Matilda And Montagu, page 18
“Why would you believe I should have any contact with him?” Matilda said, disturbed by this whole conversation as her opinion of Montagu was tested once more.
His face softened. His eyes were filled with compassion and understanding, and it was impossible not to feel sympathy for him. Matilda started as his hand covered hers, such an intimate gesture from a near stranger that she stiffened in surprise.
“My nephew was a beautiful boy, and he has become a very handsome man. Handsome, powerful, and wealthy. A heady combination for any young woman, is it not, Miss Hunt? He is the kind of man who can do something quite unforgivable and then beguile you into forgiving him. Believe me, I know, but it is just a game to him, a sick and twisted game. You mean nothing to him, no more than I did in the end, for if he can do his best to put an end to a beloved uncle, what chance does a young woman with an uncertain reputation stand?”
Matilda withdrew her hand from his, unsettled and shaken by this whole encounter.
“I’m sorry, Miss Hunt,” he said, distress making his grey eyes glitter a little too brightly. “I had no wish to upset you and I can see that I have, but I could not allow Lucian to destroy another life. Though he has already tried, I think. You are nothing but his latest plaything. You are not the first, and you will not be the last. Why do you suppose he went to such lengths to crush your Mr Burton, your only chance at a respectable life?”
Matilda felt the words as a physical blow, and it took every vestige of will to keep her face impassive as a wave of ice water seemed to cascade over her.
Mr Barrington nodded with satisfaction all the same, having seen his words hit home despite her efforts. “I can do nothing for poor little Phoebe. That poor child, kept like a prisoner in that vast mausoleum of a house, though she is too young to understand or chafe against her restrictions yet. She will, though, and it breaks my heart to be so helpless, but I can help you, warn you, and I swore I would do so, no matter the cost to my own safety.”
Matilda took a deep breath, striving for calm.
“You may consider me warned, Mr Barrington,” she said, her voice cool if a little unsteady. “And I shall say nothing of having met you.”
Barrington smiled, a sad smile that only highlighted the weariness in his grey eyes.
“Then I have done all that I can.”
He bowed to her and left her alone.
***
My Lord Marquess
I regret to inform you that the ‘item’ you wished us to locate was found by my men yesterday evening but slipped through their hands. You may rely upon the fact they have been severely reprimanded. I give you my word I will do everything in my power to ensure said item is on a boat to New South Wales as soon as is possible. It is, as you requested, a priority. Although I know you will not thank me for observing it, I have discovered you were behind the exposure of the conditions in those mills and I congratulate you on all you have done. In the circumstances I am only too happy to oblige you in seeing the vile thing gone from these shores.
At the risk of incurring your wrath, may I ask if you have thought any more about the railway project I mentioned? Vulgar it may be, but I promise you it will be the most profitable venture you ever take part in if you change your mind.
―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Gabriel Knight to The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu.
Chapter 33
My dear Miss Hunt,
You will not credit how relieved I was to receive your letter. I feared I had ruined any chance I had at gaining your good opinion with my actions. I know well how easy it would be to perceive what I have done in the light Mr Burton has presented it and I am humbled by your belief in me, if you can imagine such an unlikely thing. I confess no one has ever achieved it before. Only you.
I enclose the address of the charitable foundation you enquired about. It is admirably run by Mr Bernard Wheatcroft. I am certain he would be pleased to hear from you.
I will not deny that I am happy to have ruined Mr Burton’s chances with you. I am wholeheartedly glad to have done so. I promise you that if he ever has the misfortune to cross my path, I shall make him pay for having abused you so, the vile wretch. I don’t believe it can come as a surprise to you that I have disliked him from the outset. Whilst I cannot pretend that my personal feelings have not played a part in my animosity, it was by far the only reason. My only regret is that I have caused you a moment’s pain. For that I do have regrets, and yet I would not change what I have done. I hope you can forgive me that. I have seen men do wicked and horrifying things during my life, but what I discovered in those mills will haunt me the rest of my days.
