Twenty-two

Gwendolyn

I sat across from Hunter at the dining room table for a late supper and could not pull my eyes away from him.

Everything from this afternoon's activity replayed in my mind as if it had happened mere minutes ago. We located nearly every item on the silly list. Some in town, some on small walks, and others on the side of the road on our journey. All had been surprisingly easily acquired, including an overripe black bullace, despite its maturation in November. But the Snowdrop flower proved elusive. The white bell-shaped winter flower bloomed near the Thames in times past, but we had yet to see one since we began this mad quest.

Then, just as we crested a hill passing Erith, I spied a bundle of lovely blooms on a patch of land near the bank of a pond. "Hunter!" I cried. "Over there!" I pointed past the trees and, dead center, a dozen deep green stalks emerged with the characteristic white droopy petals. He knocked his knuckles on the ceiling and the team came to an immediate stop.

As we removed the blankets and bundled up in our coats, we stepped outside to the strong, sweet scent of sycamore trees. Despite their lack of summer green, their stately white bark remained lovely year-round. After a short walk, we reached the pond, only to be met with sudden disappointment. The flowers were not on the bank, as I presumed, but on a small patch of land several paces inward. Hunter peered over at me. I shook my head as I examined the layer of ice separating us from the flowers. "No, we'll keep looking," I said.

He smiled wide, shedding his greatcoat and placing it over the trunk of a dead tree.

"Hunter, you'll catch your death," I pleaded. "The ice doesn't appear solid, and the water has to be freezing."

He retrieved a stick and tapped it against the ice. "It's passable." He tossed the stick aside. "And the water cannot be more than a meter deep," he assured. "My boots will protect my feet. I'll retrieve the flower and be back in no time at all."

"It's only a flower," I countered as I settled down beside his coat on the trunk.

He arched his brow with a playful tilt of his head. "No, this is for Chelsea buns. It's also the very last item on the list and we must return as victors."

I chuckled at his justification and watched as he tested the ice with one step at a time. Surprisingly, it held his weight. All should have gone as planned, but either the ice thinned the closer he got to the island or he misjudged. He suddenly fell through into the frigid pond and ended up landing in such a way that he became fully submerged. I cried out and launched to my feet just as he found his footing again. In truth, the pond only reached his waist, but he dripped soaking wet from head to foot from the fall.

I cannot account for the range of emotions that emerged within me at the same time he set out from the water with his shirtsleeves sticking to his skin. I'd never seen a man's chest through a thin fabric, or otherwise, and my cheeks practically burst into flames from the sight. Thankfully, the suitable distance between us shrouded my heated cheeks as he made his way toward me from the bank.

Standing before me, he squeezed the excess water from his shirt. Droplets splattered all around us. My fur-lined hood prevented most of them from reaching my face, though I laughed the entire time.

"It's only fitting that you share in the humiliation, as you are the one who noticed the snowdrop first." He stepped even closer and shook his hair free causing wet strands to cling to his face. I no longer found his circumstances humorous.

Heaven help me. The man was perfection itself.

When he stretched forth his hand, he held the long stem of the flower in question. The limp snowdrop had lost half of its petals and wilted sadly to the side under the weight of the water.

My eyes tried to take in the bloom's sight but remained pinpointed on Hunter.

"Might you hand me my coat?" His teeth chattered uncontrollably from the cold and pulled my thoughts back to the present. I suddenly noticed his shaking torso. I swiftly retrieved the coat so he could cover himself, though wished desperately it was summer and he had no need for it. When our hands brushed in the exchange, his skin felt ice cold.

"Oh, Hunter. You're simply chilled," I cried. "We need to get you inside the carriage posthaste."

We rushed back the short distance to the parked coach.

Once inside, we both knew he needed to shed his wet clothing. Just thinking back on it now during supper caused my heart to thump extra hard.

Inside the carriage, I reached for a blanket as he stripped his waistcoat and shirtsleeves off. I stole a peek when I thought he wasn't looking, but he glanced up and caught me watching him and smiled impishly. As if the warmth of the carriage wasn't enough, surely the heat of my stare provided additional fervor. Though he kept his trousers on, he wrapped the dry blanket around his back and clasped the front closed with his hands. Fortunately for me, his grip remained loose. I then tucked the second blanket over his legs.

