To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11) Page 25

  ***

  17th May 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

  “Uncle?” Phoebe poked her uncle’s shoulder uncertainly.

  She knew he wasn’t dead because his chest was rising and falling. It had given her a shock when he’d not come home last night. She had persuaded Denton to come with her to find him at first light and now the sun was higher. Denton was waiting with the pony and cart, as she was aware her uncle wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this, and he was most certainly foxed. She had realised where he must have gone when she’d found the empty decanter in the stables last night, but it had been too dark and she knew he just wanted to be alone, so she said nothing about it and had taken the decanter back to his study. Still, she had felt a deep surge of relief to find him sat under the great oak tree on Mast Head.

  When he’d taken her away from Matlock Bath without letting her even say goodbye to Matilda, Phoebe had been angry with him. For a very short while, she’d wanted to punish him, until she saw that he was being punished already. She had heard the people talk about broken hearts before, but she’d never thought you could actually see one.

  You could.

  “Uncle Monty, wake up. You’ve been out here all night.”

  His eyelids opened reluctantly, the silver grey of his eyes dull as he tried to focus on her.

  “Bee?”

  His voice was thick and scratchy, and Phoebe blinked back tears.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  He groaned and clutched at his head.

  “I’m afraid you must have a terrible headache,” she said, reaching out to stroke his blond hair. “Pippin is making something to make you feel better.”

  He gave an incredulous bark of laughter that was not the least bit funny and made her heart hurt. She hugged him, throwing her arms about his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I miss her, too. Dreadfully.”

  He nodded and held her tight, the scent of brandy and a damp night out of doors clinging to him. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady. “I want her back, Bee.”

  “I know.”

  He put his head in his hands, and Phoebe bit her lip. It seemed so simple to her, but she knew the rules that grown-ups lived by were not so easy to cast aside. Pippin had explained it all to her, but it still made no sense.

  “He’ll be my son,” he said, the words slurred and not entirely clear.

  “Who?” she asked, confused.

  He looked up then and reached out to touch her cheek. “You mean the world to me, Bee. You know that, don’t you?”

  Phoebe felt her eyes prickle with tears, and she nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ll love him like I love you.”

  “Who?” she said again, not understanding.

  “My son,” he said, his voice fierce. “My heir.”

  “Oh.”

  His expression grew fierce and tears glittered in his eyes. “Why must he make this choice, and his son too? Why must I?”

  “Uncle?” Phoebe stared at him, not quite understanding what he was asking, only that he was hurt and angry because he loved Matilda and the world would not let them be together.

  He stared out into the light of a new day, the sunrise glinting in his eyes, turning the silver to gold.

  “No,” he said suddenly, the word so certain and forceful that Phoebe jumped a little. He reached out and took her hand, holding it tight. “Will you help me, Phoebe?”

  “Of course,” she said at once, as if that had even been a question he needed to ask. “But help with what?”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face, his beard rasping beneath his palm. She had never seen him quite this dishevelled before, unshaven, dressed in his shirtsleeves, his clothes rumpled and dirty. He looked up then, his eyes focused, the sense of certainty that she had always relied upon renewed.

  “Are you afraid of ghosts?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I am.”

  He nodded, gripping her hand. “So am I, Bee, but maybe… maybe together, we can face them.”

  She nodded, determined to be brave, no matter what. She’d do anything if it meant bringing Matilda back into their lives.

  “We can. I know we can.”

  Phoebe helped to haul him to his feet and then pretended to be interested in picking flowers for Pippin as he disappeared into the undergrowth to be sick. He looked dreadful when he reappeared, but the light that had dimmed in his eyes since they’d left Matlock Bath was shining again, and Phoebe’s heart gave a skip in her chest. She ran to him and took his hand, and he smiled down at her.

  “Ready?” he asked softly. “We have little time, and I will need your help.”

  “I’m ready for anything,” she said, beaming at him.

  “Thank God for you, Bee,” he said fiercely, picking her up and hugging her to him. “Thank God for you.”

  ***

  17th May 1815. South Audley Street, London.

  “Who’s a handsome boy then? Yes, you are.”

  Matilda smiled as she watched Prue cuddling baby Leo over the growing bulk of her own pregnancy whilst Alice looked on with an indulgent smile.

  “Have another, Tilda,” Bonnie urged, trying to press another of tiny little delicacies that Ruth’s marvellous cook had sent around to tempt her appetite.

  Matilda shook her head. “No, thank you, Bonnie. Not just now.”

  All of her friends had set up some kind of schedule, which meant that she was never alone. They had filled her house with the sound of their chatter, Helena playing on the pianoforte, Minerva and Harriet discussing some obscure book that made no sense at all to anyone else. Even Kitty had arrived and was bickering with Bonnie over which of them should get to eat the last pain á la duchesse.

  Today they were all here, every one of the Peculiar Ladies that she had watched as they made friends and fell in love, discovering their own strengths and everything they were capable of along the way. If she had the energy, she might begrudge them their happiness, for she was no saint and, though she would not allow herself to become bitter, she resented that she had been denied what they had. She was too weary for resentment, though, for anything at all. A strange lethargy had settled over her like a damp wool blanket, and she did not care enough to fight free of it.

