“What are you doing?”

Beth glanced from the library window to Grandfather, who stood inside the door, leaning heavily on his cane. “As you can see, I am looking out the window.”

“Waiting on that jackanapes, aren’t you?”

That was just like Grandfather to call the man he’d forced to declare himself to her, a jackanapes.

Beth shook her head wryly. “If you are referring to my fiancé, yes.”

“Fiancé, humph!” He glared at her from under his bushy brows as he went to sit in his favorite chair by the fire. He sat heavily, wincing as he did so, then pulled his shawl from the arm of the chair and spread it over his lap.

Beth went to help him, making certain his feet were covered.

He glanced up at her. “So? How do you like having a fiancé?”

“Does it matter?” She took the chair opposite his. “Grandfather, let me remind you that you were the one who wished me wed.”

“Yes, but you were the one who made such a cake of yourself that I had no choice but to insist on it,” he returned sourly. “You didn’t leave either of us a choice.”

“A fact you turned to your advantage. You wished me married well before the scandal.”

“It was fortunate, though I wish you had taken better care of the family name.” Real anger flared in his gaze.

A pang of remorse pinched Beth. “I’m sorry about that. You are right.”

“Yes, I am. The family name has been damaged already, what with—” His thin lips snapped together. “Never mind that. As you say, it worked out well enough, I suppose.”

“I suppose Westerville will do,” Beth said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. “It’s not as if there were a hundred suitors knocking down my door.”

His brows lowered even further. “Never could figure that out. Fine-looking gel like you, no nonsense to her, neat as a pin, and with a fat dowry; I don’t understand what went wrong.”

Beth looked down at her slippers. “Who knows? Men are very difficult to figure out.”

“No, we’re not,” Grandfather said, stamping his cane on the floor. “Men are very simple creatures, the lot of us. There’s no reason you didn’t take.”

Beth bit her lip. “Well…actually, there is a reason.”

“What?”

“I, ah…well, I didn’t really wish any of the men I met to importune you with offers and such.” Beth fidgeted with the fringe on a pillow under her elbow.

“Go on,” Grandfather said grimly, his white brows lowered.

“So I thought that I could help with that.”

“What did you do?”

“I stuttered.”

“You did what?”

“I stuttered. L-l-like th-th-th—”

He threw up a blue-veined hand. “No!”

She hung her head, peeping up at him, a smile trembling on her lips. “Yes.”

Grandfather dropped his hand into his lap. “You stuttered. And they all ran off like—”

“The fools that they were? Yes.”

He shook his head, though an amused gleam lit his eye. “You are incorrigible. I hope Westerville knows what a handful you are.”

Beth wisely didn’t answer. The truth was, of all the men she’d met in London, only Westerville had been the least bit interesting. What was it about him? He was certainly handsome, but it was more than that. It was the way he looked at her as if infuriated and fascinated at the same time. The way he was so steadfast about finding his mother’s betrayer.

Beth slipped a hand into her pocket. There rested the packet of letters. She’d read them yesterday in the garden, then twice more in her room before retiring for the night. Hours later, she’d found herself in bed, awake, her mind still mulling over the words, picturing the plight of the woman who’d written most of the letters, could hear the echo of deep, residing pity in the missive from the bishop. It was a convincing and emotional collection; she could see why Christian was so convinced that her grandfather was involved.

Yet there were still things that didn’t quite ring true. Why would Grandfather wish Christian’s mother such ill? There was nothing in the evidence to suggest a tie of any sort. Furthermore, Grandfather had an extraordinary amount of funds and he was not fond of jewelry; he wore nothing more than a signet ring, in fact. Why would he wish to procure a necklace?

Something was missing from this story. Yet Beth had to admit that Christian’s suspicions weren’t entirely unfounded; though the evidence was not damning, it was certainly significant. She might not agree with his hasty conclusions, but she had to admire his unwavering commitment to his goals.

And then there was the way he made her feel…She’d spent a good half hour this morning questioning Annie on this rather alarming aspect of being near Westerville. Annie seemed to think Beth a woman to be envied.

Was she? Beth wondered. Was she to be envied?

“Beth?”

She looked up to find Grandfather regarding her. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you want to marry?”

“I don’t think I ever really said I—”

“Don’t tell me that! I know what you think and you don’t wish to marry, not even Westerville.” He leaned forward. “Why not?”

