Thirteen

Hunter

I laughed to myself all the way home from the cheesemonger. The significant Wiltshire loaf cost as much as my last cravat, but it didn't matter; I only wished I could see Lady Gwendolyn's face when it arrived. And this time no note seemed necessary. She would know in an instant who provided her with the delectable treat that most certainly would last several weeks. I chuckled again as I entered my parent's townhome.

"Hunter!" My cousin Amelia came flying down the stairs in a most unladylike fashion and landed with a hop in my arms. At fourteen, Amelia had blossomed into quite a beauty, behavior aside. She was followed closely by her brother, eleven-year-old Frederick, a stout young man who faced his first Eton season this coming spring.

"I have missed you tremendously," she cried. She hung her arms around my neck, allowing her feet to dangle down. "We have come for your wedding!"

I groaned and held out one hand to pull Frederick to my side. As the children of my mother's younger sister, they were the closest Josiah and I had to siblings.

"Amelia!" Her mother called from the top of the stairs. "That is not the proper way to greet a gentleman."

"But it's Hunter ," Amelia cried. I laughed as she dropped clumsily from my arms and pretended to start over with a curtsy. "Lord Devon." She rolled her eyes when she faced me again.

I chuckled again and bowed. "Miss Amelia."

My Aunt Priscilla descended the steps and kissed me on the cheek. "Dearest Hunter," she patted my cheek. "How are you?"

"Good." I nodded. "Brilliant, now that you are all here. Where's Uncle Thomas?"

She shot me a wry look that had me chuckling again. I answered for her, "In Father's study."

"Have you met her?" Amelia's eyes brightened.

"Who?"

She frowned. Of course, I knew of whom she spoke. "I only jest, dear cousin. Yes, I have met the…" I nearly said Ice Princess . "I have met the lady."

Aunt Priscilla smiled. "We departed the moment your mother informed us of the situation. Despite having traveled recently for Josiah's service, I would not miss your wedding for anything." She glanced upon me with her customary compassion. "And I'm truly sorry for the loss of your brother."

I took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. We all feel his absence."

Amelia fidgeted beside me, seemingly struggling to wait her turn to speak again. I glanced over at her. She saw this as a sign to speak and her smile widened. "What is she like?"

"Who?" Once again, I knew precisely who she meant but continued to tease.

"Ugh, Hunter, your betrothed!" She flailed her arms around in frustration.

Aunt Priscilla shot me an exasperated look. It was clear that turning Amelia into a lady was taking a toll on her.

"She has dark hair, a smidge darker than yours, with eyes that…" it took me a second to find the right word. They were green, but not a typical green. They somehow fell between a bright emerald green and a darker forest green accentuated by a silver web. Was there a word for that?

"Hunter!" Amelia drew my attention back to her. "What color are her eyes?"

I smiled. "Like sunlit jade."

"What color is that?" she grumbled. Then as if something clicked. "Oh, so, she looks like Lady Gwendolyn, Josiah's fiancée!"

I stood before her with my mouth falling open like a gaping fish.

Priscilla glanced between us and seemed to realize her mistake in not informing Amelia of the truth of the matter. She bit her bottom lip. "Yes, Amelia, Hunter is marrying Lady Gwendolyn."

Amelia's eyes grew to the size of saucers.

Of course they would have become acquainted at the funeral service.

"Amelia, darling, will you go and tell the duchess we will be a few minutes late, I want to speak with Hunter."

"But I—"

"Now, dear."

Amelia hung her head and shuffled her feet as Frederick followed behind and both disappeared into the drawing room.

Wrapping her arm through mine, she pulled me close. "You must not see her as Josiah's fiancée. She is your betrothed."

I peered at her with a sardonic expression.

"Come now, Hunter." She patted my arm with her other hand. "I doubt very much that the lady herself wants to be seen as expended. This can be a new chapter for you both."

"I hardly know her."

"You will have all the time in the world to get to know her after the wedding and I encourage you not to give up." As sisters, she and my mother were so alike. Unequalled kindness exuded from them both. I wondered if Lady Gwendolyn would fit in. From what I'd seen thus far, she differed substantially from these two women.

As we walked toward the parlor, curiosity reigned as I leaned in and whispered in my aunt's ear, "You have heard of my fiancée's nickname, have you not?"

Priscilla stopped and unthreaded her arm, reaching for my hands. "Hunter, I'm going to be uncommonly candid."

I glanced at the seriousness that occupied her features. "Women are not complex creatures. We have desires, hopes, and dreams much like men. But above all, we want to be treasured, cherished, and loved."

