Fortunately for his purposes, he didn’t consider it a waste of time to watch Lady Kate make her way toward the house. He didn’t consider it a waste of time to watch Lady Kate doing most anything. The woman was a vision.
A diamond of the first water, that’s what the ton called her. The very picture of fashionable beauty—pale blonde hair, ivory skin, wide blue eyes, thin blade of a nose and a perfect rosebud mouth. She was elegantly tall and slender, and yet possessed enough curves to catch, and hold, a man’s attention. She was exquisite, a testament to grace and beauty…provided she was standing utterly still. When she wasn’t, well…He thought her occasional missteps only added to her charm.
There were those who believed her lack of coordination was the reason she remained unmarried at three-and-twenty, but Hunter knew that to be a misconception. He’d heard members of her family grumble over Kate’s unwed state on more than one occasion, but a lack of suitors wasn’t the problem. She’d received well more than a handful of offers. The problem was that she’d turned down every one. It seemed the gentlemen weren’t offering anything she cared to accept.
In Hunter’s opinion, they were merely offering it too easily.
Confident that her lack of interest in other gentlemen afforded him the opportunity, he’d spent a bit of time studying Lady Kate. He’d approached her at balls and dinners from time to time, or simply caught her eye from across the room, but for the most part, he let her be in favor of watching, listening, and learning what he could about the woman.
And what he’d discovered was that Lady Kate Cole was a dreamer. She might appreciate the attention she received from her suitors, but she would never be captivated by their overt fawning. Because, like all dreamers, what she wanted most was that which was just out of reach.
Hunter had made a point of being just out of her reach. He’d made a point of being impossible for her to ignore as well, but anyone could manage that. It was the element of elusiveness, the piquing of curiosity that could capture Kate. And make no mistake, he would capture her.
No other woman would do for his wife. True, there were a few who were higher in rank, one or two with more generous dowries, and it was possible, though he rather doubted it, that there was a more attractive young woman somewhere in society he’d yet to meet. But only Lady Kate Cole had it all—rank, fortune, and beauty.
She was, in essence, the very finest young lady the ton had to offer. What was the phrase—the crème de la crème? For a man raised on bread and water, a woman like Kate was nothing less than the promise of ambrosia. She was the definitive luxury, the most extravagant acquisition, and perhaps most important, the perfect symbol of his rise from pauper to prince.
All of which, he could admit, he would have learned to do without, were Kate not also a woman whose company he could enjoy. Granted, he’d sampled that company in limited quantities, but it had been enough for him to decide that he genuinely liked the girl—her wit, her humor, her loyalty to those she loved, even her clumsiness and distracted nature was something he found appealing. And to top it all off, he desired her more than he could remember ever desiring a woman.
What man could ask for more?
Feeling every inch as arrogant as Kate had charged him of being only minutes ago, he stood where she’d left him on the lawn, and patiently waited for her to reach the door, hesitate, then turn back to sneak a peek at him.
“There we are,” he murmured.
He considered giving her a wave, but thought that might be overdoing things a bit. Instead, he simply waited until she whirled around again and went into the house, before he casually strolled away.
Contrary to what Kate had guessed—or accused, depending on how one wished to take her tone at the time—he hadn’t come to the Thurston estate simply to attend the ball. Nor had he stepped outside with the hope of catching Kate trudging back from the pond covered in mud, although that had been a pleasant surprise, indeed. He’d come on business, and having a spot of time before that business was scheduled, he’d chosen a walk about the Haldon grounds over conversation in the parlor.
He was inordinately fond of Haldon Hall—the massive house with its generations of rambling additions, the extensive gardens, the open fields, and deep woods. But it wasn’t just the sheer size of the estate that he found appealing—although that did, in fact, greatly appeal to him—it was what the place represented that captured his imagination. Generations of Coles had resided there, each one of them sure of, and comfortable with, his place in the world. Even when the Thurston fortune had been at its lowest, the residents of Haldon Hall had remained insulated in a thick cocoon of status and rank. No member of the Cole family had ever known what it meant to be truly impoverished, nor was any member ever likely to.
