Nine

Hunter

14 November 1814

"Countess Langley, Lady Gwendolyn." I bowed low and respectfully the moment I arrived before my betrothed and her mother at the Perkins Ball hosted at their estate just outside Town in Ilford, Barking Parish.

Viscount Perkins and my father were longtime associates and, once we received the invitation, Father insisted a similar invitation be sent to Lord Langley's household, though I confess to being surprised the task had not already been fulfilled, knowing our connection.

Though the weather in mid-November proved temperate enough for the one-hour journey by coach, my parents excused themselves on account of my mother feeling poorly this morning, so I arrived alone. At least I could count on Lucas to be present with his bride.

The Perkins spared no expense for their extravagant gathering, and the halls appeared as though the fairy tales of Charles Perrault came alive. Sheer linens draped throughout the ballroom were accentuated with shimmering silver laurels offering a mystical, almost ethereal ambiance. And though we were still weeks away from Christmastide, bay, holly, and rosemary adorned archways fringed by elaborate candelabras while mistletoe hung strategically in discreet corners of the room, presumed to catch any number of unsuspecting couples by surprise. Or not by surprise .

Lady Gwendolyn stood before me in a stunning gown of blue that emphasized her striking beauty and seemed to blend in perfectly with the surroundings, as if she were a dreamlike enchantress in human form.

Drawing my attention back to the reason for my approach, I smiled in her direction. "Might I have the next dance?"

I had dutifully promised my mother upon parting from home that I would attempt to get to know my intended, and I rarely turned away from a challenge. Though I was certain my mother hadn't meant for it to be one.

"Forgive me, Marquess," Lady Gwendolyn responded promptly and with a dramatic swoosh of her palm to her forehead. "I have a dreadful megrim and must excuse myself to the ladies' retiring room for a spell."

I arched a curious brow. She seemed perfectly fine upon arrival.

"Pardon me for dashing away." She whirled around and practically ran for the nearest vaulted doorway with its elaborately flared molding and out into the dimly lit corridor.

The countess faced me with flushed cheeks and smiled warily. "My deepest apologies for Lady Gwendolyn's conduct, my lord." She averted her eyes to her clasped hands. "She has not quite been herself since… well, since the tragic passing of your brother."

My jaw tightened. Need I be reminded?

Father demanded we remove our mourning attire two days past, but the dark mood remained. And now, here, as I foolishly attempted to court my betrothed, I realized Lady Gwendolyn might never see me in any other way than the man who replaced the man she loved.

"Might you oblige me with a dance, Countess?"

"Thank you," she replied, her smile broadening. "That is exceptionally kind of you."

As I escorted the matron onto the dance floor, my gaze caught a fleeting glimpse of Gwendolyn peering around the same door frame she fled through. My lips parted in surprise. "That little minx," I muttered under my breath. She's deliberately evading me . The moment she realized she'd been spotted, she vanished back into the shadows.

Yet, I was not one to be easily thwarted. She can't hide forever.

After the Cotillion and some friendly conversation, I escorted Countess Langley to her previous station and cast a swift glance around the room to see if Gwendolyn had recovered from her dreadful megrim .

When I spotted her being led out to the dance floor by none other than Sir Bastian, I scowled. The man must be in his fifties and a two-time widower. Yet, she seemed to enjoy herself. Though her elusive smile remained hidden, the lift in her step could not be mistaken.

"Interesting." I narrowed my eyes. "Two can play at this game."

I followed suit and went in search of a woman I shared an acquaintance with and found Miss Charleston. I only knew her through my brother, and I briefly wondered if she too grieved him for similar reasons as the other women. Leaving the speculation to the gossipmongers, I found myself more concerned about securing a place near Lady Gwendolyn on the ballroom floor.

When Lady Gwendolyn caught sight of me, her chin lifted a notch. With my skill in noting details, I watched as the color in her cheeks tinted slightly darker when she observed my partner as we took our places in her square. Miss Charleston bore many lovely qualities, but to those who might evaluate, she paled in comparison to Lady Gwendolyn.

Then, right before the first note of the Quadrille, our eyes met, and I smiled broadly, taking silent gratification in revealing my first move on our imaginary chess board. I hoped for a reaction, but nothing surfaced. No joy, anger, or even jealousy.

Little did she know, I had no intention of backing down.

As the dance progressed, she could not avoid me as often as partners exchanged and on occasion, I caught her eye. Fascinated with her proficient steps, I marveled at her ability to expertly maintain her icy front, that is, until in one calculated move I shamelessly winked and was certain she lost her step because of it.

When Sir Bastian returned Gwendolyn to her mother, I swiftly returned Miss Charleston to her chaperone and maneuvered through the crush, only to find Lady Gwendolyn had vanished once more. Her mother repeatedly apologized for her absence. I should not have been surprised.

A moment later, I spied her on the dance floor with a new partner, Mr. Cavander, and wasted no time in securing the hand of another available partner for the next dance. Miss Whiting and I were acquainted before I left for the continent. By all accounts, she was quite pretty but painfully shy, offering very little in the way of conversation. As Miss Whiting and I danced the Reel several couples away from Lady Gwendolyn, it was simple to assume she noticed me; nevertheless, she averted her eyes toward anyone or anything but me.

Twice, as she passed by, I spotted the corners of her mouth twitching in what appeared to be fighting a smile. Whether or not it was for my benefit, I didn't know, but regardless, I hoped she recognized me as a worthy opponent in this game of cat-and-mouse.

As I watched her with yet another new partner for the next set, I stood beside the refreshment table and sipped my drink in brooding silence.

