Five

Hunter

8 November 1814

A heavy, black cloud followed me from the London docks, across the cobbles, and along the way to meet my parents in the sitting room of No. 26 Grosvenor Square.

Although the journey from Sézanne only took a couple of days, I learned from Trenton, my valet, who met me upon my arrival, that I had missed Josiah's burial by a week. I knew this was a possibility by the time the messenger caught up with us at the brassiere. The letter was dated a fortnight ago.

"How are they, Trenton?" I entered the family coach and leaned back against the squabs. When he entered behind me, he sat on the opposite bench and rubbed his hands anxiously on his breeches. He appeared uncharacteristically nervous.

"They are as you might expect, my lord."

"So, why do you appear uncertain?"

His lips pursed. "It has been a trying few weeks."

"Yes, I presume so." I eyed him carefully. He held something back. I'd grown quite skilled at vetting out the truth while I worked under the guidance of Captain Denning on the continent. When we took a French officer or infiltrator as prisoner, it was my duty to glean information from them… a task I became quite effective at.

I paused as I considered putting those skills to work here.

I resisted. Dressed as a gentleman and about to face my parents for the first time since my brother's demise, I would decidedly forego tactics to coerce Trenton into divulging what he knew. If he was at liberty to tell me, he would have already. I would know soon enough.

I turned my head toward the window, vexed at my twin for the thousandth time, though it did little good. He'd been a source of angst since we were children, at which point he began his lifelong mission to charm, flirt, and lie to get what he fancied.

In hindsight, I believed it all started when he convinced our nurse, Miss Molly, to skip our scheduled tutelage and take us to the Bartholomew Fair. We were seven years old.

Amid the performers, magicians, and wonders, I found myself thoroughly enchanted. The phenomena mesmerized me, such as the dancing bear, men who swallowed knives, and a monkey performing in a red jacket and matching hat.

However, the sights were not enough for Josiah. His coaxing didn't cease and he convinced the dear girl to put us on a roundabout. The height of the contraption took us far above the tents and booths and I felt as though I might fall to my death, but Josiah only laughed and, at one point, hung precariously from the bar until the ride stopped and he was put to rights at Father's insistence. I can still recall the color of His Grace's cheeks from our height. And while Miss Molly lost her position that day, Josiah didn't care a whit about it. Little did I know then that there would be countless times to come where that same scenario played out, only with alternating characters. Josiah's persuasions would do him little harm, while others paid the consequences for years to follow.

The carriage rumbled on as the sights and sounds of London passed by in a whirl. The city had changed little since I left eight months ago, though many members of the ton had returned to their country estates. Typically, we would have joined them. I would have thought disappearing to the solace of Cordon Park and praying for another scandalous event to occupy the headlines in Josiah's stead would be preferable. Why Mother and Father returned to London piqued my interest, but it was simple enough to believe it had to do with Josiah and his affairs.

The carriage jerked forward as the wheels clattered to a stop. We had arrived. I took a steady breath and exited the coach.

Though I had spent a great deal of time in London and at this same townhome over the years, my family bore the height of propriety and, even at this moment, Percy, our devoted butler, announced my arrival as if I bore the title of a caller.

Upon entering the drawing room, somehow the melancholy that found me in France settled into everything around me, from the black crepe in the windows to my mother's black satin gown. Though it irritated me to no end to see the pain my brother constantly inflicted, he still deserved a proper mourning, only not a long one.

"Mother." I entered and greeted her with a low bow and a tender embrace. Her shoulders bore the weight of my brother's indiscretions and her swollen eyes proved they wore upon her through the nights as well.

I kissed her on the cheek. "Forgive me." My heart truly broke for her. She was the kindest woman on earth. "I could not arrive any sooner."

Father's stately posture blocked the hearth, one hand wrapped around a tumbler of liquor. Brandy would be my guess, but bearing in mind the last few weeks, it could be something stronger.

"Chilton." I bowed in his direction, then sat down beside my mother and held her hands in mine. "I only received the news three days ago."

"Good heavens, darling, you're injured." Her fingers brushed across the cut on my cheek. Even with the four sutures, the mark exposed an unsightly stage of healing.

"It's nothing, I promise."

"Did you find him, son?" Mother's voice strengthened. "Did you find Lord Jaxon?"