“Because…” She bit her lip. To be honest, somewhere deep in her heart, part of her wondered the same thing. What would it be like to be married to Christian? To wake up with him? Eat breakfast with him? Share the newspaper and gossip? She looked around the library, trying to picture him here.

Strangely, she could. He would enjoy talking politics with Grandfather, she just knew it. And he’d already admitted an interest in managing the land—he’d even admired his father’s abilities for that. She sighed. “I don’t want to marry because I don’t wish to make a mistake.” She caught Grandfather’s gaze. “Like father and Charlotte. I don’t remember much, but he was never happy with her.”

Grandfather winced. “Your father regretted that marriage from the day it happened.”

“Then why did he marry her?”

“He was lonely. And he thought it would be good for you, although one only has to look at the woman to know she hasn’t a mothering bone in her body.”

Beth sighed. “I want a relationship, but then again…I don’t.”

To her surprise, Grandfather cackled. “That’s quite normal, my girl. Quite normal indeed. There are no guarantees in this life. You have to take what you can get and enjoy it while you have it. That’s what your father didn’t do.” Grandfather’s face darkened. “After your mother’s death, he locked himself away, translating this and that and ignoring life. I don’t ever want that to happen to you.”

“He loved literature.”

“He should have loved life. And you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him, and he was too busy moaning over the loss of your mother to realize it. Then, when something did wake him up and make him feel alive, it was too late. He’d already settled for—” He stopped and clamped his lips shut.

Beth frowned. “Grandfather, what are you—”

The door opened and Jameson entered. “Pardon me, my lord, but it is eleven.”

Grandfather tossed aside the shawl. “Time for my nap.” He took his cane and hobbled toward the butler. “Beth, you should get some sleep, too. You might need it if that fiancé of yours ever makes an appearance. You’re looking a bit haggard lately.”

“I’ll have to ask Charlotte for some of her medicine. I’m getting as distracted as she is.”

“Hardly. You could go for two weeks without sleep and still outwit that ninnyhammer.”

“Grandfather! You are so unkind to Charlotte. To everyone, in fact. Even Lord Bennington—”

“Is an even bigger fool! He takes advantage of Charlotte and she lets him.”

“I don’t know why you think that. Bennington has never been anything but kind to her.”

“You don’t know either of them the way I do,” Grandfather snapped.

Beth sighed. It would do no good to upset Grandfather. She stood. “I suppose I should go upstairs, too. Perhaps a nap would be just the thing. By the way, if Westerville comes today, will you please attempt to be nice to him, at least?”

“I am nice to him! Told him he had to marry you, didn’t I?”

“I would hardly call that ‘nice.’ If you wish me to get married, it seems you could show a little respect when I speak about my fiancé.”

“I show respect.”

“You did everything but spit at my feet when I said his name.”

Grandfather’s blue eyes twinkled reluctantly. “Well? I didn’t spit, did I? That’s something, isn’t it?”

Beth had to smile a little. “I want your promise you will be polite. It’s important to me.”

Grandfather’s gaze sharpened. “Oh! It’s like that, is it?”

Her face heated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He cackled, pleased with something as he hobbled to where Jameson stood patiently holding the door. “No, my dear. You probably don’t. But you will!” With that cryptic statement, he disappeared with the butler to the hallway.

 

Annie leaned against the windowpane, her cheek smooshed almost flat as she tried to peer out the corner of the window.

“Can you see anything?” Beth asked for the hundredth time, tying a ribbon in her hair.

“No. Not a bloomin’ thing.” Annie sighed and straightened. “Ye’d think yer man would have come to see ye already.”

“He came yesterday, while I was in the garden.”

“Hooee, ye didn’t tell me that!”

“I don’t have to tell you everything. He is coming again today.”

“It’s gettin’ late, isn’t it?”

“He keeps London hours still, I daresay.” Plus, she’d sent him a note this morning not to come until well after eleven. That was when Grandfather took his daily nap. That way, she could be assured of at least a little privacy before Grandfather joined them.

“London hours,” huffed Annie. “London this and London that. I wouldn’t give ye ten pence fer the whole town.”

“Didn’t you like it there, Annie?”

