Destined to Last

For Emmanuelle Alspaugh and Leah Hultenschmidt. Thank you.

Cover Page

Title Page

Curiouser and Curiouser

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Epilogue

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Copyright

T
he Countess of Thurston was perfectly aware that it was most unseemly for a lady to run in public. Which was why she chose to step briskly—
very
briskly—across Benton’s small snow-covered town square.

“Lady Katherine Anne Beatrice Cole!”

The countess was also quite aware that it was unseemly for a lady to raise her voice in public, but every mother had her limits, and her five-year-old daughter, Kate, had an astonishing talent for pushing her past those limits. Lady Thurston had turned her back for only a moment in the shop to greet Mrs. Newman, and when she had turned round again, Kate had vanished.

What had followed was a frantic search of the shop, the two neighboring shops, and then the town square, where she had finally spotted Kate’s little blonde head peeking out from over a row of decorative evergreen hedges.

Lady Thurston had managed to control her pace, but restraining her voice had been quite beyond her. Fortunately, by the time she arrived on the other side of those hedges and found Kate seated next to another child on a bench, her fear, and the accompanying temper, had eased enough for her to speak in the moderate tones far more suitable for both a woman of her rank, and for reasoning with an impetuous and impossibly stubborn child.

“Katherine Cole, how many times have you been told you are not to run off without permission?”

Kate cocked her head, her light blue eyes squinting in thought.

Oh, good heavens, five-year-olds were so literal. “I am not in search of an exact number, Kate. The point I am making is that you know better. You shall not be allowed to play the pianoforte tonight.”

Kate’s mouth fell open. It was, for her, the most grievous of punishments. “But,
Mama
—”

“No pianoforte,” she repeated. “If it happens again—”

“But I
had
to go,” Kate insisted, and pointed at the other child on the bench. “I saw Lizzy. She might be five.”

Lady Thurston took a deep, calming breath and then, for the first time, took a very good look at the small child next to Kate. The girl did appear as if she might be near to five years of age. She had sweet brown eyes, hair that was in desperate need of a wash, and the sallow complexion of one who had recently suffered an illness. She was bundled in an old but warm-looking coat two sizes too big. And the remainder of her was covered in rags—even her feet, the poor dear.

Not a local child, Lady Thurston decided. She knew all the children in Benton, and she made certain all of them had decent clothes on their backs and shoes on their feet…All but her own, it would seem. Kate’s feet were bare except for stockings. Lizzy was holding her boots.

“Why are you holding Kate’s boots, dear?”

“I weren’t stealing ’em,” Lizzy proclaimed with a slight lisp. She tossed down the boots. “I weren’t.”

“She weren’t,” Kate echoed.

“She was not,” Lady Thurston corrected before stooping to pick up the discarded shoes. “Here now, they are Kate’s to do with as she pleases. Do you want her to have them, Kate?”

Kate nodded. Which did not surprise Lady Thurston in the least. The child adored giving presents and would have jumped at the chance to replace Lizzy’s ragged footwear.

She held the boots out to Lizzy. “Where are your parents?”

“In heaven,” Lizzy replied, snatching the shoes back without further argument.

“I am very sorry to hear it.” She watched a moment as the girl fingered the soft leather. “How did you get here?”

“Puck brought me. I’m to wait for him here. Well,
there
,” she amended, pointing to an alley between the modiste’s and the booksellers. “But I like it better here.”

Of course she did. The bench, unlike the alley, was warmed in the sun. “I beg your pardon? Who did you say brought you?”

“Puck. My friend.”

“I see.” Puck? That couldn’t possibly be a real person. Lady Thurston turned to scan the square and surrounding shops. No one appeared to be looking for the child. A pang of anger and sadness clutched at her chest. The poor darling had been abandoned, like as not. It was an all too common occurrence.

She crouched down in front of the girl and spoke gently. “I think, Lizzy, that it would be best if you were to come to Haldon with us for a time. I shall ask one of my footmen to wait here and bring…er…Puck along when he arrives, and then we shall see what is to be done.”

“Haldon,” Lizzy repeated. “The big house what everyone here talks about?”

“The very one. Would you like that?”

Kate tugged on her sleeve. “Mama?”

“Is it warm?” Lizzy asked.