I think of you more than I ought, Miss Hunt. I would see you again. If you would allow it.
―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu to Miss Matilda Hunt
***
10th February 1815. Briar Cottage, Mitcham Village, Sussex.
Matilda fumbled for a handkerchief, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose noisily. Once she had calmed herself, she looked back at Jemima, her gaze direct and unblinking.
“You’re truly happy?”
Jemima nodded. “Strange, isn’t it? I cannot help but think fate has put us together. He is such a good man, Matilda. So kind, and he has suffered. He does not believe he deserves happiness and has shut himself away from the world, but the opposite is true. If anyone deserves to be happy, it is Solo.”
Matilda started. “Solo? Not Solomon Weston? Lord Rothborn?”
Jemima nodded.
“Good heavens.” She stared at Jemima for a long moment and then smiled. “Well, I did not expect that. I always thought he’d been ill used, though. That such a man, a war hero, should be treated so by that awful woman.” Matilda tutted and shook her head. “I never did like her.”
“You know her?” Jemima said eagerly, realising she was hoping that Matilda would tell her how dreadful the woman was. She found she was unwilling to chastise herself for such unchristian behaviour.
To her disappointment, Matilda only shrugged. “Barely. Nate knew her better, I believe. I know that she jilted Lord Rothborn, though. Broke his heart, by all accounts.”
A burst of jealousy surged through Jemima, so fierce it left her breathless and a little shaken.
“She did more than that,” she said, quite unable to keep the anger from her voice. “She’s burdened him with the death of her brother, blamed him for something he had no hand in.”
At Matilda’s enquiring look, Jemima explained the story, and was gratified by the disgust in her friend’s eyes.
“What a heartless creature she must be. It is gratifying to know I am not always such a terrible judge of people, for I thought she had a cruel streak.”
There was such bitterness in Matilda’s tone that Jemima was taken aback.
“We were all taken in by Mr Burton, Tilda. How many of us encouraged you to marry him?”
Matilda stared down, plucking fretfully at the lace edge of the clean handkerchief Jemima had given her. “It’s not just him.”
Jemima sighed. “Montagu.”
“It was Montagu who exposed the scandal in the mills, Jemima. He’s taken them over and is making them safe, giving the workers fair wages and providing schools for the children. He’s established a charity to provide for those injured, and for the families of those who died.”
“My goodness.” Jemima had to admit that was a shock. She would never have believed the proud marquess to even be aware of the lower classes, let alone imagine he would bestir himself to help them. “He has done all this?”
A flicker of doubt clouded Matilda’s eyes. “I know he exposed the scandal. I know those things have been done, though anonymously. I… I believe he is responsible.” Yet there was a tremor of uncertainty in her voice.
“Matilda?”
Little by little, Jemima coaxed the rest of it out of her, the letter from Mr Burton and his accusations, the meeting with Montagu’s uncle, and the letter from the marquess. Jemima could well understand her confusion. It was easy to believe Montagu the devil of the piece, and she was on the verge of telling Matilda that she should run from him when she thought of Solo. He had punished himself for years for something that was not his fault. What if Matilda’s instincts had been correct, and Montagu was a good man beneath the ice cold exterior? It was hard to believe, nigh on impossible if Jemima was honest, but perhaps he deserved a chance to explain himself.
“What will you do?”
Matilda made a choked sound. “I have no idea.”
“Will you tell him about his uncle?”
“I promised I would not, though it troubles me to keep such a thing secret. Jem, you must not breathe a word of it either. Promise me.”
Jemima tutted at her. “As if I would! Of course I promise. What else is known about his family, though? I know his parents and his older brother, the Earl of Lyndon, died in a carriage accident.”
“What?” Matilda paled, staring at her, and Jemima looked back in surprise.
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head.
