To Hunt the Hunter
Girls Who Dare, Book 11
By Emma V. Leech
Published by Emma V. Leech.
Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2020
Cover Art: Victoria Cooper
ASIN No.: B086SKQ1P9
ISBN No: 978-2-492133-00-8
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred.
Table of Contents
Members of the Peculiar Ladies’ Book Club
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
To Dance Until Dawn
Want more Emma?
About Me!
Other Works by Emma V. Leech
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The Rogue
Dying for a Duke
The Key to Erebus
The Dark Prince
Acknowledgements
Members of the Peculiar Ladies’ Book Club
Prunella Adolphus, Duchess of Bedwin – first peculiar lady and secretly Miss Terry, author of The Dark History of a Damned Duke.
Mrs Alice Hunt (née Dowding) – not as shy as she once was. Recently married to Matilda’s brother, the notorious Nathanial Hunt, owner of Hunter’s, the exclusive gambling club.
Lady Aashini Cavendish (Lucia de Feria) – a beauty. A foreigner. Recently happily, and scandalously, married to Silas Anson, Viscount Cavendish.
Mrs Kitty Baxter (née Connolly) – quiet and watchful, until she isn’t. Recently eloped to marry childhood sweetheart, Mr Luke Baxter.
Lady Harriet St Clair (née Stanhope) Countess of St Clair – serious, studious, intelligent. Prim. Wearer of spectacles. Finally married to the Earl of St Clair.
Bonnie Cadogan – (née Campbell) still too outspoken and forever in a scrape alongside her husband, Jerome Cadogan.
Ruth Anderson– (née Stone) heiress and daughter of a wealthy merchant living peacefully in Scotland after having tamed a wild Highlander.
Minerva de Beauvoir (née Butler) - Prue’s cousin. Clever and resourceful, madly in love with her brilliant husband.
Lady Jemima Rothborn (née Fernside) – happily installed at The Priory, skilfully managing staff and villagers and desperately proud of her heroic husband.
Lady Helena Knight (née Adolphus) – vivacious, managing, unexpected and adventurous, having finally caught her Knight in shining armour.
Matilda Hunt – blonde and lovely and ruined in a scandal that was none of her making.
Chapter 1
Dear Miss Hunt,
I wish you were here with us. Everything is strange. Uncle won’t let me out of his sight. I got cross yesterday because he won’t tell me anything and I punished him by hiding. By the time he found me, I regretted it very much. He was so frantic he looked like he might be ill. I don’t know why we left London so quickly or why uncle is so quiet and worried.
I know I must not ask you to come. Uncle forbade me to do so. He says that you may not be friends with him anymore and that if people thought you liked him, they would be cruel to you and no one would talk to you. I don’t understand why that is or why there are such stupid rules. I hate all these rules and the people who make us obey them. When I’m a grown-up, I shan’t obey the rules if I don’t agree with them and I don’t care what anyone says about me for doing it.
I wanted to tell you that we are both your friends still, no matter what stupid people say, even if we can’t see you anymore.
I miss you.
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Phoebe Barrington to Miss Matilda Hunt.
24th April 1815. Beverwyck, London.
Matilda watched with mixed emotions as Helena made her escape with her new husband. The two of them were so obviously desperate to be alone with each other she could not help but smile, yet that was the last of her little chicks married off and settled. As Bonnie had so helpfully pointed out, that only left her. It hadn’t been said with any malice; indeed, Bonnie was being kind, wanting desperately to see Matilda as happily settled as the rest of them.
Somehow, that did not make her feel any better.
Besides, she had more important things to worry about than playing along with the idea she was looking for a husband. She had given up pretending there was the slightest chance of her falling in love with someone else, not when Lucian occupied her every waking moment. Perhaps one day, she would feel able to face the prospect, likely when she was too old to be of interest to anyone… but for now she could not deny what her heart was telling her. Lucian was in trouble, though of what variety she did not understand. Phoebe was afraid for him. They both needed her and, if there was something that Matilda wanted above all else, it was to be needed.
It was remarkably easy to slip away from the gathering unnoticed, and by the time she returned home she was relieved to discover that her packing was done, as she’d requested. She changed quickly as her bags were being secured on the carriage and went down the stairs to find her companion, Mrs Bradford, awaiting her, stony faced. Matilda braced herself, ready for what was to come.
“It won’t do, Miss Hunt. I know as well as anyone that you’re a good girl, and all those wicked rumours were nothing but hot air, but this… this is madness, and you know it.”
“Yes,” Matilda said, smiling at the woman. She was a stocky, no nonsense sort, and exactly the kind of chaperone she had sought for herself—that being one who was not overly concerned with the duties of chaperoning if she had a glass of champagne and a companion to chat with. “Mrs Bradford, I know you are quite correct, and I am sorry if my decision is causing you any distress.”
“Well, it is, Miss Hunt. You have my promise that I shan’t breathe a word of your folly, but be a part of it I won’t, and that’s an end to it.”
