by Diana Quincy
He stared at her with such tenderness that she battled the urge to burst into tears and throw herself into his arms.
“Goodbye, Delilah,” he said quietly. “I will do all that you ask. But no matter where I am or what I am doing, whenever I look at the moon, I shall think of you.”
And then he left.
Chapter Eighteen
“Oh no.” Tori peered out her bedchamber window. “It’s raining.”
“Citi says rain on your wedding day is good luck,” Leela said.
Tori turned away from the glass pane. “Do you think the same applies to betrothal parties?”
“Why not? I think we should assume the best.”
Belowstairs, the servants and extra hired help bustled about, setting out lavish floral arrangements and sufficient candles to set the entire city aflame. Meanwhile, in the kitchens, staff prepared enough food to feed the entire city. More than two hundred people were expected to attend the grand event.
Tori examined her reflection in the mirror. She wore a simple white dressing gown but her hair was arranged in an updo with becoming ringlets falling about the nape of her neck and shoulders. “How does my hair look?”
“You look beautiful.”
Tori studied the beaded silver ball gown laid out on her bed. “This truly is the most beautiful gown I have ever seen.”
A strange energy emanated from the girl today, excitement certainly, and nerves as well, but it was all tempered with an edge of something Leela could not identify. “Are you well, Tori?”
Tori’s eyes were bright. “Yes, why do you ask?”
“You seem a little . . . not exactly out of sorts—” Something about Tori’s countenance made her uneasy.
“I am mere hours away from making a monumental change in my life. This evening, I reach the point of no return.”
“You make wedding the duke sound like being condemned to a life sentence.” Hunt’s tortured expression from the previous day flashed in Leela’s mind. Thoughts of him were like a tear in her heart, a wound festering in her chest. But she was determined to smile and dance and rejoice with Tori on such a special evening in the young woman’s life. The problem was that Tori didn’t appear particularly happy at the moment, even though she had seemed so in recent weeks.
“Well, marriage is a life sentence, is it not, no matter who one weds?” Tori paused, a faraway look in her eye. “Leela, do you still believe in destiny when it comes to having a fated mate? What is it that you call it?”
“Naseeb. Yes, I suppose I still believe in it.” Although after Hunt, Leela wondered whether the person you were fated to marry could be someone other than the love of your life.
“So do I.” Tori sighed, a dreamy look on her face. “Now more than ever.”
“Does that mean you are in love?”
“Yes.” Tori’s eyes glistened. “And I should grab that love and hold on to it, should I not?”
“Absolutely.” Emotion strained Leela’s voice. “Love is a rare and wondrous thing.” She gazed at the beautiful young woman and knew with a certainty that her sacrifice, hers and Hunt’s, was worth it.
“No matter the risk? I should fight for it, for love?”
Leela stilled. She was confused. “Do you feel you have to fight for your future husband’s love?”
“If there are obstacles to my marrying the man I love beyond measure, I should fight to overcome them, should I not?”
“What is this really about?” Tori was making Leela very nervous. Had Edgar revealed his suspicions about Leela and Hunt? “You know you can always speak frankly with me.”
“I have heard Hunt keeps a mistress here in the city. A former actress.”
Leela exhaled. “Where did you hear that?”
“Servants tend to gossip. Apparently it is not exactly a secret.”
“I do not know if the duke has a mistress,” Leela said honestly, “but I do believe Hunt is an honorable man who intends to be faithful to you. Has he given you any reason at all to doubt his devotion?”
“Not in his treatment of me. He is all that is kind and considerate. But it feels as though there is a part of Hunt’s heart that he keeps tucked far away from me.”
“Once you are wed and living together, the love between you and Hunt will grow and deepen.”
“But what if that piece of his heart that he keeps hidden away already belongs to his mistress?”
Leela swallowed. “Why would you think that?”
“Sometimes, when he thinks I am not paying attention, Hunt looks so very sad. What if he is sad because he truly loves this other woman and cannot be with her?”
“Nonsense. The duke has chosen to marry you.” She spoke forcefully, determined to rid Tori of any doubts. It might be a lie, but it was for Tori’s own good, for her future. “If he was so enamored of another woman, Hunt would not be rushing to the altar. You must put these misgivings aside and focus on your own happiness.”
“I don’t think Hunt loves me.”
“He is clearly very fond of you. Romantic love on his part will surely follow.” It had to.
Tori shrugged and smiled. Her strange mood broken. “Yes, I am sure you are right.” She ran a hand over the beaded silk fabric of her gown. “I’ll soon be wed. Can you believe it?”
“Babies will soon follow, no doubt, just as you have always wanted. And you’ll be married to a worthy man who will always care for and admire you.”
“That is my hope.” Hers eyes sparkled. “I am so happy to be taking a chance on love.”
Tori’s maid entered. “It is time to dress, my lady.”
Leela got up to leave. “I shall go on down. I cannot wait to see you in that gown.”
Tori grabbed Leela’s hand as she passed. “You will always stand by me, won’t you? No matter what?”
“Always.” Leela squeezed the girl’s hand, emotion filling her chest. “There is nothing I would not do for you.”