They were a charmed lot—particularly the current generation. Not only had the present earl, Whittaker Cole, seen to it that the Thurston coffers were well stocked, the family also had the good fortune of being a remarkably tight-knit clan. He’d yet to meet a group of people more secure in their love for one another and in their belief that love always endured.
Perhaps it did, he mused, for people like the Coles.
In his experience, nothing lasted forever.
“He is not…ideal.” Kate’s mother, now the dowager Lady Thurston, stood at the library window and watched as Mr. Hunter disappeared around the side of the house. “His behavior is most presumptuous.”
Next to her, William Fletcher, head of England’s War Department, scratched at his bulbous nose. It was a thoughtful habit he was only vaguely aware he possessed. “Hunter is a good man. I rather thought you liked him.”
“I do. Very much.” His friendship with Whit, and his loyalty to the Coles in times of trouble, had made Mr. Hunter an honorary member of the family in her eyes. A sort of nephew, she mused. She didn’t know him well enough to think of him as a son. But she knew her daughter well enough to be skeptical with William’s notion of making Mr. Hunter into a son-in-law. “And I am not above admiring a well-delivered spot of presumption from an attractive gentleman. However—”
“He stepped in front of a bullet for Whit, you know,” William cut in casually as he continued to look out the window.
She drew in a hard breath. “Someone shot at my son?”
“Your son was a soldier for a time,” he reminded her. “I imagine any number of people have shot at him.”
Her eyes narrowed. The months Whit had spent on the continent were not something she cared to remember. “And the circumstances surrounding this particular shooting?”
“Nasty bit of business in London a few years back. A Mrs. Georgiana Clemens attempted to dissuade Whit and Hunter from arresting her traitor of a husband.”
“A woman?”
William bobbed his head and watched a squirrel dart across the lawn. “That’s the trouble with new agents pulled from the nobility. They never suspect the women.”
“Mr. Hunter is not of the nobility.”
“Indeed. He saw the pistol, pushed Whit away and took the bullet in his side. Well, across his side,” he amended. “He insists it was only a scratch.”
“I see,” she murmured, and ruthlessly shoved away the image of her son having guns aimed at him. It didn’t do to dwell on such things. Nor was it advisable to act on the swell of gratitude she felt, and the accompanying impulse to seek out Mr. Hunter and offer him anything his heart might desire, including the hand of her only daughter.
William turned from the window, his expression a bit smug. “And there is no denying the effect he has on Kate.”
“Kate appears to be denying it with very little effort,” she pointed out, mostly because she felt it wouldn’t do for the man to become overconfident.
“Bah.” William waved that away, his confidence clearly unscathed. “She merely gives herself ample opportunity to ignore it by avoiding him.”
Lady Thurston thought about that as she crossed the room to take a seat on a settee. “Kate has never before shied away
from matters of the heart. Rather she has been quite diligent in seeking them out.”
“It seems this time they shall have to be brought to her.”
She smoothed the skirts of her bronze gown and thought of her soft, romantic daughter, and the cunning and ambitious Mr. Hunter. “No.”
“No? What the blazes do you mean, no?”
“Do watch your language, William. And I mean, no. Regardless of my gratitude toward, and personal affection for, Mr. Hunter, I do not believe him the best match for Kate.”
“He is.”
“He is not.”
“He…” William straightened his shoulders. “Mrs. Summers is in agreement with me.”
“Mrs. Summers is in the unenviable position of having to choose between me, her friend, and the man with whom she has formed an attachment. Naturally, she would agree with you.”
He ran a hand through what remained of his hair. “That is not—”
“And Mirabelle agrees with me.”
William took a seat across from her, sitting down with a huff. “Your daughter-in-law is nearly always in agreement with you. You’ve raised an outspoken group of young women.”