I pursed my lips. Lady Helena said something similar at the ball. I shook my head. "But what if she sought to be loved by Josiah?" I asked. "He captivated every woman he met."

"Well, from what I heard, his captivation embodied far too many women." She grinned. "Have you tried to speak with her, listen to her?"

"She wants absolutely nothing to do with me."

"How do you know?"

"Because she flees in the other direction every time I am near. I can't persuade her to stand still long enough for me to speak more than a few sentences."

"Well, that will change," she reassured.

"How?"

"Well for one, she will be your bride in a few short weeks."

"Need you remind me?" I muttered.

"Hunter, stay the course. Make every attempt genuine. Make sure she's aware she is the only person in your world. And above all, be ready for when she believes you."

"What if she looks at me and only wishes to see Josiah?"

"Then help her forget him."

"How?"

She squeezed my hands. "Be yourself." The tiny lines stretching out from her eyes crinkled with her grin. "You are not Josiah, and thank the heavens for that. Your poor mother would be in her grave if she had two of him."

I smiled.

"Your sincerity, your kindness, and your compassion will all speak for itself." She patted my cheek once more. "You, Hunter, you have a great deal to offer any woman. Lady Gwendolyn will come to see it. One day she will open her eyes and see you, not him. I promise."

The next day, I received word that Zach had returned from the continent and wished to meet. Bearing in mind all that occurred in the last few days, I sent a return missive asking him to meet me at 13 Old Bond Street—Jackson's Boxing Academy.

Though we could have met at Brooks's, Hyde Park, or Tattersall's, any place where respectable gentlemen meet, I needed to fight. Everyone telling me that ‘ Lady Gwendolyn only wanted to be loved' was nearly driving me mad. How can a man show any care for a woman when she won't let him within an arm's length of her? How can I be a dutiful courting man if the woman flees at the very sight of me?

"Ready?" I lifted my fists, facing off with an opponent. This time, I opted for knuckle tape over bare, though it hardly mattered; either way I intended for the marks to be on the face of my challenger, not mine. Nonetheless, my primary concern lay only with releasing frustration.

I took the first few blows only because my mind remained elsewhere. When I finally focused, I counter-punched several angry strikes before Jackson held me back. My first opponent folded down and out in less than two minutes.

Four conquests later, Zach convinced me to stop.

"Good heavens, mate," Collins handed me a linen to wipe the sweat off my face. "What has possessed you in our short three-week separation?"

I shot him a cynical look. Then I realized that Zach knew nothing of my circumstances after we parted ways in Sézanne. I breathed heavily through my nose. "I believe Steven's is in order."

"Steven's? Not Brooks's?" He looked askance. "This must be dashed news if you want to get foxed in a pub."

Steven's Hotel was not all that undignified. The patronage consisted of more men in uniform than that of gentlemen, but I certainly had no problem with that. "You have no idea," I blew out the words.

Stepping out of the boxing academy to walk the short distance to Steven's, I had not quite buttoned my shirtsleeves fully or tied my cravat when, of all the unlucky blazes, I came face to face with the Princess herself. The blasted timing of such an occurrence left me dumbstruck.

"Lord Devon?" Lady Gwendolyn stood arm in arm with Lady Julia mere steps away from us. Her eyes took in the whole of me—from my untied hair, rumpled and sweaty clothing, to the newest bruise below my left eye. Her posture stiffened.

Inwardly, I should have cringed, discomfited at my presentation, but I was exasperated from being judged by this woman. She needed to know the whole of me. This is who I am, no need to pretend. I am nothing like my dandy of a brother, and she will be better off when she finally understands this.

I found my voice. "Lady Gwendolyn, Lady Julia." I bowed, though it felt as raw and unrefined as my appearance. "I present to you Lord Zachary Collins." Who, in perfect dress and comportment, bowed, fighting the strong twitch of his lips in the process. His missing fingers were tucked into a glove specifically made to appear as if nothing was amiss.

"Ladies," he said. "It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I glanced over at Lady Gwendolyn and caught her looking at my shirtsleeves. Specifically, the larger than appropriate V below my neck where a portion of my chest remained exposed. Though the cold air nipped at me, I found it refreshing in contrast to the sweltering air of the academy.

She pursed her lips. "Out of sorts this morning, my lord?"

I smirked. "More like out of sorts for the last two weeks." I finished buttoning my shirt and tied my cravat in a poor imitation of Trenton's earlier work.