"Matthews, er, Devon." Lucas chuckled as he corrected himself. "I fear it will take a lifetime to get used to that name, then just when I do, you will likely become Chilton."

"Do not wish such unpleasant biddings upon me, sir." I reached for his hand and gripped it in a firm handshake, pleased to see a friendly face tonight. "Heaven knows I'm botching up the title I have now."

Lucas laughed. "I'm certain you are doing a much better job than its previous owner." He gave me a pointed look then turned to the beautiful woman at his side. "Lady Helena, I would like you to meet one of my closest mates, Lord Hunter Matthews, Marquess of Devon."

She smiled and curtsied as I bowed over her hand.

"I know we are only now becoming acquainted," she said with an amiable voice. "But I feel as if I have known you forever. Lucas speaks of little outside of his friends and his sisters."

I smiled. "Well, I do apologize for missing your wedding."

"No need. A worthy cause to pardon. I hope that Lord Zachary is successful in his continued search. I know Lord Jaxon's disappearance grieves Lucas deeply."

"I only received word from Zachary today." I peered over at Lucas. "He followed up the lead from Pierre but, sadly, nothing came of it. He's to join us shortly here in London."

Lucas gripped my shoulder. "We'll find him, Hunter. I know we will. I am meeting with his father again and we are going to meet with some of His Grace's former associates. This is not over."

I nodded, then turned my attention to Lady Helena. "May I have the next dance?"

She glanced at Lucas, who smiled and offered her hand to me. I envied the bond between them. They were undoubtedly besotted with one another, and I rejoiced for them. I knew Lady Helena's father back when he made honorable choices and before Baron Foxton's involvement. Now her father resided at Newgate Prison for his role in Lucas' father's death. It amazed me how they fell in love despite their shared obstacles.

As I led her to the dance floor, I once again searched for Lady Gwendolyn, only to find her taking a turn about the room with yet another gentleman. One would wonder how Father managed to keep her to the contract with such popularity amongst society.

"You seem distracted, my lord," Helena whispered at my side.

"Please, call me Hunter."

"Hunter, then. And you must call me Helena."

"Forgive me, I have not quite been myself tonight," I admitted.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Surely, if your betrothed were here, you would have a happier countenance. I dread going to any social event without Lucas."

"Pfff." I blew air out my lips, then realized how childish that appeared. "My apologies, Helena."

She smiled.

"It's just that… well, she is here." I waved a hand in her direction. Helena glanced over at the woman who walked arm in arm beside an undeniably dashing and handsome gentleman.

"Oh, she's lovely."

"Are you acquainted with Lady Gwendolyn?"

"No, we've never been introduced, though I recall hearing her referred to differently. Forgive me, I'm not typically prone to gossip."

"Please, tell me what you've heard."

She leaned in before we took out positions opposite one another. "The Ice Princess." She bit her bottom lip. "I know it's not particularly kind. I should not have told you."

I chuckled. "Rest assured, Lady Helena, it's not news to me." I stole another glance, and I locked eyes with Gwendolyn as she rounded the corner. "She lives up to the name."

"Oh, dear." Lady Helena held a gloved hand over her mouth then placed her hands on her hips. "And what, precisely, Hunter Matthews, do you intend to do about it?"

"Me?" I scoffed, slightly surprised at her sudden assertion. I bowed to her curtsy as the music began.

"Yes." She stepped forward, and we touched briefly in a turn.

"She hates me."

"How do you know?"

"She runs at the very sight of me."

Lady Helena tilted her head. "It could not be from your appearance. What have you said to her?"

"Very little," I muttered as we passed again.

"Then it is up to you to change that."

"How? I can't get near her."

Lady Helena's eyes narrowed. "I'm certain I have heard tales about a man called Matthews who tackled the most difficult challenges in the Secretary's Office. A man who repeatedly broke spies, infiltrated the enemy, and saved lives. Do you know where I can find that man?" She smiled innocently and batted her eyelashes for additional effect.

I laughed out loud and brought a few heads turning in our direction. "I fear a woman's scorn surpasses all of that."

"Women only wish to be loved," she whispered, and her words struck me square in the chest.

In the next turn of the dance, I squeezed her hand. "In that regard, you, Helena, have nothing to fear, for I have never seen Lucas happier."

She smiled broadly in return.

"Thank you, but I believe it is not I who needs the reassurance." Helena looked over at Gwendolyn pointedly and the expression on the face of my betrothed revealed she must've known we were talking about her. Unable to discern her temperament, I marveled at her skill in conspiratorial confidence as she played this game. For the precise moment the music ended, my elusive bride-to-be disappeared again .

By the end of the night, I had come no closer to dancing with Lady Gwendolyn than when I started, but instead of vexation snaking through my limbs, I found her averting diversion amusing.

Why? I wasn't sure. We were betrothed after all. She surely couldn't avoid me forever.

That night when I entered my coach, I should have felt discouraged and resigned to possible failure, but I was somehow invigorated with the idea of pursuing this challenge Lucas' wife had inadvertently laid before me… to do something about it . My given name was Hunter after all, and if I could not pursue and attain the admiration of one woman, I could not claim to be the man I was.

During the ride home, I spent the time ruminating on how I might reach her. I could pursue the conventional behavior of a courting gentleman and send her flowers on the morrow, although that generally coincided with having danced with the woman, which I had not.

I could call upon her, engage in small talk in her sitting room, beg for her to accompany me on a ride or a stroll, but, undoubtedly, a half dozen other men were intent on the same thing, notwithstanding the fact that none of those men would accomplish anything other than spending an afternoon with a beautiful woman.

I needed to do something different. Something Gwendolyn would never suspect.