was quite fond of, but would rather be rid of in the given moment. She’d been known to use it on her own children. And the only conceivable reason she’d want to be rid of Mr. Hunter was for the purpose of matchmaking between her daughter and Mr. Laury.
“Yes, do say you’ll come, Mr. Hunter,” Kate said quickly and in a voice that sounded a touch desperate even to her own ears.
“I’ve other business to attend to, I’m afraid,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of your mother.”
Oh, blast.
“Such a pity,” her mother chimed, linking their arms together. “Come along, Kate.”
“Lady Kate,” Mr. Hunter called out as her mother ushered her away. He waited for the group to turn around. “I understand you’re an unforgiving opponent at chess. Could I interest you in a match after dinner?”
“I could see my way to having a match sooner—”
“After dinner,” Lady Thurston broke in, turning Kate about again. “Good day, Mr. Hunter.”
Eight
Never had dinner taken such an inordinate amount of time to begin, progress, and end. Kate was not a patient woman under the best of circumstances, and there were moments as she waited for her chess match with Mr. Hunter that she could have sworn the clock turned backward.
Her stroll with Mr. Laury and her mother had been painfully awkward for five very long minutes, which was the approximate amount of time the gentleman had remained in their company before making a hasty excuse and an even hastier retreat to the house. Then it had been a solid hour of listening to her mother list all of Mr. Laury’s very fine attributes. Kate did not argue. Her mother was certain to push at least one gentleman at her daughter during the house party and Kate thought it rather convenient that the gentleman of choice was in the habit of fleeing. She saw no reason to urge her mother toward choosing someone else.
But the event that had taken the most amount of time had been dinner itself. A normally pleasant event was made disagreeable by having Mr. Woodruff seated on her right, Mr. Kepford on her left, and the both of them alternating between leaning away from her in fear of mishap, and toward her to sneak furtive glances at the neckline of her gown. She’d been tempted to have a mishap involving her wine and both gentlemen, but chose instead to distract herself from thoughts of vengeance by imagining what role she might play in the investigation.
It wouldn’t be anything dangerous, of course, she mused now. Mr. Hunter had more sense than to give her—and she had more sense than to accept—a task she wasn’t qualified to perform. But she did hope it would at least be challenging.
It was a shame he wouldn’t allow her to charm a bit of information from Lord Martin. She looked across the table to where Lord Martin sat drinking too much, laughing too loudly, and spending entirely too much time gazing at her and talking about himself.
Nothing at all unusual about that. Apparently, he wasn’t nervous about his little operation. It would stand to reason, then, that a few carefully worded questions could be handed to him without arousing his suspicions. In truth, a few haphazardly worded questions could probably be tossed at him without arousing his suspicions. He wasn’t the cleverest of men.
It was a trifle embarrassing, really, that she’d mooned over him for so long.
“Kate, dear.”
Kate looked up from her untouched bread pudding to discover the other ladies rising from their chairs and her mother nudging her arm. “Oh, right.”
Only a little time left now, she thought. As soon as the gentlemen were done sipping their brandy, they would join the ladies in the parlor. She hoped they sipped quickly.
To Kate’s irritation, they sipped slowly. It was another hour before the gentlemen arrived and Mr. Hunter set the chess game up in a quiet corner of the room.
She managed, just barely, to keep her peace until they were seated and she opened the game by pushing forward a pawn. She’d not have been able to manage even that show of patience if her mother hadn’t been watching the pair of them from across the room with a sharp and faintly disapproving eye.
“What are we to do next?” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
“About Lord Martin.” She glanced to where Miss Willory had trapped the gentleman in question on the other side of the room. Or perhaps Lord Martin