“Not a bit, my lady. I was never so glad as when I came home to me own room and trundle bed.” Annie shook her head. “There’s a sight more men there, I have to admit that. But they don’t be of the quality I’d recommend.”

Beth fidgeted with the silver-handled brush on the dresser. “Annie, you once told me you knew you were in love when you felt like you had the ague, but didn’t. Well…what if I don’t feel like I have the ague exactly, but I feel…trembly inside.”

“Oh yes, my lady! Trembly will do it, too. Ye have to feel different and sometimes sort of scared-like.”

“Ah!”

“Aye. Sort of prickly-like. And a little itchy in places I won’t be mentioning.”

Beth blinked. “Itchy?”

“Some might call it a quiet yearnin’. But me, I call it ‘itchy.’”

That was certainly interesting…and far more information than Beth had wished. “I see. Well. I will remember that.” She thought for a few minutes. Christian would be here soon. And he did indeed make her a little “itchy,” if she understood Annie’s term correctly.

She looked up at Annie. “I need you to do something for me, if you please.”

“Aye?”

“After His Lordship comes to call, could you get the footmen out of the front hallway?”

Annie beamed. “Planning a tryst, are ye? Well, seein’ as how ye’re engaged to the fellow, I don’t see why not. A little rumpus never hurt no one.”

Beth started to correct the maid, then thought better of it. “Yes, well. Thank you, Annie.”

“Aw, ’tis naught.” Annie smooshed her cheek back to the glass. “I think…aye, there he be!” The maid straightened, smiling widely. “My, he looks right well, dressed like a prince.”

“I shall go downstairs immediately.”

“Wait there, my lady! Ye don’t want to appear too interested.”

“But—”

“Trust me on this. It does ’em good to be kept waiting. Makes them crazed to see ye.”

“Crazed is right, but not in a good way. Besides, I want to get there before Grandfather knows he’s here.”

“Your grandfather’s napping. It will be at least a half hour before he’s up and about.”

“Exactly my point. Only half an hour. Don’t forget to call the footmen away. At least for a few minutes.” With that, Beth left the room. She was just coming down the steps when Jameson answered the front door and escorted Christian to the foyer.

He saw her at the same moment, and there was an awkward pause. Beth wondered if just the sight of him would always affect her so, making her knees weak, her chest ache. She collected herself and managed a credible curtsy before turning to the butler, who was even now holding Westerville’s hat and gloves.

“Jameson, I will take His Lordship into the front sitting room. There is no need quite yet to inform Grandfather that Westerville is here.”

Christian’s brows rose, his green eyes dark with a question.

Beth smiled at him, shaking her head just a little.

Jameson bowed. “Shall I bring tea?”

“No, thank you,” Beth said, placing her hand in the crook of Christian’s arm and leading him to the sitting room.

The butler spoke briefly with one of the footmen in the front hallway, then made his way down the hall to the servants’ quarters.

The second the butler was out of hearing, Christian looked down at Beth. “Well, my love? Are you stealing me away for some illicit purpose? I feel as if I’m slipped into a married woman’s boudoir, only to discover that her husband is still home.”

Beth raised her brows. “A married woman’s boudoir?”

His smile faded a bit. “Perhaps that was a poor example.”

“Perhaps it was,” she said stiffly, wondering at the pound of instant emotion she’d experienced at his suggestion.

He grimaced. “I didn’t think how that would sound. I only meant—”

“It’s nothing,” she said in a clipped tone. She reached into her pocket and drew out the letters he’d given her from the day before. “Here.” She held them out. “These are yours.”

He took them, though his eyes never left her face. “Well?”

Beth hesitated. There was such an intensity to his expression that she knew he’d been anxiously waiting for this moment. “You are right when you say someone at Massingale House is responsible for the ill brought on your mother. I just cannot accept that it was Grandfather.”

“Who could it have been?”

“Father was already gone by the time your mother was arrested.”

“I know. Do you think Charlotte capable of such intrigue?”

“No. She is not strong enough and I cannot see her being so heartless. I do not know who was the villain. I only know there is a connection between Massingale House and your mother’s false imprisonment and I will help you find out what I can.” A noise drew her gaze to the door.

“Beth, I—”

“Shhh!” Beth hissed. She tiptoed to the open door and looked out. The two footmen stood in stoic silence.

