Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)

“But it all came right in the end,” Toby finished, accepting a fresh glass of wine from the waiter. “You and Lucy, me and Sophia. You should come to Kent for a visit next Easter. See the bluebells and all.”


Jeremy leaned forward in his chair. “Toby, even you must have noticed, Lucy wasn’t precisely thrilled to marry me. I … Henry … er, the circumstances forced her into it. She had no choice.”

“No choice?” Toby laughed. “I was there at the wedding, Jem. I don’t recall seeing Lucy bound or gagged or dragged to the altar. And that’s the only way anyone could persuade that girl to recite vows against her will.” He chuckled into his glass. “Lucy, ‘forced’ to marry. A good laugh, that.”

Jeremy had only downed one glass of whiskey, but his head was swimming. He couldn’t comprehend what Toby was saying. He was a bit afraid to even try. Even if—and he mentally emphasizedif —Lucy had indeed grown out of Toby and somehow grown intohim , it meant only one thing. That Jeremy had managed to c**k things up even worse than he’d thought previously.

“Say, Toby,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “What do you plan to do when the charm wears off on Sophia? What ifshe grows out of you?”

Toby’s face grew solemn. “I don’t like to think about it, Jem.” He shrugged, and a shadow of that rakish grin crept back to his face. “I expect that’s what jewels are for.”

It was a damned fool thing, carrying jewels on horseback at night. Aside from the obvious hazards of riding in the dark—the risks of becoming unseated, laming the horse, or losing one’s way entirely—highwaymen were always a threat. To be sure, thieves would little expect a lone rider to be carrying a small fortune in gems, but desperate men would not hesitate to kill him for his horse alone.

But then, Jeremy was a rather desperate man himself. And anyone who tried to touch the necklace coiled neatly in his breast pocket would meet first with the cold steel of a pistol. Caution would tell him to stop at an inn, complete his journey tomorrow. But caution be damned. It didn’t matter that it was dark, or late, or dangerous. It was Thursday, and he had a promise to keep.

He had several promises to keep, in fact, and he intended to start making good on them.

He’d told Henry he would give Lucy the opportunities she’d never had. He’d promised Lucy he would do his best to see her happy. And he’d vowed before God that he would honor and cherish his wife all the days of his life. Yet he’d fled to London, running away from those promises like an eight-year-old boy.

Yes, she had turned from him and wept, and it had hurt. It had damn near killed him. But tears didn’t dissolve duty. Perhaps he could never give her what she truly deserved, but that fact didn’t excuse him from trying.

He would do what he should have done from the first. He would bring Lucy to London. She would be within a half-day’s journey of Waltham Manor—she might visit her brother and Marianne as often as she wished. He would present her at court and introduce her to society. They would attend as many balls and operas and exhibitions as she desired. She might even find a reasonable use for her pin money. And Jeremy could finally take up his seat in Lords. His obligations to his wife weren’t the only duties he’d been dodging. Perhaps he could even do some good there, work toward outlawing the use of mantraps. That would be a more fitting tribute to Thomas than any fabricated portrait.

He tried not to dwell on Toby’s words the night before. It was too much to hope that Lucy might love him. He told himself it didn’t matter whether she did or not; his duty to her remained the same. Despite all this, Jeremy was feeling giddily optimistic. Which, for him, was an entirely foreign sensation. But not an unpleasant one. Not in the least.

It was a full day’s ride on horseback from London to Corbinsdale Abbey, if one started with the dawn and changed horses halfway. If, however, one waited for the jeweler’s shop to open, then spent the better part of an hour waving away trays of tawdry baubles before the officious clerk brought out the best wares, then wasted yet another quarter-hour while one’s purchase was wrapped—the journey home stretched into evening, and the dark made for slower progress still.