Page 37 of To Hunt the Hunter

Dearest Aashini,

I write in haste only to say I am well, and you must not worry for me. So much has happened I cannot possibly explain. I can only tell you I am where I want to be, where I am needed more than I could have imagined. I know I am stretching our friendship badly in asking you to lie for me, but please, please… give me a little longer if you can.

P.S. I enclose a letter which I would ask you to forward to Nate and Alice for me.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Aashini Anson, Countess of Cavendish.

4th May 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

“If I have to look at these four walls for another minute, I shan’t be responsible for the consequences.”

Matilda sighed, noting the implacable glare in Lucian’s eyes with misgiving. He clearly was not a man who fared well sitting about with nothing to do. Lucian had been too tired to protest too vociferously until today, but now he was getting fractious. He’d already scared the rest of the staff off, which Matilda was wicked enough to be pleased about. She wanted him all to herself.

“One more day,” she countered, keeping her voice conciliatory. “For me. That’s not so much to ask, is it?”

He glowered at her and huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Damn you, that’s not fair.”

“How so?” she demanded, biting back a laugh at the frustration in his eyes.

“You know very well I can deny you nothing, not after… after everything.”

“Oh, Lucian.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t look so mortified. I was more than happy to do it, and it wasn’t like it was me alone. Pippin is a marvel. You’re very lucky to have her. She loves you like a son, you do realise that?”

Matilda watched him, amused by his discomfort.

“Lord knows why,” he muttered. “This family has brought her nothing but trouble, I’m sure. It’s a wonder she doesn’t despise the lot of us.” He sent her a sideways glance, his silver eyes glinting with curiosity. “What do you think of her?”

“I just told you,” she said with a laugh. “She’s a marvel.”

Matilda noted the way he was studying her, and considered the question. There was something remarkably reassuring about Pippin—calming.

“She’s a tremendously strong woman, confident and capable. I like her very much. She’s… warm. Motherly.”

Lucian nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Shall I read to you?”

He cast one longing look at the sunshine outside the windows and sighed. “No. Thank you.”

Matilda bit her lip, a little amused. She’d begun reading Pride and Prejudice to him, which he’d seemed to enjoy at first, but he’d become tense and discomfited from the moment Elizabeth Bennet had given Mr Darcy her stinging refusal to his marriage proposal. Matilda sat down on the bed beside him and took his hand, linking their fingers together.

“You ought not be here.” His voice was taut now and he turned to look at her, concern in his eyes. “What is the gossip among the ton? Have you heard? He’ll be working to discredit me, you know that. There will be some story doing the rounds painting me as a villain or a madman, or both.”

“Not today, Lucian,” she said.

Pippin had warned her not to let a scandal sheet near him, not until he was stronger. Not that Matilda knew either. She was too afraid to look, and Pippin seemed to think it could wait. He let out a frustrated sigh and turned his head away again, laying back against the pillows and staring at the window.

“Tell me about Thomas.”

He didn’t answer at first, and for such a long time that she thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep.

“Thomas loved me. Father only had time for Philip, and Mother doted on Thomas because he was such a sickly child and needed her, but Thomas loved me. He followed me everywhere, and he called me Lucie.” Lucian turned back to her, sending her a warning glance that promised retribution. “I’ll never speak to you again if you repeat that,” he said tersely. “And I’d have murdered anyone else for calling me that too, but I didn’t mind when he said it. My little shadow, that’s what Pippin said of him.”

Matilda squeezed his hand, encouraging him. “That’s sweet.”

“He was sweet, the sweetest-natured child you ever saw. Never cross with anyone, always smiling. Hated arguments or disputes and, if Father shouted at us, he’d hide behind me, which only made Father crosser still. Thomas was afraid of our tutor and not very good at schoolwork, so I taught him his letters. He said he understood better when I taught him things.”

“I wish I could have met him,” Matilda said.