She smiled at what she considered a compliment. “Indeed, I have.”
“Two for Mr. Hunter, and two against. We are at an impasse.”
“I am Kate’s mother,” she said and gave a small sniff. “My choice takes precedence.”
He gave her a bland look. “I am the man with a deathbed promise to the late Duke of Rockeforte to fulfill.”
“Matches for five children,” she remarked with an amused shake of her head.
“Love matches for five children,” William corrected with just enough derision in his voice to make perfectly clear his opinion of the endeavor. “Which is why it must be Mr. Hunter.”
“Mr. Laury is a far more suitable candidate. He is a charming but earnest young man, and his romantic nature will appeal to Kate. They even share the common interest of music.”
“It’s Mr. Laury you want, is it?” William fell silent for a moment, and tapped his finger on the arm of the chair. “I suggest a compromise,” he eventually announced. “We try them both. See which of the two fits.”
Lady Thurston rather thought that plan made the gentlemen sound like bonnets, but she couldn’t argue with its practicality. “How?”
“I believe your Mr. Laury has made mention of attending Lord Brentworth’s house party next week?”
“He has, yes.”
“I’d planned to send Hunter on a mission to Cornwall, but upon further reflection, I’ve decided his services would be put to better use at Brentworth’s.”
Lady Thurston nodded in understanding. “I shall see to it Kate attends.”
“Well, then.” William’s smug smile returned. “May the best match prevail.”
Two
Kate closed the door to her room with a heavy sigh of relief. By virtue of sneaking up a back staircase and quietly ducking into an empty room or two, she’d made it all the way through Haldon Hall without being spotted by a guest. Even better, she’d managed to avoid her closest friends and family, who were more apt to see she was troubled by something other than the sorry state of her gown, hair, and the nearly unrecognizable pair of half boots in her hand.
“I am not troubled,” she muttered to herself. “I’m annoyed.”
And, in truth, she was bothered by the mess she’d made of her gown. The damage could be repaired, but it would require a great deal of effort on the part of her lady’s maid, Lizzy. Kate would just as soon see to the chore herself, as she’d been the one who created the mess, but she knew full well Lizzy wouldn’t hear of it.
Feeling guilty, she decided the least she could do was change on her own, instead of interrupting whatever Lizzy was doing at present to help her undress. It took several long minutes of contorting into a series of uncomfortable positions, but eventually she succeeded in struggling out of her gown. After noting with considerable relief that her chemise was still clean and dry, she carefully folded the wet and dirty material and searched for a spot in the room where she could set it down for a moment without damaging anything else while she removed her damp stockings.
The deep windowsill seemed her safest option, though it required she move a small pile of novels stacked there. She set the dress down with one hand, and with the other, picked up the book she was currently reading. It was a fairy tale in essence, the adventures of a beautiful maiden and her valiant prince. It was tremendously far-fetched, undeniably melodramatic, and not the least bit educational. She thought it quite delightful.
Already, the prince had plucked his true love from the back of a runaway horse, rescued her from a band of highwaymen, and fought a duel to defend her honor. And the book wasn’t yet halfway over.
Kate fiddled with the binding. Is that what she wanted, she wondered, a prince to ride to her rescue? That didn’t seem quite right. She longed for adventure and romance, without question, but she didn’t feel an overpowering desire to be rescued. She snorted a little at the idea of any of her well-intentioned suitors ever having the chance to play knight-errant. As the only daughter and youngest member of the Cole family, she was, to put it lightly, exceptionally well looked after. Particularly by her brother, Whit.
There were worse things than being well looked after, she reminded herself, and turned the book over in her hand. Perhaps it was the sentiment of what was to be found between the pages that she wished for—the certainty that her suitor loved her with such ardor that he would be willing to ride to her rescue.
And if that suitor happened to look anything like the handsome, fair-haired prince from her book, well—
“Was there a mishap, Lady Kate?”