Hunt mounted the stairs to Devon House. There were just five steps, but he might as well be climbing Black Mountain, the highest point in Herefordshire. Only this evening it felt there was also a boulder on his back.
The rain had stopped. A wet autumn chill permeated the air, but the icy dread engulfing Hunt had nothing to do with the weather. Up ahead, the shiny black front door stood ajar. Through it, he glimpsed the assembling guests dressed in their regalia, helping themselves to Devon’s expensive champagne. Once Hunt crossed the threshold to join them, there would truly be no turning back. A few hours from now, he’d be as good as wed.
Breathing hard through the tightness in his chest, he gazed up at the brick-fronted edifice facing Berkeley Street. Bright light blazed from every front-facing sash window. Devon had clearly spared no expense when it came to candles.
The line of carriages carrying guests to the ball wound around the corner. Around him people alighted from their carriages. Those already standing on the walkway greeted Hunt politely, deferentially, before stepping aside to make way for him.
Hunt entered to find the house already crowded with guests. The buzz of dozens of conversations melded with the orchestra music swirling through the chambers. The rooms were already too warm. By evening’s end, they would be unbearably tropical.
Devon and Lady Helene stood in the front hall greeting the arriving guests, Devon in black finery and the old lady with her hair piled higher and stiffer than ever, the style a nod to the long-past era of her youth. There were only the two of them in the receiving line. As Countess of Devon, Leela’s proper place was beside the earl and his aunt. But she was nowhere to be found.
Hunt paused before the imperious old woman. “My lady.”
“Your Grace.” Satisfaction glittered in her leathery face. “’Tis destined to be an evening to remember.”
“Indeed.” He moved on to be greeted by Devon.
“Huntington.” The earl’s voice bubbled with good cheer. “Ready for our families to be joined?”
“Most certainly.”
Hunt’s eyes flew to the neat line marring Devon’s cheek. The wound no longer looked red and angry, but it would leave a scar. Hunt smothered the urge to plant his fist in the middle of the man’s smug face. Leela wouldn’t have cut Devon if he hadn’t deserved it.
Devon paused. “I hope you will be patient with Lady Victoria.” The earl’s concern for his sister appeared genuine.
“I will see to it that she is safe, protected and cared for. You needn’t worry on that score. Where is Lady Victoria?”
“I am assured that she is on her way down. She’s been in her chamber most of the day.”
Hunt frowned. “Has she taken ill?”
“It is nothing serious.”
“If she isn’t well—”
“She is fine, I assure you. You know Victoria. Being the center of attention is not easy for her. I just saw my sister. She looks stunning, if I may say. She’ll be along momentarily.”
“Very well.” Hunt resisted the impulse to loosen his cravat. He wore dark new evening clothes commissioned especially for this evening. Now he wished he could strip them—and all they represented—away.
He wandered through the public rooms. Roaming footmen in burgundy-and-black livery bore trays containing refreshment. Vases bursting with fresh-cut flowers scented the air, which vibrated with an excitement that Hunt sensed but did not feel within himself.
He spent the next hour mingling with the guests, stopping at appropriate intervals to exchange meaningless chatter. He danced with a few of the women, all the while scanning the crowds, searching for the cherished face that did not belong to his future bride. His breath stopped momentarily when he finally spotted Leela chatting with Mr. Paget and his wife.
She wore a vibrant scarlet gown that enhanced her warm skin and dark hair. Her upswept curls bared a long regal neck. To Hunt’s shame, longing throbbed through him. A decent man would avert his gaze and never look in Leela’s direction again. From here on forward, all of Hunt’s attention must center on his future wife, a kind and clever girl who deserved his devotion.
“What are you staring at?”
“Griff,” Hunt said to his friend. “You made it.”
Viscount Griffin peered in the direction where Hunt’s attention had been focused. “Ah, the lovely stepmama. I doubt she’ll remain a widow for long.”
Hunt repressed the urge to pummel something. “It is good to see you, Griff.”
“I decided that witnessing your betrothal is worth the effort.” Griff’s face was pale. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth. Society’s unwelcome scrutiny wasn’t the sole reason the viscount rarely appeared in public. Chronic pain from his war injuries also kept him confined to his home.
“I’m pleased you found attending worth the inconvenience.”
“As if I could miss this evening. The notoriously finicky Duke of Huntington has finally deigned to take a bride.”
“It had to be done.” Hunt reached for champagne from a passing footman and gulped half of it down.
Griff’s brows went up. “Nerves?”
“Something like that.” Hunt poured the rest of the glass down his throat.
“Need a little something to bolster you for the matrimonial road ahead?”
Hunt tried to subtly loosen his shoulders. “Getting married is not for the faint of heart.”
“From the pallor on your face, I’d say it’s more akin to facing the gallows.”
“I hope that I am making the correct decision . . . for both me and Lady Victoria.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so keyed up.” Concern lined Griff’s forehead. “Normally, once you make a decision, you have complete confidence in it.”
“The situation is complicated.”
“Is Lady Victoria not to your liking? Have you found her to be disagreeable?”
