Mrs Reynaud made an impatient noise. ‘Stop using them as shields to stop you from living. You are as bad as a foolish débutante who believes that a man’s promise in a summer house offers a life of undying romance.’
‘The heat of the moment overcame me, but I recovered before any real harm was done. He accepted my verdict.’ Hattie pressed her hand into her stomach. Even a day later, the intensity of the final kiss made her senses reel. She had been so close to giving in completely. And she knew the next time she kissed Kit, she’d lack the will-power to stop. A very large part of her had wanted to drown in that kiss and blot out any memory of Charles’s rough love-making. And she worried that it made her very wicked indeed, whatever Mrs Reynaud might say.
‘As you say, it is all over. Then no harm is done.’ Mrs Reynaud came over to her and put her hand on Hattie’s shoulder. ‘In my experience with men like Sir Christopher, they wish to be the one to end things. Formally. Informally is quite another matter.’
‘This time it will be different,’ Hattie said decisively as she gave Mrs Reynaud a copy of the letter. ‘I was very firm and unyielding.’
‘And you are prepared for the consequences, my dear?’ Mrs Reynaud handed the letter back to Hattie. ‘If Sir Christopher is half the man I have heard him to be, he will not give up at the first hurdle. He will see your letter as a challenge, an invitation to raise the stakes.’
‘A challenge?’ A pulse of warmth went through Hattie. ‘You’re wrong. He will see the logic of my argument. After all, it is not as if it were a serious flirtation.’
* * *
Kit tapped the note with his forefinger. The various scrawled words leapt out at him. Faint aromas of Hattie’s jasmine scent permeated the paper and forcibly reminded him of how her lips had yielded. How she had forgot herself and given in to the passion for a moment.
Hattie had put her case for breaking with him in flowery language which did not detail the situation. She regretted that they were incompatible and that the picnic had proved a great trial. From now, they would have to be distant friends.
‘Liar,’ he whispered. ‘All a quarrel means is a chance to become closer. You want this friendship. And I’m going to prove it to you. I do not quit over a simple misunderstanding. Or a baseless fear.’
Kit held Hattie’s note over a candle and watched it smoulder and burn to ash. Over? It wasn’t over until he ended it. He made a point of it. No woman had left him since Constance and she had begged in the end to return.
He paused. Hattie wasn’t like any woman he’d been involved with before.
It didn’t matter. He refused to allow Hattie to end it on such a slim pretext. No woman had ever written to him like that. And Hattie certainly had not kissed him like they would not suit. He had allowed her a chance to raise her drawbridges and retreat. But retreat was not for ever. The next stage needed to begin. Today, before she had a chance to think.
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ Johnson, his valet, appeared in the doorway.
‘I find I require my evening clothes after all today.’
‘You are going out?’
‘The musicale in celebration of Waterloo awaits.’
‘Sir?’ Johnson struggled to keep his face blank. ‘You loathe such things. Tuneless playing.’
‘I shall go and enjoy myself. Where was that note from Mrs Parteger? After all, I do have an invitation. A seat has been saved.’
* * *
‘You were wrong to send that letter discarding Sir Christopher.’ Stephanie sank down next to Hattie in a flurry of feathers and ruffles.
‘This is not the time to discuss it, Stephanie,’ Hattie said through clenched teeth. She had to wonder how much Stephanie knew of the contents. ‘The concert to celebrate the deliverance from Napoleon is about to begin.’
‘You always do such things to me. At least this time, hopefully I learnt about it early enough.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh dear!’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Stephanie.’ Hattie slid towards the vacant chair on her right. Stephanie’s feathered turban kept tickling her nose. The last thing she needed now was a frank-and-public discussion about her severing relations with Kit. ‘What is the problem?’
‘Maria Richley has waylaid Sir Christopher.’
Hattie fought against the inclination to turn her head. She had counted on Kit not appearing at this concert. ‘Really? I wish her the joy of it.’
‘I feel certain that the Widow Richley will not squander any opportunity. No...hush.’ Stephanie laid a proprietary hand on Hattie’s arm. ‘All might not be lost, Hattie. Be civil if he approaches.’
‘You are making it seem like I am younger than Portia.’
