited a particular friend on Mount Street. For the most part, he was content, Soho a comfortable fit for a young man who had long known he was “neither fish nor fowl nor rare roast beef.” Just a mongrel stuck somewhere in between.

And yet sometimes—in rare quiet moments, such as now—Matthew wondered about the clue to his heritage that he had never pursued—his resemblance to a prince in an obscure European country called Wolfenhöhle. Someday, he promised himself. Someday . . .

But not today. Matthew sprang out of bed, dressed in haste, peering into a looking glass only long enough to pat down the slight wave of his hair, check the fall of his dark blue neckerchief, and finally, pull on his shiny Hessian boots (polished each night by one of the street urchins he seemed to have adopted since moving to Soho). After a nimble dash down the staircase, he unlocked the front door. With only a brief glance of satisfaction at the discreet brass plaque beside it which read, Harding & Wolfe - Private Investigations & Security, he re-locked the door and proceeded down the street at a brisk pace. Just because a gentleman was capable of frying his own bacon and making his own toast did not mean that he should. Enjoying company and conversation while breaking his fast at one London’s last coffeehouses was far superior to eating alone. As well as good for business.

And with even the most

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