Matilda nodded, feeling a little relieved if the truth was told. If she must burn her bridges, she’d rather not have an audience for it. Not that she was going out of her way to ruin herself—if all went well, no one would be any the wiser—but still, it was madness, there was no getting away from it.
“It’s quite all right,
Mrs Bradford. Will you go to your sister’s, then?”
“I will, and providing you’ve got a reputation to protect when all’s said and done, you may find me there on your return.”
“Thank you.” Matilda’s reply was warm. She knew it was all she could ask for. “And thank you for your discretion. I do appreciate it.”
“Ah, well,” Mrs Bradford said. “The world is a cruel place for a young woman sometimes, and I know you’ve a kind heart—too kind, that’s the trouble—but you must do as you see fit. Good afternoon to you, Miss Hunt. I wish you well and Godspeed.”
Matilda watched as the woman left, and then turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
“Well, good riddance, I say.”
Matilda smiled at her maid.
“Oh, Sarah, I can hardly blame the poor woman. I rather feel I have lost my mind, but… well, my heart won’t let me rest until I know what is going on.”
“I reckon you and Montagu have got unfinished business and that’s the truth,” Sarah said. “And it’s what women do, isn’t it? Follow their hearts, even when it leads them into danger. I’ll be beside you though, miss, no matter what. You’ve my promise on that.”
Matilda blinked back tears, touched by Sarah’s words. She was a sweet, good-hearted girl, and had always staunchly defended any decision Matilda made, never mind how idiotic. She suspected that Sarah was far too romantic and perhaps just a little ambitious, though, hoping underneath it all to one day be lady’s maid to a marchioness. Well, there was no hope of that, and Matilda had told her so, but she was not convinced her words had hit home.
“Well, then, we’d best be off, or we won’t be there before dark. Are you ready, dear?”
“Ready for anything, I am,” Sarah said with a grin. “I’ll just go and check all your bags have been packed properly, and I’ll be with you.”
Matilda nodded. She went and settled herself in the carriage. While she waited, she took out the letter Phoebe had sent her and read it for the fiftieth time.
“I’m coming, Phoebe,” she said softly, before folding the letter and putting it away once more. “I’m coming.”
***
24th April 1815, Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.
Bertha Appleton had worked at Dern since she was just a girl. She’d begun as a scullery maid until she’d gained a place in the kitchen, where her talent had been spotted by the cook, a Mrs Drugget. When that fine lady was finally persuaded to enjoy her retirement some fifteen years later, she was quick to recommend Bertha to take her place, a service which Bertha never forgot, and so she always took pains to visit Mrs Drugget in the little cottage on the estate set aside for the purpose. It was one thing you could say for the Barringtons: they always paid their staff well and looked after their needs. Mind you, they had to oftentimes, as loyalty wasn’t cheap, and a family with more secrets would be hard to find, and that was a fact.
Bertha, or Pippin as she had become known to the last lot of Barrington children, had seen three marquesses come and go, but there was no question that the present Montagu was her favourite. As a child he’d been bright, lively, and funny, and the cleverest little lad she’d ever come across. Little Lucian. Ah, what a handful he’d been! Of course, that was before the dark days, and nothing had ever been the same since. He certainly had never been the same. It had fair broken her heart to see the change in him, but what was done was done and there was no point crying over spilt milk, no matter how much it grieved you.
It was certainly not her place to do so, but she mothered the fellow and his little niece as best she could, though no doubt she overstepped the mark a time or two. She might get one of the master’s cool looks on occasion, but he knew as well as she did that it cut no ice with her, and was all for show. She was as popular with them as they were with her, and that was just fine. So, it was with little surprise that she looked up to see Miss Phoebe had snuck into the kitchens and was beside her in a moment, tugging on her apron.
“And what can I do you for you, my little mistress?”
“Nothing,” the girl said with a heavy sigh. “I was just feeling sad and I wanted to be with someone cheerful.”
“Now, and don’t you tell me your uncle isn’t full of smiles for you?” Pippin asked, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and pouring the girl a glass of milk.
“Oh, no. He is, of course, but they’re not real smiles at the moment. They’re the sort he puts on his face when he’s trying to make sure I’m happy, so I don’t worry for him.”
Pippin sighed inwardly. The trouble was the girl and her uncle were two peas in a pod. She was a sight too perspicacious for her age, or her own good.
“Do you know why we came back, Pippin?”
“As if his lordship confides his business in me!” Pippin exclaimed with a laugh, though she knew all too well, and the truth of it made her sick to her stomach. Poor Lucian. No wonder he’d looked so grey and ill when they’d returned. She didn’t blame Phoebe for her concern. She felt it herself, as she had felt the atmosphere the moment he’d stepped through the door, the weight of the past so tangible you could cut it with a knife. The palace was full of secrets and Lucian carried too many of them alone. She had hoped, for a brief time… but no, there was no point in hoping for things that would never come to pass.
