Page 31 of To Follow her Heart

Mr Derby stared up at him, the shock in his eyes chilling to something less savoury. “That… was a mistake.”

“Perhaps,” Luke said, amazed by how calm he sounded, how in control. Trevick had done him some good with all those lessons. “But I am a gentleman, and I must keep my word. Miss Connolly was correct. I asked her to marry me and, what’s more, I meant it. It’s a promise I intend to keep.”

He leant down and offered Mr Derby his hand, but the man refused him, getting up by himself. Though he was approaching seventy and his heart was not as strong as he’d wish, the man looked a great deal younger. Luke wondered if he should feel guilty for hitting the fellow. After all, whatever he looked like, he was not a young man, but after so many years of holding back it had felt so good.

“You’re willing to destroy her, then, this woman whom you love so deeply?” Derby said, a glitter in his eyes that boded ill.

“You will leave her out of this,” Luke said, a sick feeling of trepidation rising in his throat.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said, shaking his head. “This is something you have never grasped, boy: the difference between being born to lead and merely shown how. You will do as we wish, no matter what we must do to achieve the outcome we desire. If you persist in this idiotic desire to have your cake and eat it, Miss Connolly will pay the price.”

Luke’s hands clenched, and he wished he’d hit the man harder now, wished he’d broken his damn nose or brought on the fatal heart attack the doctors had warned him of.

“I’ll not let you hurt her,” he said, his heart racing now as the enormity of what he was facing came home to him.

It had seemed so simple when he was with Kitty, so easy; but it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t simple, and he was putting her at risk.

Mr Derby laughed and returned a pitying look. “I tell you what I’ll do, Luke,” he said, with the condescension of a man to a boy he feels lacking in wits and experience. “I’ll give you a week to enjoy your Miss Connolly. Bed her if you must, and perhaps you’ll come to your senses when that particular itch has been scratched. After that, you will come to heel, or I will make you.”

“She is a lady, sir,” Luke said, wishing he could forget himself and propriety, and the fact he was a guest in this house, and throw Mr Derby out the bloody window and have done with it. “She is not a lightskirt. I will not have you speak of her with such disrespect.”

“As you wish,” Derby said, taking a moment to adjust his cravat, his tone indicating that the subject bored him. “You have my terms, which are more than generous. I suggest you heed them, or your beloved Kitten will pay the price.”

Chapter 9

Dear Matilda,

We shall be with you at Holbrooke House on the 22nd. I’m so excited! Though I must say I’ve had a fine time with Ruth. We have been staying at her father’s new property which he has extensively modernised. It’s wonderfully vulgar which puts poor Ruth all on her dignity though I’ve assured her I don’t care a fig. I do care that it’s comfortable and delightful to live in though, as I didn’t hesitate to explain.

How many eligible men will be there? Please, tell me there will be droves. I have had a letter from Morven demanding to know when I will return and accept Gordon Anderson’s proposal. I must do something drastic to escape such a dire fate. Give me hope, dearest Tilda. Tell the handsome and wealthy young men that they must not fall in love before I get there!

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Bonnie Campbell to Miss Matilda Hunt.

22nd August 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.

“Good morning, Miss Hunt, Miss Stanhope. How lovely you both look this morning.”

Matilda turned and smiled as Mr Burton approached them.

He looked very fine, dressed for riding, his tight-fitting breeches a thing of beauty as they hugged his powerful thighs. A man in his prime. Matilda knew he ought to make her heart pitter-patter with anticipation and felt a surge of irritation with herself when it failed to do so. The stupid thing must be defective.

Burton grinned at her and Harriet, an almost boyish expression of enthusiasm on his suntanned features. His hands were large and rough, she noted as he toyed with the crop he held, those of a man who worked for a living, not the elegant hands of an aristocrat. That ought to be a point in his favour too. Though she knew most of her ilk would strongly disagree, Matilda felt a great deal of respect for a man who had accomplished success through hard work and determination. Her brother was such a man.

“You are looking forward to our outing, Mr Burton?” she asked, addressing him with warmth and seeing at once the pleasure in his eyes.

“I am, and why ever not? Our unpredictable English weather is as perfect as one could hope for, a ruined castle the most romantic of settings, and all to be enjoyed with such pleasant company. A man would be churlish indeed to be anything other than delighted.”

“I’m sure you are right,” Matilda replied, finding his enthusiasm infectious.

St Clair had arranged an outing to Bodiam Castle. It lay about an hour and a half south east of Holbrooke House and some of the guests had elected to ride, while others would travel by carriage. A picnic awaited them at their destination along with a tour of the ruins, before the journey home.

“You are not riding, though, I take it?” Mr Burton asked, his disappointment evident.

Matilda shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m a very poor horsewoman and would only hold everyone back. I am resigned to travelling in the luxurious comfort of the Countess St Clair’s barouche, with fortitude however, I assure you.”

“How good you are, Miss Hunt,” he said. He meant it as an amusing remark, she knew, but it was said with rather too much intent, the look in his eyes too warm, and Matilda blushed and looked away.

She was relieved when the rather breathtaking sight of Lord St Clair and his brother joining the assembled group on horseback drew their attention.