“What is it?” Christian whispered directly behind Beth, his breath warm and unexpected on her cheek.

She had to rein in a shiver, but she managed to whisper back, “Wait!”

There was no sound until, from a distant door, Beth heard Annie’s voice. It grew louder until Beth could tell her maid was speaking to Jane, one of the downstairs maids, the one Grandfather was forever calling “that horrid flirt.”

Sure enough, as soon as Annie and Jane were within range of the front hallway, they began calling out a greeting to the footmen.

Christian watched with Beth from around the edge of the doorway as the two maids flirted with the footmen, asking them to come and help with their laundry baskets.

“It will never work,” Christian whispered. “They will not leave their posts.”

“You don’t know the power of Annie.” Sure enough, moments later, Annie and one of the footmen disappeared down the hallway, Jane and her beau following after.

Beth grabbed Christian’s hand. “We haven’t much time!”

“Time? For what?”

She tugged him along, leaving the sitting room and making their way to Grandfather’s library. Beth opened the door, pushed Christian inside, then followed, glancing over her shoulder.

As soon as the door closed, Beth turned on her heel to face Christian, crossed her arms over her chest, and managed a smile. “Well?”

He looked around, realization dawning. “This is your grandfather’s library.”

“Yes. If he has hidden anything, it would be in here.”

He caught sight of the desk and began to move toward it, but then stopped. Instead, he walked toward Beth, bent, and placed a gentle, sensual kiss upon her lips. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Her whole body burned and she began to realize what Annie meant by an “itch.” “You had better hurry. He is sleeping. He normally naps for an hour, but you never know.”

He nodded curtly, began to say something else, then changed his mind. “Come.”

She looked around. “Shall I begin looking through the bookshelves for a false book or a hidden cupboard?”

He glanced at her, amusement curving his lips. “Beth, this is not a novel. If your grandfather has anything to hide, it will be where he keeps his usual things.”

“Oh,” she said. It would have been nice to have found a secret chamber, or at least a hidden safe.

Christian laughed softly. “Stop looking so disappointed. This is my quest. Not yours. I don’t wish you to do anything that might put you in a bad position with your grandfather.”

“Like sneak you into his library when he’s taking a nap?”

Christian paused. “You are taking a chance for me, aren’t you?”

“No. I am taking a chance on you. That is much riskier.”

“I will not disappoint you, Beth.” He crossed to the desk and ran his hands over the surface. He sat in the large leather chair. “That necklace has to be somewhere.”

“How do you know that whoever took it didn’t sell it?”

“It was a spectacular piece. I made inquiries and it has not shown up in any private collection.” Christian found the knob of the top drawer and pulled. It slid out the tiniest bit, then stopped, the lock thunking at the pressure, “Damn.”

Beth had begun running her hands over the bookshelves, looking for irregularities. She looked over at him at that. “What is it?”

“It’s locked.”

“Of course it is.”

“Why ‘of course’?”

Her brows lowered. “Because Grandfather always keeps the desk locked.”

Bloody hell. Christian tugged at the drawer again. It didn’t budge. He cursed, then glared at Beth. “Doesn’t that strike you as strange? That he keeps his desk locked in such a fashion?”

“No,” she said baldly. “Don’t you lock your desk?”

He paused. He did, of course. There were servants about, some of whom he never saw, like the sweep boy and the underfootmen who beat the rugs every month. Christian only knew about them because once or twice, he’d come to the library unannounced and found those individuals there. “I suppose I do keep my desk locked,” he said grudgingly.

“No man of sense would do otherwise.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, her shoulder against the bookshelf. “This is why you should not investigate your theory by yourself. You need someone impartial to assist you.”

He cocked a brow in her direction.

“You, my Lord Westerville, have lost your ability to judge people and things.”

“I have not.”

“I think you have,” she replied with unabashed good humor. “You want to believe my grandfather did this horrid thing so much that you are interpreting everything you find to prove it true.”

He reached for the second drawer and found it locked as well. He rattled it for a moment and then pushed back from the desk and sent Beth a dark glare. “I have not confronted your grandfather, have I?”

She pursed her lips; her eyes settled on him with consideration. “Not yet. But as soon as you find something—anything—no matter how thin—to implicate him, you will not only leap to a conclusion of total and absolute guilt, you will fly to it.”