I shook my head. "I believe we're close. If I had but another month to search, I might've been successful."

"That's out of the question!" Father bellowed from his side of the room.

I stiffened. Though Father and I maintained a civilized relationship, his sharp commands didn't sit well with me, much like they never sat with Josiah. And while I took confidence in knowing that much differed between us twins, Father's forced demands were one irritation we shared. "I didn't ask for more time, Father. I only alluded that if I had the time , I might've found him."

"You have responsibilities here… now as the newest Marquess of Devon. You have much to learn." He swallowed the remaining contents of his glass in one gulp. "We have a great deal to cover in such a brief amount of time."

Like a child in the schoolroom, I wanted to roll my eyes, certain that my brother neglected most of his responsibilities as the marquess. As an uppermost wastrel, he spent his inheritance at unearthly speeds, earning the reputation of a rake of the highest order. "What's so pressing to bring you back to London so soon after Josiah's burial?"

Father's eyes squinted. His grief appeared in every line on his face, though he certainly fought to conceal it. Since my time at war, I found it significantly easier to identify sorrow and, despite my disconnection from combat, I was immersed in a world of unpleasantness.

I turned to Mother. "How was the service?"

She smiled timidly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "Quite lovely."

"Who attended?"

"The Marchants, Drakes, Walshes, Bennetts, and many of our dear friends."

"Damn that boy!" Father barked.

From the way mother did not flinch at his outburst, it told me he had shouted this expression often in the last two weeks.

"Tell me what happened." The request went to my father.

"Not in front of your mother," he snapped.

"Honestly, Blake," Mother cried. "I've heard the story whispered a hundred times in every corner shop on Bond Street. The outcome will not change, nor can it cause me additional harm. The damage is done."

Father marched over to the chair opposite us and sat down with a thud, though he scooted forward with his hands fisted at his knees. "Josiah, the twit, picked the wrong lady to have a dalliance with."

"Which time?" I scoffed with a snort.

Father's eyebrows knitted together in a way that encouraged me not to continue that line of questioning.

I tried to recall who his latest mistress might be and what man might have come to the woman's defense. Miss Pennington? No . Her father would have been delighted to find his daughter compromised by the heir to a dukedom. Miss Castillo, the French modiste? No. I believe she had no male protector. Lady Hawthorne? Possibly. He visited her bedchamber more than once, and her father was not one to trifle with. Though I had been gone the last several years, the number and names could have easily tripled. "Who?"

"Lady Cora Braxton."

"The Earl of Chutney's wife?" I choked. Nobody denied the woman's features were enticing to look upon, but who in their right mind would risk a dalliance with the wife of one of the most powerful earls in the House of Lords?

Josiah, apparently .

"Braxton is a highly decorated military man," I pointed out. "His action in Egypt and Syria earned him the highest esteem amongst the soldiers."

"Precisely why we are in the predicament we are," Father hissed. "Josiah's damn arrogance caught up with him at the wrong end of a dueling pistol."

A duel.

I let the news sink in. Though the chivalrous ritual faced public scrutiny, it had crossed my mind as one way Josiah met his maker. "Dare I ask what this has done to the family name?"

Father growled. "We were fortunate it only occurred in the Little Season." Then he stood and paced. "No one dares give us the cut direct, but the gossip has been relentless."

"Especially for Lady Gwendolyn," Mother added.

I reeled back, having completely forgotten about his intended. I would have thought with all the hearsay, she would have had the arrangement rescinded. "Josiah's betrothed?"

"Yes."

"The Ice Princess?" I inquired.

"Please don't call her that," Mother pleaded. "She is not what they say."

I had only briefly seen the woman once before, not long enough for us to be introduced or for me to form a definitive opinion. What a mortifying situation. I suddenly felt sorry for the chit. Despite her supposed icy exterior, no one deserved to be so publicly humiliated at the hands of my indolent brother.

Father cleared his throat. "This is precisely what we must speak of today."

The hairs at the base of my neck prickled with unease.

We apparently have come to the source of Trenton's discomfort in the coach. I should have pressed him for information, then I would not be sitting here ignorant of a pending scheme.

"Now that you have become the heir apparent to the dukedom, your mother and I feel it is only right that you take on the betrothal as well."

Color drained from my cheeks. I had faced opponents on the pitch, in the war room, and in the boxing circle, but I think I could safely say I feared an arranged marriage more than I feared any of those. "You cannot be serious."

