―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu, to Mr Gabriel Knight.
24th April 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.
It was dusk when the carriage carried them through the first of Dern Palace’s impressive gatehouses. Matilda put a hand to stomach to settle the sudden eruption of butterflies. She drew in a deep breath as her heart sped, wondering if perhaps this had been such a good idea. What on earth was Lucian to think if she arrived on his doorstep at this hour? He’d no doubt think what any man would, that she’d changed her mind and decided to become his mistress. She could hardly blame him for it. Well, she’d have to take her chances. A warm hand covered hers, which was decidedly damp and clammy, and Matilda smiled at her maid.
“Courage, Miss Hunt. We’ve come this far.”
“Indeed we have,” Matilda said with a huff of laughter.
Well, she’d gone and done it now. She’d have to see what hand fate would play her from this moment on.
She was helped down from the carriage by an imposing footman, resplendent in Montagu’s usual black and silver colours. Mr Denton, the butler, came forward to meet her. Matilda had taken an immediate liking to the Welshman during her brief stay here at the beginning of March, and her opinion was not damaged by his manner.
“Good evening, Miss Hunt. I am afraid we were not expecting a visit,” he said, without betraying the least suspicion of judgement.
“I know,” she said with a rueful smile. “Indeed, I did not expect to be here, only….”
She hesitated, uncertain of what to say to him.
“Only?”
There was a glint of something in his eyes that might have been hopeful, and so Matilda decided she could do worse than confide in him. If she’d made a terrible mistake, perhaps he would tell her so, and she could turn around and go home with no one any the wiser.
“Oh, Denton. I don’t know what I’m doing, truth be told, only I had the… the strangest feeling that Lord Montagu… that he was in trouble, and that he needed someone. A… A friend. Oh, dear, how ludicrous it sounds when you say it out loud, yet it seemed perfectly reasonable back in town.”
Matilda had practically convinced herself to turn around and get back into the carriage when Denton did the most extraordinary thing for a butler. He reached out and took her hand. He squeezed her fingers, so briefly she could almost think she’d imagined it, but then he compounded the breach of etiquette by smiling at her.
Good heavens.
“Thank you,” he said, and then all at once he was again the grave and distinguished butler she’d met before. “If you would come this way, Miss Hunt. I believe you must be fatigued by your journey. I shall have tea brought to the salon.”
Matilda exchanged a glance with Sarah, who was looking quite as stunned as she felt, before they followed Denton indoors. They had barely taken two steps through the door when Matilda saw Phoebe, holding the hand of a plump, older lady with greying hair. With a cry of delight, Phoebe let go of the hand she’d been clutching and flew at Matilda, barrelling into her with such force that Matilda nearly lost her footing.
“Miss Hunt! Miss Hunt!” the girl cried, clinging to Matilda with surprising strength, considering her slender frame, and sobbing her heart out.
“Phoebe!” Matilda said, getting to her knees and hugging her tightly. Whatever misgivings she might have had flew away in an instant as Phoebe clung to her like a limpet. “Come now. There, there, don’t cry. It’s all right.”
“You came,” Phoebe sobbed, choked as she wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. “I kn-knew you’d come. Uncle said you couldn’t, but I kn-knew….”
“Matilda?”
Her name, spoken as if from a long way off, had her head snapping around, and Matilda felt her breath catch.
Lucian.
She’d never seen him look anything but pristine, and to see him now, wearing only dark trousers, a rumpled shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and no cravat…. How unfair it was that he looked more beautiful than ever in disarray, where she likely looked a fright after her hasty leave taking and some hours in a jolting carriage.
“Good evening, Lucian,” she said, not the least bit surprised her voice quavered, but rather astonished that the words came out at all.
The staff melted away at the briefest tilt of his head, Mr Denton discreetly taking Sarah with him, and the three of them were alone.
“Have you run mad?” he asked, staring at her as though he could not quite believe she was here.
“Of course she’s not mad. She came because she knew something was wrong. I told you she would. I told you.” Phoebe’s voice was indignant, and her grasp on Matilda unrelenting.
“Phoebe, you know she can’t stay. We discussed this,” he began, the confusion in his eyes so evident that Matilda had to suppress the desire to laugh. Poor Lucian. He’d pursued her for so long and, when he finally tried to do the right thing, she landed herself on his doorstep.
“You will stay, won’t you?” Phoebe demanded, looking very much as if she would take a pet if Matilda said no.
“Yes,” she said, though she looked at Lucian as she said it. “I will stay for a little while, until I am certain that you are both well. That is what friends do, no? Is that not so, my lord?”
Lucian stared at her, his expression unreadable.
“Pippin,” he called softly. “You may as well show yourself. I know you’re there.”
A moment later the older lady who had been holding Phoebe’s hand appeared. So this was the beloved cook that Phoebe had spoken of during her last visit. The woman didn’t look at all sheepish at having been caught eavesdropping, nor did she seem the least bit impressed by Lucian’s cool glare.