“I promise that my judgment is not so obscured.”

She raised her brows but said nothing, that damned seductive half smile on her lips. Christian leaned back in the chair. There was more than one way to skin a cat and definitely more than one way to shatter the false confidence of an attractive woman. “I suppose you think you are better at reasoning than I am.”

“In this instance, yes.”

He let his gaze roam over her, settling first on her full breasts, then her rounded hips.

“Westerville, stop that!”

“Stop what?” he asked as innocently as he could.

“Turning everything we do into a seduction. I am here mainly to protect my grandfather. One or two little heated looks from you is not going to change that fact one bit.”

Christian thought he rather liked the way she said she was there mainly to protect her grandfather. He grinned at her now, a strange tightness in his chest. “I was not giving you a heated look.”

“What do you call it then?”

“I was merely appreciating your, ah…finer points.”

“Yes, well, I could do the same for you except—”

“Except what?”

“They are all under the desk.”

There was a moment of splitting silence, then Beth laughed. And not just a little laugh, either, but a loud peal that trickled delicious and cool over his ears.

He half stood and waved for her to be quiet, realizing with some shock that his face was heated. “Quiet! They will hear you!”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, though her eyes still gleamed brightly. After she’d regained control of herself, she said, “Let them hear me. Unlike you, I am allowed in this library. My grandfather would not think it amiss for me to be here at all.”

He returned to the desk. “You snuck me in here. I’d hate for all of your hard work and cunning to be lost for nothing,”

“It would be sad,” she agreed, her lovely lips curving into a grin. “But perhaps worth it, too.”

He shook his head, amused despite himself. “I never know about you. One minute, you are all prim and proper and the next—” He had to grin himself. “I believe I like that about you.”

“Don’t like it too much. I don’t usually say such outrageous things.”

“No, but I daresay you think them.”

Her cheeky grin answered that. “See how horrid I would be at playing society hostess? I am much better served being left in the library with my own amusing thoughts.” Her lips quivered. “I do wish you could have seen your face. I wonder if anyone ever shocks you.”

They didn’t, of course. That had been his place in the world as a highwayman—to shock and surprise. Yet somehow, it seemed right that this woman, with her extreme intelligence, unusual penchant for boldness, and untailored manners and complete disregard for her own attractiveness, kept him always guessing who she was and why.

His chest tightened as he looked at her. She was his…and yet she wasn’t. Life had never been kind to the Llevanth family. He turned his attention back to the desk, his chest aching even more.

He rattled the drawers again, but nothing happened.

“There is a key somewhere.”

He glanced up at her through his lashes. “I’m sure there is.”

“No, I mean there is one on the desk.” She was still leaning against the bookcase, her arms over her chest. Gone was the humor from a moment before. Instead, she was regarding him thoughtfully, as if measuring him.

He rattled the drawer again, then began to look for a letter opener.

She stepped forward, pushing herself from the bookcase with a graceful move. “Westerville, would you be interested in a wager?”

A wager. With Beth. It was a playful gesture, one that defined this woman more than any. One that made his lips curve upward of their own accord. She was a joy, this woman. A provocative, challenging female who deserved far more than fate had allotted her. Once he’d proven her grandfather’s duplicity and their relationship was at an end, this would be all that they’d have…memories of moments like this. “My love, what are the terms of this wager?”

Her gaze narrowed. “I am not your love.”

“You are at this moment.”

She harrumphed, sniffed, then said, “The wager is this: every time you jump to conclusions regarding any evidence found, I win a point. Like when you suggested it was unusual to lock a desk. In reality, it is quite a normal thing to do.”

“I do not always make such hasty judgments.”

“You do when you speak of my grandfather. You’ve convicted him already and every bit of evidence you find, you interpret against him.”

“It is not that way,” he growled.

“If not, then you will win the wager. As it stands, every time you make such a rash judgment, I win a point. And every time you find real evidence indicating my grandfather is guilty, then you will win a point.”

That seemed fair. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right about his reaction at finding the desk locked. He wondered how much of his thinking about his mother’s death had been faulty. What if all of it had? What if her grandfather was indeed innocent?

Christian nodded. “Very well. It is a wager. What are the terms? Or do I get to name them? If I do”—he let his gaze drift over her—“you can guess what I shall require should I win.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she met his gaze gamely enough. “What is that?”