“Quite.”

“Is there food?”

“Oh, plenty,” Lady Thurston assured her.

“Mama?”

Lizzy bit her lip, clearly tempted. “And Puck can come too?”

“Certainly.”

“Mama, who is that?”

“Hmm?” Lady Thurston looked away from Lizzy briefly. “What is it?”

Kate turned to point across the square. “Who is…” She trailed off and dropped her hand. “He’s gone.”

“Who, darling?”

“A boy.”

“There are many boys in Benton, Kate.”

“Yes, but…this one was different.”

“Every child is different,” she said distractedly and rose to offer Lizzy her hand. “Shall we go?”

The little girl hesitated, then reached out and placed a small, cold hand in hers.

L
ady Kate Cole was, by most accounts, a young woman of exceptional beauty, extraordinary talent, and notable charm. She was also, by
all
accounts, a woman so remarkably prone to accidents that it was generally considered wise to back away if she happened to be standing next to a steep hill, a large body of water, an open window, or any sort of material that might cut, discolor, burn, spill, break…It was probably best if one simply kept a bit of distance from the girl whenever possible.

There were times Kate rather wished she could do the same. Now, for example, would have been an ideal moment to back away from herself—while she was standing on the grassy lawn of Haldon Hall with her pale rose gown conspicuously splattered from hem to neck with mud.
Again.
And while her blonde hair was damp at the ends, coming out of its pins, and likely sporting a number of leaves in various stages of decomposition.
Again.
And while one Mr. Hunter was striding toward her from the house to witness her in all her
rumpled, mud-covered, frightful-haired embarrassment.
Ag
—Well, no, that was a first.

“Oh, blast.”

Why,
why
had she not taken care where she walked along the pond instead of humming the new waltz she’d composed whilst daydreaming about what it might be like to dance that very waltz with the gentleman of her dreams? She’d imagined what he might look like and sound like and talk about and…and then suddenly it
hadn’t
been a waltz she was hearing in her head, it had been a sonatina. And she’d no longer been walking gracefully along the muddy shore, she’d been lying on it.

Grimacing, she watched as Mr. Hunter drew closer, and wondered if it would be unforgivably rude if she turned away and walked—or quite possibly ran—around to the side of the house. Then she wondered if she cared overmuch whether it was unforgivably rude. She decided yes on both accounts, which was something of a disappointment, because of all the people currently attending her mother’s house party, there were few she would rather see less.

There was something about Mr. Hunter that put her on edge. To begin with, the man was impossibly well groomed. In Kate’s opinion, it simply wasn’t natural that one should
never
have a spot on one’s clothes or have a button go missing or a hair fly out of place. Mr. Hunter’s attention to the details of his attire seemed more in tune with the fussy habits of a delicate London dandy than it did with a gentleman of his size. Which was another thing about the man that put her on edge—he was, aside from the local blacksmith, quite the most imposing person of her acquaintance. He was even taller than her brother, Whit, and notably broader across the chest and shoulders. Perhaps the broadness was the reason that, while she found Whit’s size and strength to be reassuring, Mr. Hunter’s large frame made her feel a mite overwhelmed.

The rest of his appearance only enhanced that feeling. His eyes and hair were dark as night, his jaw hard, his cheekbones sharp, and his full mouth often curved into a small, but wicked smile, so that she rather fancied he looked a well-dressed pirate caught in a private joke.

What troubled her most of all, however, was that he sometimes used his size, dark gaze, and impossibly polished appearance to stand over her and make her feel ill at ease.

The man
loomed
, there was nothing else for it. Even when they were separated by an entire ballroom—and she generally took pains to see that they were—he still managed to loom. It was most disconcerting.

Resigned to an inescapable spot of looming that morning, Kate indulged in a brief but heartfelt sigh, and a futile but equally heartfelt wish that she had not forgotten to bring her bonnet. It would have gone a long way toward covering up the damage done to her hair.

She waited until he’d drawn close enough for her to see that he was impeccably turned out in fashionable tan breeches, dark coat, and intricately knotted cravat; then she pasted on an extremely bright smile, having long ago come to the conclusion that the next best thing to avoiding embarrassment altogether was pretending it didn’t exist. She’d become depressingly adept at that pretense over the years.