“Take Miss Barrington to her governess, if you would, please, and then you may send refreshments to the library.”
“My lord,” the woman said, bobbing a curtsey before approaching Phoebe. “Now then, my lamb, do as your uncle says.”
Phoebe turned imploring eyes upon Matilda. “You won’t let him send you away, will you?”
“Phoebe!” Lucian said, clearly exasperated.
Matilda smiled and shook her head. “He’s never been able to make me do something I don’t want to yet, Phoebe, so no, I won’t. I promise.”
Phoebe let out a breath of relief and kissed Matilda’s cheek. “Goodnight, Miss Hunt, and thank you so much for coming.”
Matilda watched until Phoebe disappeared before she could bring herself to face Lucian again.
“Why?” he demanded, a thread of anger behind that one word. “Why have you come?”
“Because you are all alone and I think something is very wrong. I told you I would be your friend, Lucian. I meant it. I don’t abandon my friends.”
She could read nothing from his eyes and had not the slightest idea what he was thinking, whether he was furious or overjoyed, or both. Neither. Before she could take a guess, he turned on his heel.
“Come, then. You may take tea and explain to me, in comfort, what manner of madness has overcome you.”
Matilda followed him, pleased to go to the library which had been one of her favourite rooms when she’d visited before. It was a lavish space, heavy with oak panelling and thick rugs. There were many seating areas, and lamps which cast golden pools of light at inviting intervals, beckoning you to sit and make yourself comfortable with a book. She had noticed this often at Dern. For all its grandeur and pomp, now and then she’d stumbled upon a room which had a different, private feel to it. This was one of those, and she suspected it showed this man’s hand at work. He had made a home here among the rooms of this cavernous palace, for himself and for Phoebe, carving out a few spaces in the acres of magnificent splendour where they could be at ease… though ease was not a word to describe the present atmosphere.
Lucian beckoned her to sit and then went to stand at the fireplace, leaning upon the mantel and staring down at the flames. Though she’d spend the
entire journey here thinking about what she would say to him, Matilda was at a loss and was beyond relieved when Denton arrived bearing a tea tray.
“We have prepared the yellow suite for Miss Hunt, my lord,” he said, deftly arranging cups and saucers and placing a plate with a selection of bite-sized savoury tarts, and another of small pastries before her. The kind of thing to tempt the most reluctant appetite.
Matilda thought she saw a flare of something in Lucian’s eyes, but could not guess what it signified and, whatever it was, Denton staunchly ignored it by not meeting his master’s frigid gaze.
“Shall I pour the tea, Miss Hunt?”
“Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Matilda said, intrigued by Lucian’s obvious tension and now rather wishing the obliging butler would make himself scarce so she could discover its cause.
“Your maid is unpacking your belongings,” Denton continued with blithe calm. “You may rest assured I will see to her comfort too, Miss Hunt.”
“Thank you, Denton, you are most kind. Do tell her not to wait up for me. I shall see to myself tonight.”
“Very good, miss.”
Matilda wondered if she was imagining the warmth in the man’s eyes, and decided that it had been such an eventful day, she’d best set no store by it. Her emotions were all out of kilter and, in her present state, she’d no doubt read too much into it.
Soon they were alone once again, and Matilda followed the butler’s example by pretending Lucian wasn’t there, so she didn’t have to meet that uncomfortably searching silver gaze, which she could feel trained upon her.
“Milk?” she asked, not looking up.
“Yes.”
“Sugar?”
“No.”
His words were clipped and Matilda kept her eyes on the tea until she had made it to her satisfaction, and then dared to lift her gaze with the cup she offered. His scrutiny was everything she had expected, and the cup rattled a little in the saucer until he deigned to take it from her.
To her relief, he did, and sat in the chair to her left rather than beside her on the loveseat.
They sipped their tea in silence for what seemed like an eternity to Matilda, whose stomach was tying itself into a Gordian knot. Finally, he spoke.
“You are too good, Matilda. Foolish beyond measure, forgiving beyond anything any reasonable person would expect, and… and I am touched, but this won’t do. You must see. You have impressed upon me time and again the importance of everything you hope for, and now you would throw it all away, and for what? You’ve not come here to be my lover. I’m not fool enough to believe that. So, you would risk everything and gain nothing?”
“If you need me, as I believe you do, yes, Lucian. I would.”
She held his gaze and this time it was Lucian who looked away, unsettled. He rarely let anyone see what he felt, had allowed her only a few brief glimpses of his heart, but his confusion was evident now.
Matilda smiled. “It is what you never understood. You cannot force me to your will with promises of wealth or power, but when you trusted me with a little of your real self, you treated me as a friend, a confidant. For that, I would move mountains if needs be.”
He let out a breath and set down his teacup. “I cannot help but think fate is laughing at me.”
“How so?”
She watched as he turned to face her. “Do you not understand the temptation you present, even now? Can you truly have no idea of the control it requires to sit here and not beside you, to not take you in my arms and persuade you to be with me for always, and not as my friend, Matilda? Not only that, at least. You once told me you were glad I’d not asked you to marry me, to save your reputation, for you’d rather be ruined than married to a man more dead than alive.”