“You. In my bed.”

Beth’s mouth fell open. But she quickly recovered and said with a reluctant twinkle, “I suppose it would be softer than a billiard table.”

He laughed, and it dawned on him that this was what he was going to miss the most—all the possibility that was Beth and he. The future moments like this, of laughing and loving. Of sharing and touching.

All of it was naught but a dream. God, but he hated this whole thing. If Christian found her grandfather guilty, what would he do then? He was honor-bound to seek vengeance, to make the man who killed his mother pay with his own life. “No. No wager. Forget it,” he heard himself say, turning his attention back to the desk.

“No,” she said, her voice breathless. “I agree to your terms.”

“You don’t need to.”

Her gaze met his. “I want to.” Silence met this. He clearly read the desire in her eyes, and it sent a shocking trill through him. Within seconds his body was hard and ready. “Beth. You don’t have to do anything—”

“I am not a child. I know what I want. I want to make this wager.” A smile touched her mouth. “Besides, what makes you so certain you will win?”

She had to know what she was doing to him. She had to. He took a deep breath. “Very well. What are your terms, then, since you know mine?”

“If I am proven right and you are indeed interpreting things toward your own theory, then you will buy me a lovely ruby necklace. We will call it a wedding gift.”

“We aren’t getting married.”

She smiled, her full lips parting to reveal her white teeth. “That does not mean you cannot purchase a nice present for me. If you’d like, we can even call it an un-wedding present.”

“That would definitely make it more palatable.” Though he was beginning to wonder about that, too…

“It would make it more palatable for me, as well,” Beth said with such insouciance that he winced. “In fact, as soon as you buy it for me, I will break off our engagement.”

He almost laughed. There was something so taking about her when she flashed that mischievous look his way.

Beth walked to the desk, reached under the lamp, and picked up a letter opener. She handed it across the desk to Christian. “Open the drawers, please.”

His smile burst forth. “Done,” he said softly.

“Done,” she answered.

They stayed where they were, staring at each other. A heavy prickle of heat traced across her body, tightening across her breasts and settling in her stomach and lower.

In that instant, Beth was awash in the memory of Christian over her, around her; of the feel of the green felt table beneath her. A heated shiver wracked through her and she forced herself to breathe slowly so he wouldn’t notice how flustered she’d become.

Christian slowly turned his attention back to the desk. He inserted the tip of the letter opener into the lock, and twisted it. With a loud click, the lock popped open. His heart pounded in his throat. He carefully pulled open the drawer. Inside was an assortment of papers and leather pouches.

He rifled through them, examining each piece as quickly as he could.

Beth stood with her head tilted toward the door. There was still no sound from outside, though she had to assume the footmen had returned.

A muffled curse from Christian made her turn her head. “Well?”

“Nothing.”

“Excellent!” she answered.

He slid the letter opener into the next keyhole. One after the other, he opened drawer after drawer. Each time, he found nothing.

The last drawer finally opened, the one on the very bottom. Beth glanced back at the desk, but she could see only the top of Christian’s head. He began to dig through the contents, suddenly giving a muffled curse.

He stood, something in his hand, a stunned expression on his face. He cupped the object and ran a hand over it with an almost loving gesture. Finally, he looked up and met Beth’s gaze. “I believe I win this point.”

Beth’s heart thudded to a halt before bounding back to life. He couldn’t have found something that implicated Grandfather. He couldn’t have. She would not believe it. She walked to stand beside him.

In his hand was a small miniature. It was of a woman with thick black hair and the most beautiful green eyes…“Your mother,” Beth breathed, running her fingers over the surface. “You look just like her. But how…why would Grandfather have a miniature of your mother?”

“I don’t know,” Christian said grimly. He caught Beth’s gaze. “Do you believe me now? Your grandfather has something to do with her death. I am certain of it.”

She wanted to answer him, but her throat was too tight. How could it be? Was it truly possible? Beth could not believe it. “Grandfather would never—”

A noise arose in the hallway. Jameson was giving orders, and in the background came the sound of a cane tapping heavily on the ground, coming closer with each step, a querulous voice raised in protest over the chilled air.

Beth grasped Christian’s coat. “It’s Grandfather! He’s awakened from his nap!”