"Forgive me, Hunter." I tried not to laugh at our predicament.

He lifted a hand to my cheek and despite the cold, I pressed my hand over his to warm it. As he continued to shiver, I then pressed myself up against him, hoping that my body heat might aid in his recovery… at least, that's what I told myself.

Now, here, tonight, after he had taken a warm bath and rested, we faced one another dressed in the height of fashion. Me, in my emerald gown and pearls, and him with his perfectly pressed jacket and knotted cravat. His hair was tied back once again, and I marveled how one man could appear so contrasting in different settings, yet so equally handsome.

"What's on your mind, Gwendolyn?" His deep voice sailed across the table with a trace of humor in the tone.

My fork slipped from my fingers and clattered upon contact with my plate.

His lips now lifted in his mischievous half smile.

From the heat that filled my cheeks, he certainly saw it, even with the distance between us. I shook my head and forced my thoughts away from his shirt clinging to his wet skin and back to my meal.

"I—I am only r—reflecting on how much I enjoyed today." I smiled and picked up my fork again.

"You are not thinking of what an oaf you have for a husband? A man who could not simply retrieve a flower for you without failing miserably."

"Oh, but you did not fail." I laughed. "I have the flower to prove it!" And at this moment it rested upon a linen in my bedchamber.

He smiled. "A poor excuse of a flower," he mumbled.

"A flower, nonetheless." And I could not stop myself from smiling the rest of dinner.

Before we departed on our quest today, Hunter sent Trenton to retrieve every single piece of my painting supplies from my parent's home, including my three easels, my tin of paints, my palettes, stack of brushes, and a dozen canvasses. The effort made my heart swell.

So, tonight, in our sparsely furnished parlor, Hunter read his newest acquisition from the bookshop, "Vathek" by William Beckford, while I painted, and we both devoured several delectable Chelsea buns.

Though we engaged in little conversation as the hours passed, I found it to be quite comfortable while we each focused on our individual pastimes. Occasionally, when I changed tools or paint colors, I would glance in Hunter's direction and—if I found myself lucky—he'd peer over the top of his book and smile.

Only a couple of days into our married lives and I could already imagine us years later, after our children have grown and departed, retreating to the parlor in a similar manner.

Children.

How odd my first thought wasn't just one child as specified in the contract.

I marveled at the soothing comfort that settled in my soul with Hunter and, later when he escorted me to my bedchamber, he held my hand, then kissed it tenderly at my door as he said goodnight. The day brought a whirlwind of emotion from the games to the carriage ride and our time together. And not once did I feel as though his efforts weren't genuine or sincere.

The next morning, when I arrived in the breakfast room, a bountiful bouquet of snowdrops held in a lovely Grecian vase was perched on the table. All of which were as beautiful as the one he retrieved on our ride, but now they numbered twelve, with all six petals each. My chest fluttered with the thrill and memory of Hunter retrieving the original, and I could not prevent my smile from beaming.

"Good morning, Gwendolyn." Hunter strode into the room as handsome as ever.

"Good morning, Hunter." I gestured to the flowers. "Someone was busy early today. Please tell me you didn't return to that same dreadful pond to retrieve these."

He stopped and glanced at the flowers inquisitively. "My wife of three days is receiving flowers from an admirer?" He kept a straight face, and I suddenly wondered if they had erroneously arrived from another. I peered between him and the flowers. Did I dare search for a note? When I glanced back at Hunter, he smiled, then winked.

"You're incorrigible," I said, while trying to slow the speed of my pulse.

He only laughed and retrieved his breakfast.

After we finished a hearty meal of sausage, toast with butter, and coddled eggs, I turned to him for our next round in the game. "Question or Command?" I asked.

Hunter smiled, leaned back, and crossed his arms before him. "You, first."

I bit my bottom lip, overwhelmed with all I wanted to ask. "Question." I paused. "Why were you on the continent when Josiah died? The war had ended."

Hunter's smile faded. He uncrossed his arms and steepled his fingers in front of his lips thoughtfully. "Lord Zachary and I were searching for our mate, Lord Jaxon Gray."

"He's missing?" I had never met him but knew the family.

He nodded solemnly.

"I'm truly sorry." With all the pain that I witnessed from Julia's family, it would be heartbreaking to not know if his friend lived or not. "What do you plan to do now?"

