Regency Admirer/The Merry Gentleman/The Gentleman's Demand

by Meg Alexander

  She eyed him sharply, but in his demeanour she could find nothing but respect. Reuben was an unprepossessing fellow, in spite of that. Short and squat, his arms seemed to her to be unnaturally long. Without a hair on his gleaming pate, his head merged into a bull neck above a barrel chest.

  Clearly Hatton did not require elegance in his servants.

  ‘Mistress, won’t you let me send you up some supper?’ Bess coaxed. ‘I could make you an omelette.’

  ‘I have dined well today,’ Sophie told her with a smile. ‘I couldn’t eat another bite. I believe I shall retire early tonight.’

  ‘Abby has lit your fire already. Mr Hatton thought you might need it.’

  Sophie bit back a sharp retort. The redoubtable Mr Hatton took far too much upon himself, but it would not do to let her servants see her annoyance. She bade them goodnight, and went up to her room.

  It was pleasant, after all, to enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of such warmth. In the past she had wakened often to find ice encrusting the inside of her windows, and it could not be denied that the night was bitter.

  Settling into her fireside chair, she picked up her book and tried to read without success. Her eyes were closing. At last she sent for Abby, slipped out of her gown, and sought the comfort of her bed.

  Sophie slept late next day. It was full daylight when she awoke to the sound of Kit’s voice in the stable-yard. Her fire had been replenished as she slept, so the room was warm.

  She slipped on a robe over her night attire and hurried to the window. Peering out, she could see that Kit, muffled to the ears in scarves and a woollen hat, was absorbed in drawing a large circle on the frosty ground with a long stick. He seemed to be chanting some strange song.

  Intrigued, she watched as he divided the circle into segments. Then he stood in the centre with closed eyes, and pointed the stick in each of four directions.

  She smiled. The child must be absorbed in some mysterious game of his own. Then, as she turned away, she heard a bellow of rage.

  ‘Stop it!’ her son shouted. ‘You are spoiling the magic!’

  A glance was enough to show her that an older boy, almost into his teens, was scuffing the circle with his boots, jeering as he did so.

  ‘Spoiling the magic?’ he mimicked. ‘Well, I don’t mind spoiling your game.’

  ‘You will! You will!’ Almost as red as a turkey-cock, her son doubled up his fists.

  Sophie gathered her robe about her. Kit would be no match for the older boy. Then she heard a leisurely voice.

  ‘You’re magic, aren’t you?’ Hatton enquired. ‘Why not turn him into a frog?’

  Kit stood very still. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I might just do that.’ He pointed his stick at the older boy who gave a cry of fright and ran away.

  ‘You must be Kit,’ the deep voice continued. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hatton.’

  ‘Thank you, Hatton. Do you know my mother?’

  ‘Indeed I do. I’m on my way to see her now. You might care to accompany me.’

  Sophie hurried herself into the old grey gown. Then she ran downstairs to find her son and his mentor engaged in a serious discussion as to the relative merits of worms or maggots when engaged in the art of fishing.

  ‘My dear Kit,’ she reproved. ‘Will you never learn that it simply is not wise to fight boys older than yourself?’

  ‘I didn’t fight him,’ Kit said simply. ‘I said I’d turn him into a frog. Hatton thought of it.’

  ‘Mr Hatton, if you please,’ Sophie said severely.

  ‘He said his name was Hatton,’ Kit replied in injured tones.

  ‘It will do well enough, since it is my name. Kit, your mother and I have some matters to discuss. Shall you mind very much if I ask you to help Reuben with my horses? They need to be groomed and fed.’

  ‘Will he let me drive them?’

  ‘He’ll show you how to handle the ribbons. Later, I may take you out myself.’

  Kit made a headlong dash for the door.

  ‘One moment, Kit. I need your promise first.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Will you promise not to turn my horses into frogs?’

  Kit came back to rest a grubby hand upon Hatton’s immaculate buckskins.

  Sophie winced, but her companion did not appear to recognise the threat to his appearance.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ her son said earnestly. ‘I don’t use magic on my friends.’

