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The solution, when it presented itself, was fortuitous for Lady Margaret, if less so to Hunter. The woman would act as companion and governess to the fourteen-year-old girl to whom Hunter suddenly found himself the unhappy guardian.
Unhappy, because Hunter had had no idea of the girl’s existence until he was contacted by the family lawyer informing him that this girl’s mother had died and he was now her guardian.
He had called upon the lawyer at his earliest convenience to discover that the girl, one Evelyn Gardener, had been the only daughter of Jane Gardener, a widow residing in Hampshire.
Still none the wiser as to why he should now be guardian to a girl he didn’t know, Hunter had demanded more details.
Jane Gardener, it transpired, had been his father’s mistress for the last four years of that gentleman’s life. At first, Hunter had wondered if he possibly had a much younger and illegitimate sister, but it seemed Evelyn Gardener had been five years old when the arrangement between the previous duke and her widowed mother began. The duke, being fond of his mistress, had made provision for both the mother and daughter in his will upon his demise four years previously. As the mother was also now dead, the guardianship of the daughter had passed to Hunter.
To say Hunter was displeased would have been an understatement. He had known his parents’ marriage was not the happiest, the couple having resided in different households for many years before the duke’s death. But to suddenly find himself guardian to the daughter of the woman his fatherhadcared for had added further insult to that injury. Thank God, his mother had not still been alive to learn of it.
The only positive factor in the whole situation was that Evelyn’s existence had given Hunter the answer as to what should become of Lady Hathaway.
Hunter had believed that by sending the two away to the remoteness of his Yorkshire estate, a place he never visited, he would, for all intents and purposes, be able to forget their existence.
Lady Hathaway had shown uncommon fortitude when she began, and had continued to write to Hunter once a month to report on the progress and health of his ward.
“There you are.” Lady Hathaway announced the moment she saw Hunter step into the cavernous entrance hall. “Your man here tried to tell me you were not at home, but I had no doubt that you were. Even if you had not been, I should simply have waited here until you returned.”
This woman’s commanding demeanor, no doubt acquired by being the sister of a now-deceased earl, and which had seemed entirely suitable as a companion to Hunter’s mother and governess to a young girl, did not seem quite so attractive a trait when it was directed towardhim!
He looked down the length of his aristocratic nose at her. “Stokes was acting upon my orders in telling visitors I am not at home this afternoon. After consulting with my lawyer for an hour, I am now busy working on private papers and did not wish to be disturbed.”
At least a foot shorter than Hunter’s several inches over six feet, the woman nevertheless raked her pale blue gaze over him with critical appraisal. “I hope you do not mind my saying so, Lincoln, but you are looking so much older than when we last met.”
Hunter did mind. He minded a great deal.
The past year had not been kind to any Englishman, what with Napoleon’s escape from Elba and his triumphant return to France and determination to once again rule that country as its emperor. All of which had come to a head in the battle in the woods and countryside near the town of Waterloo in the Netherlands.
The same woods where Plymouth had been seen being struck down by a sword wielded by an English officer. Something Hunter and his friends had only recently been made aware of.
But despite the anguish of the past few months as the remaining five Ruthless Dukes searched for the officer responsible, Hunter believed that his dark auburn hair showed only the slightest touch of distinguished gray at his temples. There were perhaps more frown lines upon his forehead, but that was only to be expected and might be ascribed to concentration and wisdom rather than his merely beingolder.
Three and thirty was not old, damn it!
Besides, Lady Margaret was not young herself.
“You are perfectly at liberty to tell me the same, Lincoln.” Amusement warmed those pale blue eyes as she guessed his thoughts before sobering. “But caring for your ward has not been the easiest of tasks.” She gave a doleful shake of her head. “Evie—Evelyn was, can be, a difficult and single-minded young lady when she gets an idea into her head.”
Hunter scowled. “You did not report she was prone to rebelliousness in any of your letters to me.”
“Hah, so you did read them,” Lady Margaret exclaimed triumphantly.
“Of course, I read them, madam. Including the last one. I… Let us go to the library so we can discuss this matter in comfort rather than standing upon the doorstep.” He was aware that Stokes could not help but overhear this conversation when he was still standing beside the open doorway which Lady Margaret had obviously barged through and had no intention of going back out again until she had said what she came here to say. “Bring tea and refreshments to the library for Lady Hathaway,” he instructed the butler, then held out his arm in invitation to the lady. “There is a fire in there you might appreciate sitting next to after your long journey.”
“I am not so ancient I cannot withstand a few days of discomfort!” she snapped back at him.
That was not the impression given by the complaints she had been making to Stokes just a few minutes ago. “I did not mean to imply it was,” Hunter said smoothly. “I had assumed that everyone likes a warm fire and tea to drink beside it.”
She slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. “Your mother always said you were a very polite boy.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes at Stokes when he saw the other man was having difficulty holding back his amusement, no doubt at hearing his haughty employer referred to as a boy.
Hunter had inherited the dukedom at the age of three and twenty, and between his many and onerous duties to his title and estate, and having spent five years in the army, there had been no time nor situation for a singleboyishthought in the years that followed.
He ensured his guest’s cloak and hat were removed and she was seated comfortably next to the fire before Stokes came in to place the tea tray on the table beside Lady Margaret’s chair. Considering her domineering nature, it was a natural assumption on Stokes’s part to accept that she would be the one to pour their tea.
Hunter remained silent in the chair opposite hers until she had handed him one of the cups of tea and then taken an obviously welcome sip of her own. Followed by another. Then another, until the cup was completely empty. His mother had been a great advocate of tea as a panacea to many ailments, including those inflicted upon the emotions. Obviously, this lady agreed with that sentiment.