"I can't?" Father launched to his feet and shouted as the glass windowpanes shook around us.

"Forgive me," I then stood to face him. "But I'm only four and twenty. I had not set my sights on marriage for at least five or six more years."

"And I set my sights on having an obedient heir," he bellowed. "And see where that got me?"

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Father." Rubbing my cheek as I spoke helped me think this madness through. "I understand my role as the next in line and will not refuse to see that sense of duty fulfilled, but a marriage to a woman I know nothing about? I cannot acquiesce."

"You will have a lifetime to learn of her if that is your wish." He ignored my pleadings.

"My wish is to marry a woman of my choice."

"Do you have one in mind?" Mother asked with a hopeful tone.

I stared at her and in that precise moment tried to think of all the women I had found an interest in before going to war. No one came to mind. I shook my head.

"Hunter, love." Mother stood between my father and me and reached for my hand. "Our two families have spent a great deal of time preparing for a union between Josiah and Gwendolyn, and we must forge a powerful alliance with a family of fine repute."

"Yet, you undoubtedly picked the wrong groom for such a feat," I said.

"Precisely why you are now the best option," Father retorted.

I released from my mother's touch and paced the room, rubbing the back of my neck. "What if she loved Josiah? I would be living with a woman who grieved my dead brother."

"You know very well most marriages are for appearances and an heir." Father stood with both his arms crossed. "You aren't even obligated to live in the same house. She can live at Cordon Park or Gottling Hall and you here in Town during parliament. If you choose to swap residences other times of the year, so be it."

Great. I inwardly groaned. My future sounded blissfully sweet. A marriage of convenience to an icicle of a woman I might see occasionally in passing.

"She is one of the loveliest women in England," Mother consoled. "Surely it wouldn't be that dreadful."

I recalled the night I beheld her at the Drake's Soiree eight months ago. We were to be introduced, but having just learned of Jaxon's disappearance, I spent the evening with Lucas discussing the particulars. I noted her stunning beauty from afar. That was never in question, but I also remember thinking she would be so much lovelier if she smiled, which she never did. Even at this precise moment, however, I could not say if the color of her hair bordered brown or auburn or if her eyes were blue or green. Hardly a promising beginning to a betrothal.

"Is this arrangement finalized?" I questioned with too much hope in my tone that it was not. "Have you already signed the contract with her father?"

"Yes." Father raised his chin. "This morning. Though very little needs to be altered of the original contract since it specified the heir to the dukedom… which is now you, Son."

"So, I have no say in the matter? Despite my being of age."

"Absolutely not!" Father shouted.

"Of course you do, love," Mother said as she glared at her husband, then tried to placate the unsettling frustration in the air. "But please consider Lady Gwendolyn's plight. She is betrothed to the son of a duke, a handsome, wealthy, and enigmatic man. Then he is killed in a duel by the husband of his mistress. How do you think the woman might feel?" Mother entreated.

Worse, if she loved him.

"We procured her family's pristine reputation to bolster ours," Mother added. "We hoped that the yearlong engagement might settle Josiah… set him to rights."

I scoffed.

"The Bissett family is not to blame, but they are paying a considerable price. We must assist them before she is firmly put on the shelf. The rumors are dreadful. They blame Lady Gwendolyn for not keeping Josiah's interest enough to prevent his death."

"She's the daughter of an earl," I countered. "I'm certain she has a substantial dowry and, with her beauty, she would hardly end up on the shelf. Even some fortune hunter would claim her."

Mother lifted her handkerchief to her eyes. "That's an appalling thing to say, Hunter. She was to be your sister."

"And now she's to be my wife," I fumed.

"You can save her. You can change her fate."

My mother's pleas pierced my soul. I knew I possessed the means to rebuild the damage Josiah had caused. I knew it fell solely upon my shoulders. Cringing, I cursed inwardly. I could not injure my parents more than Josiah already had, but it vexed me to no end. I would now be shackled to a woman who likely possessed the wherewithal to kill me in my sleep rather than bear my child.

"Very well," I said stiffly. "I will call on Lady Gwendolyn and her parents tomorrow."

I kissed my mother's hand and bowed curtly toward my father. I needed to clear my head and a bout of fisticuffs was precisely the thing I needed most at this very moment.