  Hatton rose to his full height and bowed. Then he held out his hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said with dignity. ‘Good friends are hard to come by.’

  Kit took his hand and shook it warmly. ‘May I go now?’ he asked.

  Hatton nodded. When he turned back to Sophie he found that she was smiling, but she shook her head in reproof.

  ‘You shouldn’t encourage him in such nonsense, Sir. Kit has too vivid an imagination.’

  ‘Don’t try to stifle it, ma’am. It is a gift not given to many.’

  She gave him a curious look. ‘Have you children of your own?’ she asked.

  ‘I am not married, Mistress Firle, and to my knowledge I haven’t fathered any bastards.’

  Sophie’s cheeks grew pink with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t mean to pry,’ she said with dignity. ‘It is just that you seem to have a way with children.’

  ‘I don’t talk down to them, if that is what you mean. They are human beings, like the rest of us, and often possessed of far more sense than their elders.’

  Sophie was aware of the implied criticism, but she let it go, mindful of her good resolutions.

  ‘He has no notion of danger,’ she replied in a worried tone. ‘Without your intervention he would have tried to fight that young lout.’

  Hatton laughed. ‘Your little game-cock isn’t short of spirit. In time he’ll learn that there are other ways to skin a cat.’

  ‘I suppose so, but I cannot like the notion of his helping to groom your horses. They are thoroughbreds, are they not, and doubtless highly strung?’

  ‘He’ll come to no harm in Reuben’s hands.’ Hatton was growing impatient. ‘You must not mollycoddle him, Mistress Firle. Let him try his wings a little.’

  ‘He’s only five years old!’ Sophie cried indignantly. ‘Besides, he’s all I have!’

  ‘Then get out of his way, ma’am. The lad has promise, but he must learn. You can’t protect him from every bump and blow.’ Brusquely he dismissed the subject. ‘Are you ready to interview your new servants?’ He laid a sheet of paper in front of her.

  ‘What is this, Mr Hatton?’

  ‘Just a reminder of the questions you should ask. You will take Besford and Fraddon, of course. They are my men. Besford will make a suitable ostler, and Fraddon is an experienced cellarman.’

  Sophie hoped devoutly that the two men would be less frightening in appearance than the terrifying Reuben. Her heart misgave her at the thought of her precious Kit in that strange creature’s company, but Hatton recalled her quickly to the task in hand.

  ‘There are four others from the local villages,’ he told her. ‘I must hope that you won’t allow yourself to be influenced by appearances.’

  ‘I can’t accuse you of that, Mr Hatton. I’ve seldom seen a more villainous-looking servant than your coachman.’

  ‘Reuben? I’m sorry that he doesn’t meet with your approval. I didn’t choose him for his handsome face.’ Hatton tossed aside his cloak. Then he rang the bell. ‘Your mistress will see the men now,’ he informed Matthew.

  With that he walked over to the darkest corner of the room, turned the wing-chair away from the door, and became invisible to the casual observer.

  Sophie saw his own men first. Each of them was powerfully built and roughly dressed, but somewhat to her surprise they were not ill spoken.

  Knowing that the interviews were merely a formality, Sophie did not keep them long, explaining their duties as best she could. Having engaged them on the spot, she left them in Matthew’s hands, with i
nstructions to unload the cartload of supplies which had arrived that morning.

  Then her next candidate sidled into the room. Sophie took him in dislike at once. For one thing, he bore a striking resemblance to the boy who had tormented Kit that morning.

  Apparently respectful, there was a knowing look about him as he took in every detail of the room. Sophie suspected at once that he had an eye to the main chance. She would never rest easy with this creature about the premises. Thieving, she guessed, was already on his mind.

  The next man was a surprise. ‘Why, Ben!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Bess sent word that you needed help, ma’am. I hope you’ll consider me. My sister can vouch for me...’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ she told him warmly. She’d met Bess’s brother on several occasions and always found him willing to turn his hand to any task about the inn, even though she could not pay him.

  Pleased that she was now able to do so, she offered him a generous wage and was rewarded with a look of gratitude. Then he hesitated.