Kate looked up at the sound of Lizzy’s voice at the connecting door to their rooms. “Beg your pardon?”
Lizzy gestured at her. “You’re standing in your undergarments.”
“I…” She glanced down at herself, then lifted her head to give Lizzy a sheepish smile. “I’m terribly sorry. I fell in the pond.”
“Off the dock?”
“Not this time.” She sighed heavily. “I was on the shore.”
Lizzy wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. “Muddier on the shore.”
“I know,” Kate replied, laughing a little at Lizzy’s comical expression. “I am sorry. I’ll brush out the gown if—”
“You’ll not.” Lizzy crossed the room to Kate’s armoire. “I only mentioned the mud because it’d be an unpleasant bit of nastiness to fall in.”
“It was, rather.”
While Kate removed her stockings, Lizzy rummaged about for a clean dress. She was a young woman of average height and build, with dark blonde hair, soft brown eyes, and a round face. A nose that was just a little too long, a mouth that was just a hair too wide, and a chin that was notably pointed kept Lizzy from being a true beauty. But her extraordinary use of those somewhat ordinary features had made her a favorite among staff and family alike at Haldon Hall. Kate had never met a woman with such a remarkable assortment of facial expressions.
“I can’t fathom why you wouldn’t let your mother talk you out of this green gown,” Lizzy commented from somewhere inside the armoire. “The color makes you look as if you escaped from the undertaker.”
Kate rolled her eyes. Lizzy also had a remarkable amount of cheek—not a distinction most ladies of the ton would countenance from their abigail, but Kate wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lizzy stepped back from the armoire. “This should do, I think.”
Kate took one look at the peach gown her friend held out for her, and sighed yet again. “It’s a shame dark colors aren’t fashionable for young ladies. We’d have a much easier time of it.”
“But fewer excuses to go shopping,” Lizzy replied with a grin as she took the stockings from Kate’s hand and stuffed them in a pocket of her apron.
“That’s true.” She accepted the gown and pulled it over her head. Lizzy worked
the buttons up the back.
“Was there anyone else about?” Lizzy inquired after a moment.
“At the pond, you mean? Yes, unfortunately.” Kate winced. “I came across Mr. Hunter on my return.”
“Mr. Hunter,” Lizzy repeated thoughtfully. “I do wish I could put my finger on why he seems so familiar.”
“As do I, but like as not, he simply resembles someone we’ve both met in passing—a shopkeeper in London, perhaps.”
“Perhaps. I suspect it’ll come to you first.” Lizzy fastened the last button to step around and give Kate a decidedly cheeky smile. “You spend more time looking at him than I do.”
“I do nothing of the—”
“And he spends considerable time looking at you.”
“I…” Well, yes, there was no arguing that.
“You may as well admit you’re curious,” Lizzy commented with a shrug. “There’s no harm in it.”
Without thought, Kate lifted a hand to her cheek. She swore she could still feel the lingering warmth where Mr. Hunter’s fingers had brushed along her skin. Perhaps she was a little curious about him. And Lizzy was right, what harm was there in that? Then again, if memory served, she’d been curious at the age of six as to what would happen if she tried to keep a grasshopper as a pet.
She dropped her hand. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
It had certainly killed the poor grasshopper.
“Satisfaction brought it back,” Lizzy countered. “But they do have nine lives.”
A soft knock on the door kept Kate from responding. A young maid entered, carrying a letter in her hands. “A missive for you, Lady Kate.”
Kate crossed the room in several quick strides, excitement and nerves fighting for control of her system. She’d been expecting a letter from a London publisher for some time. “Thank you, Alice.”
Alice handed her the letter, bobbed a curtsy, and left.
“Which one was this?” Lizzy asked, stepping up to peer over Kate’s shoulder.
Kate stared at the sealed paper, biting her lip. “The waltz I composed last summer.”
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