Duty.
God, she hated that word, hated the way those little boys had been lectured and bullied into believing their only purpose was to serve the family name, to bring honour and glory and power to the great house of Barrington. It was their solemn duty to achieve more than their forebears, whether through politics or marriage. It didn’t much matter which, only that the Barringtons were the greatest family in the country. There was never any talk of happiness or love. Those were concepts the children of a Montagu could not afford, poor little blighters.
“Well, he won’t tell me either,” Phoebe said with a sigh as Pippin slid a plate of biscuits in front of her.
With a sharp gesture Pippin sent the two kitchen maids away, telling them to find work elsewhere for the moment. All the staff were loyal to Montagu, but there was no sense in giving them things to tattle about if it could be helped.
“I was so looking forward to going to Gunter’s and Astley’s, and all the places he promised we would go, and I can’t even complain, as he looks so wretchedly guilty it makes my tummy feel all squirmy and uncomfortable.”
Pippin felt her heart squeezed in her chest. Not for the first time, she cursed herself for her blindness all those years ago, for not having realised sooner what was going on beneath this roof, and under their very noses. She was not a woman who condoned violence—in her opinion there wasn’t much that couldn’t be resolved with a bit of honesty and a good talk over a cup of tea—but remembering those days brought it all back, and she wanted badly to hurt those responsible. Not her place, though, she’d done as much as possible to protect Lucian. They all had, her and Mr Denton and Mrs Frant, but servants were limited in what they could achieve, and they’d risked all that they’d dared. So now she did what she could once again, as little as it seemed to be.
She pulled out the chair beside Phoebe, and sat down.
“Grownups sometimes have to do things they don’t want to do, my lamb, and it might not seem to make the least bit of sense to you, but your uncle is taking care of you as best he can. You trust him, don’t you?”
“Oh, of course I do,” Phoebe said, wide-eyed at the idea Pippin might think otherwise. “The problem is, I sometimes think he doesn’t trust himself. He’s always looking at that horrid book, and afterwards he looks so… so pale and determined, like he’s persuaded himself to eat a slug.”
Despite everything, Pippin felt her lips twitch. Phoebe had quite an imagination, and quite a turn of phrase. Still, she knew what the girl meant and heartily wished she’d burnt the bloody book when she’d had the chance. She hadn’t dared at the time, knowing it contained a great deal of knowledge the young marquess would badly need. If she’d known
then what else it contained, she’d not have hesitated. Poor Lucian had not required his father’s voice bullying him, even from beyond the grave, but it was too late now. The damage was done.
“Do you think he’d marry Miss Hunt if not for that book?”
Pippin stared at Phoebe, a little surprised, though why she had no idea. Two peas in a pod, indeed. You couldn’t get anything past either of them.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” she asked softly. “He won’t ever make himself happy if it meant damaging the family name. You know that.”
Phoebe face darkened, a familiar thunderstorm entering her eyes, her jaw growing tight, and in that moment she looked so much like the energetic, vibrant little boy Pippin had known that she wanted to cry. Phoebe stood so quickly the chair she’d been sitting on toppled backwards.
“I hate it!” she cried, her slender hands balled into fists. “I hate the horrid name. I don’t want to be a Barrington. I should prefer to be a Smith or a Brown or… or anything else if it meant he would be happy and… and… Oh, I hate it!”
With a strangled sob, Phoebe turned to run, but Pippin stood and caught her, pulling her into a fierce hug and holding her tight while the little girl cried out all her frustration.
Finally, she was quiet and exhausted. Pippin sat down in the chair with Phoebe on her lap, and stroked her hair, remembering another child and another time, many years ago.
Chapter 2
Mr Knight,
It seems I must felicitate you on your recent marriage to Lady Helena. You made an exceptional choice. She is a spirited young lady and I recall how much you enjoy a challenge. I have the greatest admiration for you for getting Bedwin to accept your suit. I am all agog to hear how you achieved such a coup, but after all the man has a deal of good sense and must see it is an apt match, the views of the ton notwithstanding. I wish you both happy, of all men I believe you deserve it.
I thank you for your note regarding Burton. He is indeed becoming a thorn in my side. Sadly, not the only one. I hesitate to make this request in the circumstances, but I have need of your men’s particular skills. If you can tear yourself away from your lovely bride for a few moments, please instruct them to find out everything they can concerning my uncle, Theodore Barrington. I want to know where he goes, who he sees and, most particularly, who is funding his stay in London, for I believed I had cut off all but a very modest allowance. Yes, I am a wicked nephew, am I not? I will leave you to speculate as to my motives. Most everyone else has painted me a villain, so I am curious to know what you’ll make of this. Naturally, my own sources are investigating the matter too, but he is aware of my methods and, as yours tread a different path, it would be as well to combine forces. As ever, you will find me suitably grateful for your aid in this.
To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11) Page 1