  So she watched her friends, grateful for their presence but not really a part of the proceedings, of the conversations and plans for the future. She would be, she promised herself. One day she would go back to the world and remind herself that there was joy to be found, adventure even once her travels began, but not now. Not yet.

  Distantly she was aware of her butler speaking to Ruth but paid it no mind until a small and familiar face was right in front of her.

  Matilda blinked. “Phoebe?”

  “Oh, Matilda!”

  Matilda put her arms out just in time as the girl launched herself towards her, throwing her arms around her neck.

  She held her tightly for a moment before letting her go. “Whatever are you doing here, my love?”

  Phoebe stood straight again and smoothed out her skirts, her little face growing serious. She pursed her lips as if she was remembering just what she must say. Taking several large gilt-edged cards from the pocket of her pelisse, she handed them to Matilda.

  “Those are invitations for you and all of your friends for the ball. You must come. It’s very important. Uncle will make everything right, but you have to be there.”

  Matilda blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I cannot tell you any more than that,” Phoebe said, her grey-blue eyes filled with anxiety, her little gloved hands twisting together. “Only you have to promise to come. He can’t make it right if you don’t come.”

  “Oh, but,” Matilda protested, shaking her head. “I… I can’t love. He will announce his engagement and…. No. No, I’m sorry, it’s….”

  She shook her head and Phoebe looked panic-stricken. The little girl stared around the assembled company until she saw Helena.

  “Helena!
” Phoebe ran to her and took her hands, tugging at them urgently. “She must come,” she beseeched. “She simply has too. Please. Make her!”

  Matilda shook her head at Helena, warning her not to try, but Helena was staring at Phoebe, a little frown between her eyebrows.

  “She’s right,” Helena said, and in that moment Matilda hated her just a little.

  She hated that she was happily married to the man she wanted, that nothing had kept her apart from Mr Knight, despite the inequality of their status. Helena turned to her, though, not allowing her to escape.

  “It is the best way of getting it over with. We will all be there to support you, Matilda, and if Montagu can help you, he should. Besides, you have still to complete your dare.”

  “Oh, your dare,” Kitty said, eyes wide. “I don’t even know what it is.”

  “To do something that frightens her,” Helena said, smiling a little at Matilda.

  “Oh, that was one of mine,” Ruth exclaimed. “Though I must admit, I was thinking more of picking up a spider or climbing a tree.”

  Kitty snorted and rolled her eyes. “Well, it would get the dare done, and show all those stupid gossips that the Peculiar Ladies do not bow down to their stupid ideals. We don’t care for the ton, or for its rules; we shall make our own.”

  “Oh!” Phoebe exclaimed, clapping her hands together with delight. “Oh, what a marvellous idea. There, see Matilda, you must come.”

  Matilda looked around at her friends, searching for one of them to support her in saying that it was a terrible idea.

  Aashini reached out and took her hand. “Sometimes, we must face what frightens us most of all before we can move on, Matilda. Once it is done, you’ll know there is nothing that will break you, that you can overcome anything. And, if Montagu really has a plan to help you, should we not give him the chance? You trust him, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, though she wondered why he would put her through such an ordeal, when he knew what it would cost her.

  “And we’ll all be with you,” Jemima added, smiling at her. “You won’t be alone, Tilda.”

  Matilda drew in a deep breath and returned her gaze to Phoebe.

  “It seems I am outnumbered,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and hearing the bitterness there all the same. “You may tell Lucian I will be there.”

  The relief in Phoebe’s eyes was dramatic, the smile that wreathed her pretty face so wide that Matilda wondered at it. Perhaps she had been arrogant in supposing she was important to the child’s life, that she would be missed, for the little girl seemed thrilled to have arranged this for her uncle. Yet, Phoebe knew what this ball was for, and had hated the idea of Lucian marrying anyone else. Matilda was too tired and miserable to consider it any further, though, and gave the girl a kiss on the cheek and watched her leave.

  Well, she would see Lucian once more. She would endure the stares and the gossip of all those invited who were desperate to glimpse Montagu’s bride-to-be and his mistress in the same room.

  Let them look. For that one night, she would hold her head up and act as though she and Lucian were nothing more than friends, as though her heart had not been torn from her chest, and if Lucian could repair her reputation, let him.

  It really didn’t matter either way.

  ***

  Phoebe ran down the steps, waving at Jack in the driver’s seat before she climbed into the carriage, where her uncle was waiting for her.

  “Well?” he demanded, his expression taut with worry.

  “She’s coming!” She squealed, jumping up and down in her seat.

  “Oh, thank God.” He sat back and let out a harsh breath and then laughed. “Well done, Phoebe. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Oh, it was easy. She still has a dare to complete, like the ones her friends did, and they told her this would be the challenge.”

  “What was the dare?” he asked, frowning.

  “To do something that frightens her.”

  She watched his face darken, his blond brows draw together, and she shifted, moving to sit beside him and take his hand. “It will be all right, and you’re frightened too, aren’t you? So it’s fair.”

