Page 6 of To Hunt the Hunter

For the record, I saw your uncle at Baron Fitzwalter’s—I believe he was staying there. I have always trusted my gut instinct and mine was one of deep misgiving for the man. I do not believe you wicked, or that you would move against anyone, let alone a family member, without strong motivation. I will do all in my power to seek the information you require.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Gabriel Knight to The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu.

25th April 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

Matilda started awake with the strong conviction she was being watched. With a little shriek she sat up in bed to discover Phoebe sitting cross-legged at the bottom of the mattress.

“You stayed,” she said simply, beaming at Matilda.

Letting out a breath of relief, Matilda sagged back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

“I did,” she agreed.

Once her heart had settled down, she opened her eyes again and regarded the child. She looked rather adorable in a white cotton nightgown, with her hair all done up with little rag ribbons to make it fall in ringlets.

“Uncle was happy to see you, wasn’t he?” Phoebe grinned at her and Matilda cleared her throat, not entirely certain how to answer that. “Well, perhaps he wouldn’t say that he was, because he knows you might get into trouble for coming. He gets cross when he’s worried, you see.”

“Does he?” Matilda asked, watching with amusement as Phoebe crawled up the bed and settled closer to her.

“Oh yes. He never scolds me when I’m naughty, or at least not properly, but if I frighten him, like when I hid, oh… that’s different.” She was quiet for a moment. “Can we go for a picnic? It’s going to be a lovely day today.”

“I don’t know,” Matilda said, trying not to imagine a picnic with Lucian and Phoebe. The image was too tempting to be good for her. With difficulty, she reminded herself why she was here, why she had risked her own future, and it was not to enjoy herself, but to discover what had sent Montagu running from town with Phoebe. “I think perhaps you’d better get washed and dressed before you get into trouble with Miss Peabody. I’ll see you at breakfast, and then we can discover what your uncle has in mind.”

“All right, then,” Phoebe said, climbing off the bed. “But do try to persuade him that a picnic is a good idea. I’m sure he’d say yes if you asked him.”

Matilda laughed and watched as Phoebe scurried from the room.

***

“Well, you look a picture and that’s a fact, miss, even if I do say it myself,” Sarah said with a satisfied sigh as she put the finishing touches to Matilda’s hair. “And this room is just sumptuous. Even my room is done up pretty. Imagine living in such a place!”

Matilda sent Sarah a reproving look. “No, Sarah, do not imagine it. Remember what I told you, and don’t go getting any romantic ideas. I’m here to be a friend to someone who has no notion of what a friend is, that’s all.”

Sarah made a disgruntled noise that did not sound as if she approved of this idea, but Matilda was in no mood to labour the point. Besides, she did look rather well. Inspired by the sunny yellow room and the beautiful day that had dawned outside the windows, she had chosen a bright yellow gown with a fine yellow tulle overlay embroidered with tiny black dots. It was lovely, and such a cheerful colour that she hoped it would encourage fortune to smile on her endeavours. Either way, it lifted her spirits, and that was the main thing.

Matilda made her way down the stairs to find Denton waiting to greet her.

“Good morning, Miss Hunt. I do hope everything was to your satisfaction?”

With a little laugh, Matilda nodded. “I would defy a queen to find a single thing not to her satisfaction. It’s all beautiful and quite beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.”

Denton nodded his approval. “His lordship likes things just so, Miss Hunt, and we take pains to ensure everything is as he likes it.”

“Is he an exacting master, then?” Matilda asked with interest.

“Only in as much as he expects everyone to do their best, miss. The standards he sets for himself are far more exacting than anything he demands of his staff.”

Matilda nodded, unsurprised by this. “You’ve worked here a long time, I think?”

“Five and thirty years, Miss Hunt. I was a footman until Lord Montagu did me the great honour of making me his valet when he was a very young man, but I had always held an ambition to be butler, which his lordship well knew. Thanks to him, I have held the position for almost fifteen years.”

Their conversation was curtailed as they’d reached the breakfast parlour, and so Matilda thanked him and went in. Lucian sat at the table reading a letter, looking as pristine and coolly elegant as he always did, the crumpled shirt of last night a distant memory, though one Matilda would never forget. He looked up as she approached, and stared for a moment before getting to his feet, still holding the letter.

“Miss Hunt,” he said, never taking his eyes from her.

“My, we’re very formal this morning. Are you still angry with me?”

He frowned as though the question puzzled him and then glanced at the letter, his frown deepening. He set it down and cleared his throat. “I was never angry with you… Matilda.”