“Good morning, Mr. Hunter,” she chimed in her cheeriest voice. “Have you come out for a stroll? It’s a lovely day for it.”

Had Mr. Hunter been a typical gentleman of the
ton
, he likely would have floundered a little at her appearance—not to mention her apparent ignorance of said appearance—and then very courteously played along as if nothing was amiss while he assisted her back to the house.

Unfortunately, Mr. Hunter was a man of great wealth but inauspicious origin, which made his connection to the
ton
rather loose and his position as a gentleman decidedly suspect. Kate didn’t hold with the notion that a man’s status as a
gentleman should be awarded solely by right of birth. She felt strongly that it was a man’s character and behavior that marked him as a gentleman…or not, as she rather thought to be the case with Mr. Hunter.

He stopped in front of her, raised one dark brow, and took a long, thorough look at her bedraggled form before running his tongue along his teeth. “Am I to pretend I don’t see the mud? Is that how it’s done?”

Kate gave up the smile to roll her eyes and step around him to begin a hurried walk toward the house. “If you were truly interested in how it was done, you would not have asked.”

He fell into step beside her. “How is one supposed to learn if one doesn’t ask?”

“The fact that I did not wish to acknowledge the mud should have been obvious to anyone with even the most basic powers of perception.” She pursed her lips. “Perhaps you did need to ask.”

He chuckled at that, a low and soft sound she was irritated to discover she found pleasant.

“Let us assume for a moment,” he replied after a pause, “that I do possess some very basic skills of perception. Why then, do you suppose I did ask?”

She glanced and saw that his lips were curved up with humor. “Because you wished to amuse yourself by discomforting me.”

“Patently untrue,” he returned. “You looked sufficiently uncomfortable already. I had hoped to make you smile.”

“I…” That was another thing about Mr. Hunter that set her on edge. He was charming to the point of being glib. “Well…thank you.”

“It would have been my pleasure,” he responded smoothly, “had I succeeded.”

“I believe I was smiling when you arrived,” she pointed out.

“Because of me? How gratifying.”

She felt a bubble of laughter form in her throat and ruthlessly swallowed it down. Nothing good could come from encouraging the man. Then again,
not
encouraging him had done very little good as well. Perhaps a more direct approach was required.

“Your arrogance is astounding,” she informed him.

“No point doing things in half measures.”

She wanted to laugh at that too. Instead, she increased her pace. “Just because something
can
be done, doesn’t mean that it
should
be done.”

“Just because something
shouldn’t
be done, doesn’t mean it can’t be done
well.
” He waited a beat before adding, “I imagine you fell into the pond spectacularly.”

“I…” The laugh escaped, and she blamed what happened next solely on the distraction of that laugh.

He sidestepped a large root from a nearby oak tree.

She did not, and likely would have added grass stains to her poor dress had he not reached out and gently caught her arm as she toppled forward.

“Easy.” He stood very still, his large hand keeping a firm grip on her arm as she righted herself. “May I assume by your energetic pace that you were unharmed by your accident this morning?”

Ignoring the amusement in his voice, as well as the sudden fluttering of her heart, she carefully extracted herself from his grip. “Yes, you may. Thank you.”

“I am relieved to hear it.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Relieved enough to go about your business and leave me in peace?”

“Disturbing your peace was the business I had in mind when I came outside.”

“Ah.” She titled her head up at him. “Is that why you’ve come to Haldon, simply to vex me?”

“Not entirely, or I’d have made the effort to arrive sooner.”

There was no arguing with that bit of logic. It was the last full day of her mother’s house party and Mr. Hunter had made the trip from London only that morning. Just in time, it would seem, to find her returning from her walk.

“You’ve come for tonight’s ball,” she guessed.

Rather than answer, he took a step closer and bent his head to catch her eye. “Tell me Lady Kate—and to be clear, I ask not to make you uncomfortable, but because I am genuinely curious—what is it about me that ruffles your feathers so?”

You’re too large. You’re too charming. You make my heart race. I’d wager a year’s allowance you were, at some point, a pirate.

She couldn’t tell him any of those things. Particularly the last, which she knew to be the influence of a long-standing weakness for torrid novels.

So she said instead, “You loom, Mr. Hunter.”

“I loom.”