“No, not in the least. I’ve grown very fond of the young lady and wish only the best for her.”
“Then what is the problem?”
He grimaced. “I am not certain that I am what is best for her.”
“Is this about the family curse? You are not your brother or any of your other blasted debauched ancestors.”
“No, this has nothing at all to do with some ridiculous curse.”
“What then?” Griff paused, contemplating. “This isn’t about the woman you met at the inn near Coventry?” When Hunt didn’t respond, Griff’s eyes sharpened. “Oh my God, it is. Do not tell me you are actually in love with this other woman?”
Hunt grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing tray. “It makes no difference now.” Gloom weighted every syllable. All of the muscles in his body were fatigued and achy, as if he’d been struck by influenza.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Griff said. “Who is she?”
“Someone who can never be mine.”
“The way you were looking at Lady Devon just now—” Comprehension dawned, followed by a horrified expression. “Good God, man. Not the stepmama?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hunt drained the champagne in his hand in one go and reached for another.
Griff’s worried gaze followed his actions. “Take it easy on the drink. You don’t want to be foxed when the announcement is made.”
“To the contrary. Being out of my mind might be the only way I’ll manage to get through the evening.”
“Now that sounds just like something Phillip would have said.”
Hunt froze. Getting drunk was precisely what his brother would have done. He summoned a nearby footman and handed the full glass of champagne over to him. “You have the right of it,” he admitted to Griff. “I need to pull myself together.”
It wasn’t as though Lady Victoria was a terrible troll. He enjoyed her company. He could make it work. He had no choice. Wallowing in misery for the rest of his life certainly wasn’t a viable option. He and Victoria might even find some semblance of contentment as long as Leela stayed an ocean or two away from them.
“Your Grace.” Devon appeared. “It is time. Shall we?”
“Yes, indeed.” Hunt nodded, feeling more sure of himself than he had in a long time. His course was set. It was time to embrace it. Lady Victoria would make a fine wife and an excellent mother. In time, this madness over Leela would pass. Or at least diminish to a manageable level of pain. “Let’s get this done, shall we?”
With a nod to Griff, he followed Devon to the small platform at the end of the large reception chamber where the five-piece orchestra was set up. They stood at the foot of the platform while the musicians finished the piece they were playing.
Hunt scanned the room. “Where is Victoria?”
“There she is.” Devon motioned with his chin. “My sister will join us once we make the announcement.”
Hunt spotted his future wife in a glittering silver evening gown and upswept hair. She looked elegant, beautiful even. He was a fortunate man. He shouldn’t forget that.
She waited in a narrow alcove off the main room, a maid by her side. Victoria appeared to be staring out the double doors leading to the garden. Behind her, Leela was bent over busily adjusting Victoria’s skirt, baring bronze smooth shoulders he had once had the pleasure of pressing his lips to, and the long neck that he’d nuzzled. Hunt quickly averted his gaze. But not before agony lanced his chest, the sensation so intense that Leela might as well have plunged that knife of hers directly into his heart.
The musicians stopped playing. A hush came over the room. Anticipation dangled in the air. It was time. Hunt followed Devon onto the landing.
“Good evening and thank you for coming.” A beaming Devon addressed the crowd. Guests poured in from the other reception rooms to hear the big announcement.
Devon continued. “As many of you are aware, we are gathered this evening to celebrate a momentous occasion, the joining of two great families.” Murmurs of excitement rippled through the crowd.
A sense of calm that had eluded Hunt for weeks settled over him. He finally felt more like himself. His course was
set. He would follow it. Effortlessly, he picked up where Devon left off.
“It is with the greatest pleasure that I announce my betrothal to Lady Victoria Chambers, who has done me the great honor of agreeing to become my wife.” He stretched one arm toward the alcove, beckoning his future bride to join them on the platform. “My lady?”
He looked in Victoria’s direction but she was no longer there. Leela stood alone in the alcove staring back at Hunt with a horrified expression on her face. “Lady Victoria?” he repeated, confused.
“She’s gone,” Leela whispered.
Hunt stared back at her. “What?”
An ominous silence descended upon the room.
“What the devil do you mean?” Devon whisper-hissed at Leela.
The young maid who’d been standing with Victoria just moments ago rushed in through the alcove’s double doors, her face flushed with excitement. “She’s gone, my lord,” she shrieked to Devon. “She’s run away. Lady Victoria says she cannot wed the duke.”
The rustling in the crowd began as soon as the enormity of the moment sank in. His Grace’s intended bride had run away. The venerable Duke of Huntington, the epitome of decorum and discretion, had just been jilted in the most public and humiliating way possible.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where the devil did she go?” Devon roared, towering over the young maid. “You will reveal all to me this instant if you value your position in this house.”
The servant trembled. “As I told you, my lord, she did not say.”
“Stop screaming at her, Devon,” Hunt said wearily. “You’ve got her so frightened she can barely speak.”
They’d retired to the library, away from prying eyes. Hunt sank into the brown leather sofa. Leela and the old aunt were in chairs opposite him watching Devon admonish the cowering young lady’s maid.
“Please, Miss—” Hunt paused. “What is your name?”