A trill of laughter cut through the musician’s tuning. Hattie turned her head. Maria Richley clung to Kit’s arm as if she were drowning. Over the heads of the other concertgoers, Kit nodded directly at her. A sardonic smile curled on his lips. He leant down and said something to Maria Richley, which sent the woman into further peals of laughter.
Hattie forced her eyes forwards. She crumpled the music programme in her hand. It was none of her business if he chose to enjoy Maria Richley’s favours. All it did was to confirm that she’d been correct in the first place. That man was trouble.
Only she wished that he had not stood quite so close to Maria Richley.
Her view was suddenly obscured by a large expanse of black broad cloth.
‘Mrs Parteger, Mrs Wilkinson...if I may squeeze in? You have a free seat, I believe.’
Hattie shrank in her seat. She was now going to have to spend several hours trapped between Stephanie’s headdress and the vicar, Dr Hornby’s, bulk. The perfect way to spend an evening. No doubt Kit would have secured a place with plenty of space for Maria Richley.
‘Doctor Hornby.’
‘Your sister said that you would be here, Mrs Wilkinson. How delightful to see you again.’ Doctor Hornby gave a jowly smile. ‘I’m looking forward to the planned lecture series now that it is finally settled. You will come to my lecture on the problems of mapping the Holy Places in two weeks’ time?’
Murder, Hattie decided, was too humane a punishment for Stephanie. She needed to be tortured slowly. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘My dear Mrs Wilkinson, you do me such honour.’ Doctor Hornby made a grab for her hand and froze. His face became a mottled purple.
‘Are you well, Dr Hornby?’
‘Perfectly fine. I must leave you ladies.’
Hattie had half-turned and saw Kit glowering. He gave her a cold nod. ‘As long as you are certain.’
‘On second thoughts, I do believe Miss Gormley has saved me a seat. I would hate to disappoint her.’
‘I understand completely.’
Hattie drew in a breath of air and concentrated on steadying her pulse. She resisted the urge to turn around and see Kit’s reaction. They were finished, and she was not going to be kissed again. Ever. The thought made her unbearably sad.
‘If you will excuse me...I believe this is my seat.’ Kit pushed passed her and sat down in the chair Dr Hornby had just vacated.
‘I hadn’t realised it was spoken for.’
‘It was.’ He turned his back on her. ‘Mrs Parteger saved it for me.’
Stephanie developed a sudden interest in her programme and ignored Hattie’s sudden jab to her side.
* * *
Hattie spent the entire concert busily trying to ignore his very existence. And failing. She rejected a number of possible conversation topics but finally settled on a polite discussion of music. She’d demonstrate to Stephanie and Kit that she bore no ill feeling. The remainder of the concert was spent in happy contemplation of what she would say.
* * *
When the concert was over, he stood up.
‘It has been a pleasure, Mrs Wilkinson, Mrs Parteger.’
Before Hattie could utter another word, he was gone.
‘You could have done more, Hattie. I am highly disapp
ointed in you.’
‘He nearly cut me dead.’
‘You were the one to send the letter. Ill timed and ill advised. I was attempting to mend bridges. Sir Christopher is a neighbour.’
He’d only sat with her to prove a point. Stephanie in her misguided way had given him an opportunity. Hattie narrowed her eyes. ‘If you ever do that again, Stephanie, I will create a scene and, more than that, a scandal. How would you like me to be embroiled in a scandal?’
‘Some people are entirely too touchy.’ Stephanie gave a loud sniff. ‘Very well, you will hear no more from me on the subject. I entirely wash my hands of you, Harriet Wilkinson. I hope you enjoy your widow’s bed.’
‘I find it utterly comfortable. Far better than my marriage bed,’ she muttered under her breath.
* * *
‘Aunt Hattie, it is his carriage. I know it is,’ Livvy breathed when Hattie turned the governess cart into the Corbridge High Street the morning after the concert.
‘Whose carriage?’ Hattie asked absently as she brought the cart to a halt outside the ironmonger’s. Her dreams had been confused last night after the concert. Twice she had woken with her mind full of thoughts of Kit and the way his lips had moved over hers. She should have said something before he left. It was quite possible he considered that she had a part in that saving of a seat débâcle. She couldn’t decide which was worse—Stephanie’s behaviour or the fact she had been supremely aware of him.
Today was a day for concentrating on the jobs that needed to be done before the Stagshaw Bank Fair, rather than considering what might have been. Once the fair was over, he’d depart the neighbourhood and she would not have a constant reminder. She could get over this attraction.