“Well, it was years ago,” Jemima said. “My aunt lived for the scandal sheets, though. I always knew far more about what was happening in the ton than about our own neighbours,” she said with a laugh and then grew serious when Matilda said nothing. “Montagu could only have been a boy at the time. I think his brother, the earl, was only seventeen and Montagu is a fair bit younger. The only reason I know is that my aunt would indulge in stories of all the highborn fashionable people and tell me their histories. I think secretly she longed for me to marry a duke.”
“I must have been too small to hear anything of it then,” Matilda said quietly. “I knew he had a brother who’d died, and that he’s his niece’s guardian, but little more than that. I assumed he had always been the heir to the marquessate.”
“You were perhaps thinking of the death of his younger brother, then. Miss Barrington is Lord Thomas Barrington’s daughter. That’s much more recent.”
Matilda’s hand went to her throat. “Oh, my. He lost two brothers and his parents?”
“Yes.” Jemima wondered for the first time what that might do to a man. “I don’t know the circumstances of the younger brother’s death. I seem to recall my aunt was curious about it. She said there were murmurs about the circumstances in which he died, but if there was a scandal it was hushed up. It must have been five years ago, at least.” She watched as Matilda absorbed this. “Have you met the niece?”
She nodded. “Twice. Once when he took her for ices at Gunter’s, the other time at an art gallery.”
Jemima considered this. “That hardly seems like she’s being kept a prisoner.”
“No,” Matilda agreed, her face softening. “And she clearly adores him. I would say the feeling is mutual. He worries for her.”
“But you still doubt him?”
Matilda threw up her hands. “Not in my heart, no. When I’m with him, I believe the things he tells me, but it appears my judgement is not to be relied upon… and you didn’t see his uncle. How can one judge a man on such a brief meeting? But he seemed so… so genuine, so sincere. He was also a good friend of Lord Fitzwalter, who is such a dear man.”
Jemima studied her, wishing she could help. “Will you see Montagu again, as he has asked you to?”
There was a short laugh, full of frustration and sadness.
“Yes,” Matilda said hopelessly, before turning a direct gaze on Jemima. “What is it like, Jem? To be a man’s mistress?”
Jemima blushed and looked down, taking a moment to arrange her skirts. “Surprisingly liberating,” she said with a wry smile, and then realised what Matilda was asking for a reason. “But he is a good, kind man, and he makes me very happy. With another man I might have a very different answer for you. I am content, though. I have made peace with my sin, if sin it is. We have a little idyll for ourselves here and I shall live every moment without regret. I am blessed, Matilda, so do not pity me. I have a comfortable home, friends who do not judge me, and a good man who I am falling more in love with as the days pass. I shall not repine for more.”
Matilda nodded, understanding in her eyes.
“Then I am happy for you, too. I may even envy you,” she added, so quietly Jemima only just caught the words. “And now I must away. Alice asked me to give you her best love and demand you write to her at once and come and visit soon. You realise the journey took me little more than an hour and a half from their home?”
Jemima smiled as she remembered Nate and Alice had settled in Kent, and then realised Dern, the Kentish seat of the Marquess of Montagu was likely close by too. Did Matilda know that, she wondered?
“I did not realise they were so close, and I shall be delighted to indulge both requests,” Jemima said, following Matilda as she got to her feet. “How is our mother-to-be?”
“Blooming and ready to be put out to grass—her words, not mine.”
Chapter 34
My Lord Marquess,
Thank you for your reply. Please do not regret for a moment your actions in exposing such cruelty. Any hurt I have suffered is merely to my pride and pales into insignificance when I consider what those people have endured. I should like to visit the mills one day and see all that has been accomplished there. I shall happily write to the excellent Mr Wheatcroft and discover what I may, for I notice that you still have not revealed the name of the anonymous benefactor who has done so much to restore the mills and the fortunes of all who work within them. Yet I feel certain I know who is responsible. Will you not confide the truth in me?