  He turned and looked at her and gave a little huff of laughter.

  “Terrified,” he admitted.

  “Well, there you are, then.” She grinned at him, relieved as his expression eased.

  “There we are, then,” he said, smiling in return, and then his face fell again, and he tightened his grip on her hand.

  “How was she?”

  Phoebe bit her lip and shrugged.

  “Like you,” she said.

  He nodded, falling quiet for a moment. “Bee, what if—”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed hold of the silver-topped walking stick he often carried when in town. She rapped smartly on the ceiling of the carriage, turning back to him as it moved out.

  “Stop worrying,” she ordered, wagging a finger at him. “You scared Great-Aunt Marguerite so badly she won’t come near you again. She doesn’t know a thing, and neither does anyone else. It’s all worked out, you just have to do as we planned, so stop fretting about it.”

  He snorted and sat back, shaking his head.

  “Oh, well, if you say so,” he remarked, and she knew he was only being sarcastic because he was nervous.

  “I do. Everything will be just fine. Better than fine,” she amended sternly. “It will be perfect.”

  “Perfect.” He nodded, holding her gaze. “Yes.”

  “So, now we have to see the Duchess of Bedwin.”

  He groaned and put his head in his hands. “Well, it was your idea,” she retorted.

  “I know,” he muttered.

  “She’s still with Matilda at the moment, so that means you have time to take me to Gunter’s.”

  Lucian snorted. “Oh, is that right?”

  “I’ve earned it, don’t you think?” She grinned as he laughed at her smug expression.

  “I do. You may have enough chocolate ice to make yourself ill, with my blessing.”

  “Excellent. And then we shall go see the duchess.”

  Her uncle sighed. “Let us hope the duke is not at home when we do. Bedwin will be unbearable.”

  Phoebe shrugged. “You’re far more unbearable when you want to be. You’ll win any contest of that nature, you always do.”

  He grinned at her, an expression she had seen so rarely of late that her heart leapt. “Thank you, Bee. It’s nice to know you have such faith in me.”

  “Of course,” she said, hiding her smile, and beside herself with anticipation.

  Chapter 23

  Oh, I’m so excited I could burst!

  ―Excerpt of an entry by Miss Phoebe Barrington to her diary.

  19th May 1815. Montagu House, St James’s, London.

  Lucian paced up and down the length of the library. Everyone was here, awaiting him, awaiting his announcement. Phoebe sat in the chair behind his desk in a pretty pink dress, satin slippers swinging back and forth, watching him placidly.

  “Anyone would think you were nervous.”

  Lucian shot her a narrow-eyed glare, and she just grinned at him.

  “Dreadful creature,” he muttered. “You’re supposed to be giving me words of encouragement.”

  “Pfft. You don’t need those. Do you?”

  He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, though I must confess to being somewhat—”

  “Afraid?”

  Lucian nodded and Phoebe jumped down from the chair, walking towards him.

  “She loves you.”

  He let out a breath. “Yes.”

  “And you love her.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, then.”

  Lucian laughed and crouched down to hug his niece tightly. “Quite so, love, and you’ll be watching, won’t you? Cheering me on?”

  “Of course!” she exclaimed. “Pippin and Mrs Frant and I are going to sneak
up to the balcony and watch from up there.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Lucian’s heart thudded hard in his chest. Despite everything, he felt sick. He straightened and went to the mirror, checking his reflection before turning back to Phoebe.

  “Well?” he asked, waiting as Phoebe gazed at him critically, walking a circle about him.

  “Very handsome,” she declared. “She’ll be so proud of you. I am.”

  “Thank you, Bee. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Me either,” she said with a sigh, lips quirking.

  ***

  This had been a mistake. Nate was white-faced with rage and was being given a stern talking to by Jasper, who was trying in vain to calm him down. He’d just about stopped Matilda’s brother murdering some fool who’d thought to make a sly remark about her relationship with Montagu.

  “Everyone is staring at me,” she said.

  Aashini gave a soft laugh. “Darling, of course they are. You look incredible in that gown.”

  Matilda snorted and stared down at it. It was lovely. The beautiful pure white cotton gauze was embroidered with sequins and gilt thread. It was sheer and ethereal. She’d admired it once in a shop window, and Lucian had offered to buy for her—to buy it for his mistress. She had bought it for herself and had it made into the most stunning gown she’d ever seen. It had cost her a small fortune, and she’d done it for him. At the time it had been to rub it in his face, the fact that she did not need or want his money, that she could not be bought. Now, she simply wanted him to see it, because he had wanted to see her wear it, and she wanted him to remember her like this.

  She sighed and turned back to Aashini.

  “That is not why they are looking,” she said bitterly.

  Everyone was staring at her because they believed she was Lucian’s mistress. They knew he would announce his betrothal tonight and she knew all eyes would turn to her, waiting for her reaction to the news.

  Lady Constance Rivenhall was here and kept sending scathing glances over at her. Matilda was strongly tempted to scratch her pretty eyes out. No doubt she was Lucian’s intended bride. Marguerite had always favoured her over the others. Her stomach roiled and she took a deep breath.