"I don't believe he's dead. I only need to cast a wider net."

"That must be so distressing. Is there any way I can assist you?"

Hunter stared at me for a good, long minute. I shifted awkwardly in my seat. Though he didn't appear upset by my offer, he didn't reveal his thoughts either.

"My turn," he whispered. "Question."

I took a scant breath, conflicted, knowing questions were substantially easier, but the command from yesterday left me reeling with many sensations.

"Where do all your paintings go? I have seen two since we met and neither one hung in your home." He tilted his head curiously. "And from what I have seen, painting is a significant part of your life."

I smiled under his gaze. "I gift them to Julia."

"Why?" He appeared thoroughly astonished.

"She donates them."

Again, his countenance revealed bewilderment. "Where are they donated?"

"Is that another question?" I teased.

"I simply have to know why." He sat forward. "They are exquisite." My heart warmed at his compliment.

Hesitating, I felt compelled to ask. "Are you saying that in earnest?"

His brows furrowed. "Remember, we promised to tell the truth."

I smiled again. The movement came so naturally now. "I couldn't sell them, so Julia found a way for them to be useful. She donates them to orphanages, hospitals, public houses."

"Have you ever seen them?"

"I saw one, once, at Greenwich Hospital."

He squinted his eyes. "What were you doing at the military hospital?"

"I visited Julia's older brother shortly after he returned from the war."

Hunter went silent.

"Have you been there?" I asked.

"Yes, but only recently. Lucas has been going there for nearly a year. He encouraged me to go with him and I was…"

"Overwhelmed?" I inserted.

"To say the least."

He rubbed the recent growth on his chin. He must've skipped his shave this morning. "I'm surprised they let a lady enter their doors. The sights are… well, they are not fit for anyone prone to swooning."

I smirked. "I don't swoon, Hunter." I said this knowing full well that the closest I had ever come was yesterday on the banks of the pond. "Besides, James and I shared a friendship, too."

"Where is he now?"

"He is living at their country estate."

"Did he recover?"

I pursed my lips. Speaking of this always made me emotional. "He did not. Well, some, but not entirely. He lost one of his legs and now requires the care of a nurse."

"Devil take it." He blinked then seemed to realize I heard him. "Pardon me, several years around military men have brandished some bad habits."

"I said the same thing in my mind when I heard." I sighed. "Julia's family is tormented over it."

"What painting of yours is hanging in Greenwich Hospital?"

I smiled as an idea suddenly came to mind. "Follow me." Leading him into the parlor where my recently finished canvas stood drying, I pointed to the lower right corner and the swirling "G" signature. "I have given Julia and Davina twenty-two paintings in three years." I paused briefly as I glanced over at Hunter. His eyes studied my painting for a moment then flitted to me.

"What?" He grinned, then chuckled. "Do you realize you exhibit a diabolical expression when you are scheming?"

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. Hunter still watched me and waited with what could only be described as fascination.

"I wonder if the remarkable Hunter Matthews is up for a challenge," I teased.

He smirked and gave me the look that caused my skin to tingle all the way to my toes. "Always."

"For each painting you find of mine, you can ask me an additional question or command, regardless of the day."

"In all of London?" His eyes widened.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I believe they have limited it to London, but I am not precisely sure." I laughed again. "But if you feel it's too daunting of a task…"

He rubbed his hands together. "You have set forth a challenge and I must meet it."

I was going to enjoy this immensely.

"Any hints?"

"Public places, not private homes. Maybe orphanages or workhouses and places the art would be seen by all classes. That is all I know, but since I saw one at Greenwich, I presume hospitals are an excellent starting point."

He strode forward and lifted my hand to his lips. Turning my hand over, he then kissed my wrist, and I nearly lost my breath. When our eyes met, the emotions that arose in the carriage yesterday resurfaced. "Wish me luck, my lady."

"You're leaving now?" I asked, my tone bordering on disappointment.

Kissing my wrist again, he whispered against my skin, "My wife has presented a challenge… a worthy one… and I intend to see it through as swiftly as possible."

When he lifted his head again, I nearly leaped into his arms. Every moment I spent with him only confirmed the type of man he was, which, thankfully, was nothing like his brother.