Her eyes narrowed. She knew precisely what I intended. Despite realizing a half second too late that the comment sounded overly cruel, I couldn't reverse it.

"Yet, you insist on obliging the ill-fated union."

Zach's eyebrows scrunched together questionably as he observed us.

"Is there a choice?" I asked, knowing full well there wasn't… at least not on my end.

Her arm tightened around her friend's as if to bring added protection to her. "There's always a choice." Her stare turned hollow. "Good day, gentlemen."

With a rustle of skirts, they sidestepped us in a hasty retreat, a hair's breadth from a run.

I ran a hand down my face and groaned, watching the woman until she disappeared down the street.

"What the devil?" Zach took a step closer and blocked my view.

I replaced my hat on my head and buttoned my coat, pointing forward. "The precise reason we're going to Steven's."

His mouth parted but nothing came out. It was better that way. I needed a few minutes to calm my nerves. The lady's coolness had a way of seeping in and upending me. She claimed one always had a choice but only yesterday, the first banns were read, reinforcing the first step in my lifetime of misery.

Once settled at a table at Steven's, I ordered a pint and filled Zach in with the dreadful details.

"You are betrothed to Lady Gwendolyn Bissett?" Zach then requested a double.

I nodded.

He shook his head and rubbed his chin. The frown that consumed him appeared as though he were the one marching to the gallows.

"What are you so glum over? I'm the one who is shackled."

He took a long sip of his whiskey before he spoke. Zach always had an air of mystery about him, but this seemed excessive.

"Speak your mind, Collins," I grumbled.

"It's only heresy, not fact, by any means."

"What is?" I held my newly arrived drink in a tight grasp. What might he have to say that I don't already suspect about the woman I'm to wed.

"I met with my solicitor this morning regarding my situation, my financial state."

I nodded. I knew his circumstances were precarious. His father still lived but was not in his right mind, and his older brother refused to acknowledge Zach's existence.

"Mr. Smith praised me for forgoing a business venture that I had been approached about before we returned to the continent in search of Jaxon."

My brows furrowed and I raised my glass. "I salute your wise and astute mind," I mocked. "Now what does this have to do with Lady Gwendolyn?"

"Nothing with her." He took a breath. "Her father."

Now he had my full attention. "Elaborate," I urged.

"It is rumored that Lord Langley, Lord Finch, and Sir Decklan heavily solicited interest in a business venture involving breweries in the rookeries."

I nodded. Gentlemen were often exploring ways to make money in various schemes.

"Their primary investment involved Meux none of which featured the disaster on the front page. I retrieved The Times as I sat in one of two polished wingback chairs opposite his desk. The elderly gentleman with bushy eyebrows and graying sideburns greeted me warmly.

"Forgive me," I spoke with haste. "Did you happen to see an article in here about a brewery disaster?"

His lips pursed. "Page three, my lord."

"Shouldn't a disaster of that magnitude be on the front page?"

He shook his head sorrowfully. "It occurred in St. Giles Rookery."

"I see." A slum in Camden . After I read the article, I returned the paper to his desk and scooted forward, resting my hands on my knees. "Can I trust that our conversation remains only between us?" I inquired with little doubt. The man exuded integrity.

"Certainly, my lord."

"Do you happen to be privy to the details of the investors in the Horse Shoe Brewery? Primarily Lord Bissett, Earl of Langley?"

"I can make some inquiries." He reached for his quill and dipped it in a jar of ink. After writing on a parchment, he paused. "But why, may I ask?"

"My betrothal to Lady Gwendolyn Bissett."

His face paled in his silence. Setting his stylus aside, he scratched at one of his sideburns before he responded. "If the law finds them responsible, it has the potential to ruin all involved."

"I'm aware of that."

He threaded his hands together and rested them atop his desk. "My advice, Lord Devon, would be to release her before the inquest reaches a verdict."

I wiped the thin layer of sweat off my forehead. "Is there another option?"

"For instance?"

"Do we have any associates in the Board of Commissioners in the Lord's Treasury?"

His lips pinched together in a hard line before he spoke, "I do. Are you referring to His Majesty's Excise duty?"

I nodded. "If the inquest finds the act an accidental misfortune, a rebate can be issued to reimburse them for the lost beer and the brewery can reopen their doors shortly thereafter with little to no loss."

"But who will be accountable for the deaths?"

"Let me handle that. I will let you know what I need." I stood and shook his hand.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and studied me. "This could be a sensational risk, Lord Devon." He paused. "Is she worth it?"

I met his stare but did not answer him.