  ‘I hope you won’t think me forward, Mistress Firle, but I’ve brought my son along o’ me. He can’t get work nowhere...’

  ‘But why is that?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say, ma’am, but he’s an innocent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If you see him, you’ll know what I mean. He’s never been quite right in the head, but he’s a strong lad, and he’s willing.’

  ‘Will you call him then? I’d like to speak to him.’

  As Ben turned to the door Sophie heard a slight cough from the direction of the window. She decided to ignore it.

  Hatton had told her to use her own judgement and she would do so.

  ‘This ’ere is Jem.’ Ben preceded his companion into the room. ‘He don’t say much, ma’am, but he can understand you.’

  Sophie looked up and gasped. Ben’s son was enormous. He had to bend his head to negotiate the doorway and his giant bulk seemed to fill the room. Now he stood in front of her, smiling shyly.

  ‘Would you like to work here, Jem?’ she asked. ‘Your father could show you what to do.’

  The lad’s smile grew wider, and he nodded. His bright blue eyes were fixed upon her with a pleading look.

  Sophie studied the guileless face, and was captivated. Jem might not be bright, but she knew at once that she could trust him.

  ‘Very well!’ she said. ‘Ben, will you tell Matthew that I have engaged you both?’

  ‘You won’t be sorry, ma’am.’ Ben’s look showed her what her decision had meant to him, but she stilled his fervent thanks. ‘Make yourselves known to the other men,’ she told him. ‘They are strangers hereabouts.’

  ‘Aye! Fishermen in from the coast, so they tells me.’ Ben shook his head. ‘There’s no work there, they says, since the war with France.’

  ‘Will you send the last man in?’ she asked. ‘I doubt if I shall have work for him as well...’ Hatton had told her to engage four men, and she had already done so. Now she was at a loss as to what to say to the last of the applicants.

  ‘He’s gone, ma’am. He went off with the one you turned away.’

  Sophie felt relieved, guessing that he was likely to be another undesirable.

  As the door closed on Ben and his son, Hatton rose from his chair.

  ‘You did well!’ he told her. ‘Better than I expected.’

  ‘Good heavens, don’t tell me that you approved of my choice? When you coughed I thought that you were warning me against accepting Jem.’

  ‘It had the opposite effect, I believe.’ Hatton was laughing openly.

  ‘What! Oh, you wretched creature! You meant me to take him all the time.’

  ‘Why not? I had already spoken to all the applicants, you see. I saw them earlier this morning, when you were still asleep.’

  Sophie stared at him. ‘You were here? Oh, I thought...I mean, I saw your carriage leave the inn last night, and I had imagined that you had not slept here.’ Hot colour flooded her face as she realised the implications of her words.

  ‘Never judge by appearances, Mistress Firle. For the present I can control my vile male appetite for female company, if that is what is worrying you.’

  ‘What you do does not concern me in the least,’ Sophie said scornfully. ‘In any case, my disapproval would not alter your behaviour.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t!’ he agreed with a cheerful smile. ‘I’m sure you feel the same about your own behaviour.’

  As this happened to be true, Sophie saw no point in denying it.

  ‘I’m glad to see that you are wearing your brooch,’ Hatton continued smoothly. ‘It looks well on you.’

  ‘I found it useful,’ Sophie admitted with some reluctance. ‘The man I turned away never took his eyes from it. If I’d engaged him, I am persuaded that it would have disappeared.’

  ‘An ugly customer!’ Hatton agreed. ‘His friend was of the same ilk.’

  ‘What would you have done if I’d engaged them?’

  ‘I thought it unlikely, but the question doesn’t arise. Are you pleased with your new staff?’

  ‘With two of them, at least. I’ll reserve my judgement about your men, but I can trust Ben and his son.’

  ‘True, and the lad, in particular, will be an asset.’

  ‘Why do you say that? He is said to be touched in the head, you know.’

  ‘We are not looking for scholars, Mistress Firle. Jem’s size alone is enough to discourage troublemakers, but there is no harm in him. He’ll serve you well, I believe.’

  Sophie looked her surprise. ‘I shall never understand you, sir. I had not expected this from you.’