“Yes.” She searched desperately for something to add to that. “It’s very ill-mannered of you.”

“I see.” His lips twitched. “You’re an honest creature, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” She waited for him to step back, or look away, or give some indication that her honest, if not exactly complete, confession had made an impact on him. He remained utterly still. “Are you going to
cease
looming?”

“No.” He moved,
finally
, but to her shock, it was only to lift his hand and lightly brush a strand of hair away from her cheek. “I rather like ruffling your feathers.”

His hands were ungloved, and the warmth of his fingers was answered by a shiver along her skin. It was Kate who took a step back. “Your behavior is presumptuous.”

“Is it?” His lips curved up in a wicked smile. “I’d have asked first, but anyone with even the most basic powers of perception could see you’re curious—”

“Good day, Mr. Hunter.”

Hunter made no move to follow Lady Kate as she stormed toward the house, and not because he knew she wouldn’t welcome his company, nor because he felt ashamed for having been, in fact, very presumptuous. No, he stayed where he was because following Lady Kate now didn’t suit his purpose.

And everything Hunter did suited a purpose. In his opinion, anything less was a useless expenditure of time and energy.

Fortunately for his purposes, he didn’t consider it a waste of time to watch Lady Kate make her way toward the house. He didn’t consider it a waste of time to watch Lady Kate doing most anything. The woman was a vision.

A diamond of the first water, that’s what the
ton
called her. The very picture of fashionable beauty—pale blonde hair, ivory skin, wide blue eyes, thin blade of a nose and a perfect rosebud mouth. She was elegantly tall and slender, and yet possessed enough curves to catch, and hold, a man’s attention. She was exquisite, a testament to grace and beauty…provided she was standing utterly still. When she wasn’t, well…He thought her occasional missteps only added to her charm.

There were those who believed her lack of coordination was the reason she remained unmarried at three-and-twenty, but Hunter knew that to be a misconception. He’d heard members of her family grumble over Kate’s unwed state on more than one occasion, but a lack of suitors wasn’t the problem. She’d received well more than a handful of offers. The problem was that she’d turned down every one. It seemed the gentlemen weren’t offering anything she cared to accept.

In Hunter’s opinion, they were merely offering it too easily.

Confident that her lack of interest in other gentlemen afforded him the opportunity, he’d spent a bit of time studying Lady Kate. He’d approached her at balls and dinners from time to time, or simply caught her eye from across the room, but for the most part, he let her be in favor of watching, listening, and learning what he could about the woman.

And what he’d discovered was that Lady Kate Cole was a dreamer. She might appreciate the attention she received from her suitors, but she would never be captivated by their overt fawning. Because, like all dreamers, what she wanted most was that which was just out of reach.

Hunter had made a point of being just out of her reach. He’d made a point of being impossible for her to ignore as well, but anyone could manage that. It was the element of elusiveness, the piquing of curiosity that could capture Kate. And make no mistake, he
would
capture her.

No other woman would do for his wife. True, there were a few who were higher in rank, one or two with more generous dowries, and it was possible, though he rather doubted it, that there was a more attractive young woman somewhere in society he’d yet to meet. But only Lady Kate Cole had it all—rank, fortune,
and
beauty.

She was, in essence, the very finest young lady the
ton
had to offer. What was the phrase—the
crème de la crème
? For a man raised on bread and water, a woman like Kate was nothing less than the promise of ambrosia. She was the definitive luxury, the most extravagant acquisition, and perhaps most important, the perfect symbol of his rise from pauper to prince.

All of which, he could admit, he would have learned to do without, were Kate not also a woman whose company he could enjoy. Granted, he’d sampled that company in limited
quantities, but it had been enough for him to decide that he genuinely liked the girl—her wit, her humor, her loyalty to those she loved, even her clumsiness and distracted nature was something he found appealing. And to top it all off, he desired her more than he could remember ever desiring a woman.

What man could ask for more?

Feeling every inch as arrogant as Kate had charged him of being only minutes ago, he stood where she’d left him on the lawn, and patiently waited for her to reach the door, hesitate, then turn back to sneak a peek at him.

“There we are,” he murmured.

He considered giving her a wave, but thought that might be overdoing things a bit. Instead, he simply waited until she whirled around again and went into the house, before he casually strolled away.