I am staying with my brother at present and intend to remain here for some weeks. His wife, one of my dearest friends, is awaiting the arrival of their first child and I have come to lend my support as best I may. As you can see, I am not so very far from Dern.
As the weather has been so fine of late, I’ve taken to walking around Hever Castle. The owner, Mr Waldo, is well known to my brother and has given us leave to visit the gardens whenever we desire. As it is barely a ten-minute walk from my brother’s home, it has become my favourite destination on a sunny afternoon.
Please give my very kindest regards to Miss Barrington. I hope she is well and that I may have the pleasure to see her again. I am certain our paths will cross, sooner or later.
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu.
***
24th February 1815. Hever Castle, Edenbridge, Kent.
Matilda strode out, enjoying the tentative caress of the sun upon her face. The day was chilly, but that touch of warmth on her skin was like a balm after so many weeks of cold. It was a promise that spring was around the corner, a promise that was illustrated by a few intrepid daffodils, blooming early, enticed by the last few mild days and a bright blue sky. By the time she reached the gates to the beautiful gardens that surrounded Hever Castle, her cheeks were glowing, and she allowed herself to slow her steps and simply to enjoy her surroundings.
As she approached the castle itself, she noticed a very fine carriage drawn up outside with four magnificent grey horses. Her heart sped a little as she realised it was familiar.
“Miss Hunt!”
A childish squeal of delight rang out and, a moment later, Matilda laughed as she saw Phoebe Barrington running full pelt towards her.
“Phoebe, slow down!”
That voice had Matilda’s head snapping up even as Miss Barrington barrelled into her, throwing her arms about Matilda. The impressive, romantically lovely castle that had stood for so many years might as well not have existed for all she could see of it. Montagu was there, immaculate and precise as always, and that was all she could focus on. His tall, lean figure commanded attention, the sun glinting on his pale golden hair. Angel or devil, she wondered. He was so beautiful her heart sang angel without a second thought, but she was not foolish enough to judge by appearances.
He is the kind of man who can do something quite unforgivable, and then beguile you into forgiving him.
His uncle had said that of him, had said his handsome face hid a sick and twisted nature. Matilda felt a shiver of misgiving but held Montagu’s gaze. His eyes were guarded as they always were, hiding his thoughts, keeping the truth from her. Still she stared, unable to tear her eyes away as he watched her from across the courtyard. Matilda smiled, trusting her own instincts even though she had been wrong before, unable to stop herself from finding happiness in seeing him again, before returning her attention to Phoebe. The little girl stared up at her, clutching her about the waist, eyes bright with excitement. Her bonnet had fallen off her head and hung from her neck by the ribbons.
“Good afternoon, Miss Hunt. My uncle said he had a surprise for me, but I did not realise it was you. I am so happy it is.”
Matilda laughed, watching surreptitiously as Montagu spoke a few words to the butler who had emerged from the castle.
“I rather think a visit to the castle was your surprise,” she said, touched that Phoebe was so pleased to see her.
“Oh, pooh, who cares about a musty old castle? I’d much rather see you.”
“You cannot argue with that, Miss Hunt.”
Matilda tried in vain to stop her heart thrashing about in her chest like a landed fish as Montagu approached them. Though she knew this was dangerous, knew it was a terrible idea, whatever the truth of the man before her, she could not regret it. When she had mentioned her walks about the castle grounds, she had known full well what she was doing, so there was little point in lamenting the fact that Montagu had acted as she had known he would.
“I do not care to argue,” she said, hardly able to hold his gaze she was suddenly so nervous. “I am flattered beyond reason, I assure you.”
“Can we see the castle now, Uncle?” Phoebe demanded, tugging at his hand.
Montagu raised an eyebrow at his niece. “I am not a bell pull, child, so please desist your infernal yanking on my arm, and I thought you had proclaimed the castle musty and uninteresting?”