  ‘Sympathy for a troubled mind? Well, ma’am, you do not know me well. Let us hope that your opinion of me will improve on further acquaintance.’ He opened the door and sniffed the air in appreciation. ‘Time for our nuncheon, I believe. May I persuade you to join me?’

  Mollified by his good opinion of both Ben and his son, Sophie preceded him into the dining-room.

  She was feeling confused. It was true. She would never understand this man. She’d been astonished by the way her son had accepted him without demur. Children, she knew, had an amazing way of sensing sincerity in adults.

  Of course, Hatton had made it his business to be agreeable to Kit, entering into the spirit of his game and treating him with respect. She hadn’t expected it.

  Nor had she supposed that he would see beyond the childlike demeanour of Ben’s son. Had she been asked beforehand she would have sworn that Hatton would have forbidden her to engage the lad. Now, apparently, he approved.

  As he seated her at the table, she realised that she was looking forward to her meal. He looked on with approval as she allowed Abby to help her to a dish of mushrooms bubbling gently in a coating of cheese sauce.

  ‘The outing to Brighton did you good,’ he observed. ‘Today you have more colour in your cheeks. With plenty of good food we’ll soon turn you into a buxom wench.’

  Sophie laid down her fork. ‘I may not care to become a buxom wench,’ she told him stiffly.

  ‘You couldn’t!’ he teased. ‘That racehorse build will never carry spare flesh. Eat up, my dear! You need not fear to rival the fat lady at the fair.’

  Sophie ignored these pleasantries. She found that she was hungry, and Hatton’s teasing would not stop her from enjoying her meal. She attacked a generous slice of ham braised in Madeira wine, and dared him to comment further.

  He didn’t do so. ‘Shall you be ready to open the inn by the end of the week?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so, now that we have enough staff and plenty of stores,’ Sophie told him thoughtfully. ‘What will happen then?’

  ‘Why, let us hope that you will attract some trade, ma’am.’

  ‘At this time of year? Sir, you are an optimist. Who would venture on these roads in winter?’

  ‘More folk than you may suppose,’ came the smooth reply. ‘This place is isolated.
Nevertheless, it is on the main route into Brighton. Possibly you may be visited by some of the young bloods in the town. Not all of them have the means to keep up with the Prince and his entourage. They seek other diversions. A pretty widow may be just the bait to attract them.’

  Sophie frowned, but she was not displeased by the compliment. ‘Yet these are not the men you seek, surely?’ she objected.

  ‘No, they are not, but a busy inn provides better cover for our quarry than one which is almost empty. I think you may expect some unusual visitors within the next few weeks.’

  Sophie shuddered, but Hatton did not appear to notice. He pushed back his chair and bowed to her.

  ‘Will you forgive me if I leave you, Mistress Firle? I have urgent matters to attend.’

  Leaving her to her thoughts he walked away, and within minutes she heard the sound of his carriage wheels upon the drive.

  Oddly, Sophie felt at a loss without him. In just a day or two she had grown accustomed to countering his taunts, and she had enjoyed the challenge to her wits.

  Of course, he was not the type of man she admired. Sophie knew her own weaknesses. She’d always been attracted by a handsome face and figure. In her late husband’s case she had persuaded herself that his appearance cloaked a character of sterling worth. She couldn’t have been more wrong, as she now knew to her cost.

  Hatton, at least, would never be described as handsome. High cheekbones and a strong jaw gave him a predatory look. If she’d been asked for an adjective to describe him she would have chosen ‘merciless’. A dangerous man, by any standards. With that dark hair and eyes, and his swarthy complexion, he might have been taken for a pirate.

  Sophie smiled to herself. She was allowing her imagination to run away with her. Kit was not the only one at fault in that respect. Hatton was a gentleman, she told herself. That fact was apparent in his manner, his carriage, and his air of authority. On occasion his formal courtesy had confirmed these views.

  It had not made her soften towards him. He had shown the most ruthless disregard for the situation in which she found herself through no fault of her own. For the moment, it suited her to agree to all his plans, but that agreement would not last for ever.