Without a word, Kent Fitzgerald bowed, his face telling his whole story. He realized that he had made a very palpable hit against a man who, up until a few moments before, had not even realized he was an enemy. Whilst Hunter had never felt particularly pleased in the man’s company, he felt sure that there had never been any particular animus between them.
And yet, animus there was. But perhaps it was aimed less at him and hinged more importantly upon the man’s own ambitions. It was clear that Kent Fitzgerald wanted Emmeline for his wife; it had been clear to Hunter since the afternoon of bridge in that very room.
However, it now seemed likely that Kent Fitzgerald had perceived Hunter as a threat, maybe even knew a little of the arrangement between him and Emmeline. But surely Emmeline could not support the idea of being married to such a creature. Whilst he was neither handsome nor ugly, as far as Hunter could see, there was something in his manner which made him repugnant. Surely a woman as clever and as well read as Emmeline Fitzgerald would have seen past the man’s plainness and right into his black heart.
And yet, despite all his reasoning, Hunter could find no relief. The idea of Emmeline choosing to marry another man looked set to upend him, to make him feel betrayed once more. But did he have a right to that betrayal? Did he have a right to such feelings when he had made his approaches in so bold and blunt a fashion? When he had been so very clear that he wanted to progress in life without another moment of the debilitating love and pain, had he not forgone such rights?
Worst of all was the realization that Hunter had not escaped life’s finer feelings, however much he had thought himself clever in his choice. He had picked a woman who, in spite of himself, he would have to fight extraordinarily hard against falling in love with.
Chapter 18
Emmeline could not help feeling nervous as she and her mother awaited Hunter Bentley’s carriage. He had agreed to stop on his way to the church and collect them for the funeral. Constance had decided against Rose, who at only fifteen had already attended one funeral too many, going with them. And Rose, for her part, had made no objections.
Of course, Rose had no particular sadness to nurse in the sudden passing of the Duke of Galcross. She had never been introduced to the man and, even if she had, they would never have been anything more than the faintest of acquaintances. The same was, of course, true for Emmeline and her mother, but their attendance was a matter of duty.
Hunter had arrived early, but the Fitzgerald women were ready anyway and immediately made their way out to the carriage when they heard it draw up outside Tarlton Manor.
“Are you quite alright, my dear?” her mother whispered as they made their way outside.
“Yes, I am perfectly well,” Emmeline said, feeling anything but.
When the news had reached her that Christian Burton, the Duke of Galcross, had died suddenly of a heart attack, Emmeline’s world had been thrown into confusion. Whilst she did not mourn the Duke at all, she would have given anything that he had managed to remain alive in this world, if only for a while longer.
And throughout it all, a terrible guilt assailed her. Her first thought when she had heard the news had been a sudden, involuntary memory of the look on Felicity Burton’s face, the look of longing and regret at the ball at Croston Hall all those weeks before. Surely a woman who looked so very torn so shortly after she had married could not, in all honesty, ever have truly loved her husband. And what now of the Earl of Addison? What now of Hunter Bentley, what would he do?
Emmeline could not help nursing the awful, almost fatal idea that Hunter would abandon her as easily as Christopher Lennox had. Was she to once again be betrayed by a man? Betrayed by a man who had talked of marriage and then backed away?
Her mother had not mentioned the thing at all and had only vaguely proclaimed a little sadness at the death of a man who had only recently become married. Constance Fitzgerald had known enough not to approach the subject, realizing immediately that the words did not need to be said. It was clear that she knew her daughter well enough to know that Emmeline would have thought the whole thing through from its beginnings to its inevitable conclusion, and not once, but time and time again.
Hunter jumped down from the carriage immediately it had stopped in order to help the ladies inside. Emmeline had noted his troubled countenance the moment she looked at him and wondered what thoughts rolled around his mind. Had they been the same thoughts which had rolled around her own?
Emmeline studied him a little more closely than ordinarily, she might. She wanted to attempt to discern his look entirely. She wanted to know if she was looking at guilt, just as she had seen in Christopher Lennox’s eyes in the church. Emmeline wanted to know before time if she was about to be humiliated again although, in truth, it would not be quite so public a humiliation this time.
“I trust you are well,” Hunter said, his tone level, his voice giving nothing away.
“Yes, I am quite well, I thank you.” Emmeline could hear the curious formality in her own tone and knew at once that her heart had already set about defending itself.
And she knew as she settled down on the carriage seat next to her mother that it really was her heart which needed defending. She had come to think very much more of Hunter Bentley than she had ever intended, more than she could ever have thought possible.
He had become so much more interesting to her, more attractive, for coming to know him better. And she could not help thinking that the honesty of those first weeks and the openness with which they had decided to investigate the idea of suitability for such a marriage of convenience had been the very thing which had forced a more in-depth knowledge of the man.
Had the two of them been courting in the ordinary way, Emmeline thought it true that neither one of them would have been entirely honest. They would both be on their finest behaviour, each pretending a little to be something that they were not in order to impress the other. But there had been no ideas of impressing between them, and neither one of them had sought to do that. Instead, they had become instant friends, and not only that but found they had a good deal in common in terms of intellect and interest.
All in all, Emmeline had a dreadful feeling that she was going to rue the day she had agreed to such a scheme.
“It is a sad day, is it not?” Emmeline’s mother said, feeling the almost pervasive silence which had opened up between them all.
“Yes, the Duke was a relatively young man to have passed so soon,” Hunter said as if he were speaking to strangers at a wake, offering nothing more than well-used platitudes.
Something about his manner, something about his sudden cool detachment, plunged Emmeline into a pit of fearing the worst. The idea that he might just be laid low by the idea of the funeral was not really one that she could sensibly support. As far as she could tell, she was in the company of a man who had much on his mind.