Matilda blushed, remembering that particular clash all too vividly.
“Oh, no, don’t you dare regret it,” he said, his silver eyes flashing. “You were right. I have been cold and dead inside for too many years but, you and Phoebe, you won’t leave me be, you won’t let me skulk about in the dark where I belong. The pair of you… you’re always….”
He stood suddenly, raking a hand through his hair, and Matilda felt her heart clench. He sounded almost angry, certainly frustrated. She knew she had caught him unawares, unprepared to see her. If he had known she was coming, she would never have seen this side of him, he would never have allowed her a glimpse of this dishevelled, less than pristine version of the marquess.
“Always what?” she asked gently.
There was a taut silence. “You make me wish I were different.”
“Different how?” Matilda’s heart gave an uncomfortable thud in her chest, and she was too aware of the breathlessness of her words.
“If… If my father and Philip had lived, if I had only been the second son—the spare—I might have courted you.” He let out a breath of laughter. “My God, what am I saying? Even then Father would have been furious. He would never have allowed it.”
Matilda set down her teacup before she dropped it. “Would he have cut you off?”
“Probably.”
“But you… you’d have done it, anyway?”
He turned back to her and nodded, holding her gaze. “Yes.”
Matilda’s breath caught. Oh.
He turned away from her then and moved to the door. “Finish your tea, Matilda. I’ll have Denton show you to your room. Goodnight.”
He didn’t look back, just closed the door on her. Matilda hardly knew what to make of what had been said, and they’d never even mentioned his uncle.
Chapter 3
My lord,
I thank you for your kind words and good wishes upon my recent marriage. I confess I wrongly assumed that you of all people would be appalled by my having so lowered Lady Helena in the eyes of society. I am gratified by your comments and estimation of my character. Among the men of higher rank I have dealt with, you have always been the most honourable and truthful—not always a pleasant experience, but at least one knows where one stands.
For the record, I saw your uncle at Baron Fitzwalter’s—I believe he was staying there. I have always trusted my gut instinct and mine was one of deep misgiving for the man. I do not believe you wicked, or that you would move against anyone, let alone a family member, without strong motivation. I will do all in my power to seek the information you require.
―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Gabriel Knight to The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu.
25th April 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.
Matilda started awake with the strong conviction she was being watched. With a little shriek she sat up in bed to discover Phoebe sitting cross-legged at the bottom of the mattress.
“You stayed,” she said simply, beaming at Matilda.
Letting out a breath of relief, Matilda sagged back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
“I did,” she agreed.
Once her heart had settled down, she opened her eyes again and regarded the child. She looked rather adorable in a white cotton nightgown, with her hair all done up with little rag ribbons to make it fall in ringlets.
“Uncle was happy to see you, wasn’t he?” Phoebe grinned at her and Matilda cleared her throat, not entirely certain how to answer that. “Well, perhaps he wouldn’t say that he was, because he knows you might get into trouble for coming. He gets cross when he’s worried, you see.”
“Does he?” Matilda asked, watching with amusement as Phoebe crawled up the bed and settled closer to her.
“Oh yes. He never scolds me when I’m naughty, or at least not properly, but if I frighten him, like when I hid, oh… that’s different.” She was quiet for a moment. “Can we go for a picnic? It’s going to be a lovely day today.”
“I don’t know,” Matilda said, trying not to imagine a picnic with Lucian and Phoebe. The image was too tempting to be good for her. With difficulty, she reminded herself why she was here, why she had risked her own future, and it was not to enjoy herse
lf, but to discover what had sent Montagu running from town with Phoebe. “I think perhaps you’d better get washed and dressed before you get into trouble with Miss Peabody. I’ll see you at breakfast, and then we can discover what your uncle has in mind.”
“All right, then,” Phoebe said, climbing off the bed. “But do try to persuade him that a picnic is a good idea. I’m sure he’d say yes if you asked him.”
Matilda laughed and watched as Phoebe scurried from the room.
***
“Well, you look a picture and that’s a fact, miss, even if I do say it myself,” Sarah said with a satisfied sigh as she put the finishing touches to Matilda’s hair. “And this room is just sumptuous. Even my room is done up pretty. Imagine living in such a place!”
Matilda sent Sarah a reproving look. “No, Sarah, do not imagine it. Remember what I told you, and don’t go getting any romantic ideas. I’m here to be a friend to someone who has no notion of what a friend is, that’s all.”
Sarah made a disgruntled noise that did not sound as if she approved of this idea, but Matilda was in no mood to labour the point. Besides, she did look rather well. Inspired by the sunny yellow room and the beautiful day that had dawned outside the windows, she had chosen a bright yellow gown with a fine yellow tulle overlay embroidered with tiny black dots. It was lovely, and such a cheerful colour that she hoped it would encourage fortune to smile on her endeavours. Either way, it lifted her spirits, and that was the main thing.
To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11) Page 2