‘Whose carriage, Livvy?’
‘Sir Christopher’s, of course!’
Hattie ignored the sudden fluttering in her stomach. She had made the correct decision. She’d no other choice. Any lady would have done the same thing. ‘I wasn’t aware that you ever paid much attention to carriages.’
‘It has butter-yellow wheels and is quite new. Mr Hook told me all about it. Sir Christopher purchased it once they arrived in Newcastle by packet boat.’
‘Other carriages have butter-yellow wheels,’ Hattie said, more to control her own sudden onset of nerves than Livvy’s. After the concert where he’d barely spoken to her, she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.
Livvy kicked the board under her seat. ‘Can I go to the circulating library?’
‘May I. Where are your manners today, Livvy?’
‘May I go? Portia, you will come with me.’ Livvy grabbed her sister’s arm. ‘Aunt Hattie, surely you can’t object if I have a companion. I wish to improve my mind.’
Portia gave an indignant squeak.
Hattie pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I thought you wanted to go to the haberdasher’s for more ribbon.’
‘I can do that after. Please. I want to see if the latest by the author of Waverley is there. And Papa wants a book on animal husbandry. He wants to settle an argument with Colonel Cunningham. I will catch you up in the haberdasher’s.’
Hattie gave a weary wave. It would make life easier if neither Livvy nor Portia accompanied her on her errands, particularly when she needed to find out if indeed the firebox for Mrs Belter’s cook stove could be repaired as Mr Ogle had promised weeks ago or if she’d be better investigating the range of stoves at the Stagshaw fair for Mrs Belter. The fair did represent an opportunity to buy a wider range of goods than were generally available in the Tyne Valley.
She watched the pair for a few steps and decided that they would be all right. Livvy could not get up to any mischief at the circulating library and the probability that Mr Hook was actually there was slim. The back of her neck crept. The last person she wanted to encounter was Kit and if Mr Hook was in the library, Kit would not be far behind. And she certainly did not want to explain about the concert.
She stepped into the ironmonger’s and collided with a solid expanse of chest. Hattie inhaled the sandalwood scent. Strong fingers caught her elbow and steadied her.
She hurriedly took a step backwards out of the shop. She ducked her head, hoping that he wouldn’t see her flaming cheeks. ‘Sir Christopher. This is most unexpected.’
‘Mrs Wilkinson.’
Hattie shifted in her boots. Of all the people! This time she refused to be cut. ‘I wanted to make sure Mr Ogle had finished a job for me.’
‘It is your habit to enter establishments without checking to see if anyone is coming out?’ His grey eyes danced.
Her heart did a little flip. He wasn’t angry with her. He was flirting with her as if the breach never happened.
‘Yes, I mean, no. I was thinking of other things.’
‘Obviously of great import.’
‘Domestic triviality.’ She squared her shoulders. This encounter would not throw her off balance. She had made her decision, but it did not prevent her from being civil. ‘You understand how it is.’
‘Wool-gathering,’ he said decisively. A smile tugged at his lips. ‘It is a bad habit. You neglected me dreadfully during the concert.’
‘You left straight after the concert.’ She pulled at her gloves, straightening the fingers. ‘I wanted to thank you for rescuing me.’
‘Rescuing you?’
‘From Dr Hornby. He can be difficult to sit next to.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘It was my seat. Your sister signalled to me when I came in, I thought you knew.’
‘Obviously I was mistaken.’ Hattie picked at the seam of her glove. She wished she had thought of that scenario. She should have guessed something like that had happened. Stephanie could be singularly stubborn. ‘Despite my best efforts, my sister harbours hopes.’
‘If he bothers you again, let me know. Simply being the vicar does not give him the right to touch people.’
Hattie glanced up quickly. ‘You saw that.’
‘I happened to look over. Even if it had not been my seat, I would have done something.’
‘You would have?’
‘You are the only true friend I have in the neighbourhood.’
‘You plan on staying in the neighbourhood?’ Hattie
gripped her reticule tighter. He was going to stay for longer. A mixture of fear and excitement vibrated through her. She would have to see him again and again, but on what terms? Friendship was the only sensible course. She had to think about safeguarding her reputation.
‘I am undecided about what to do with the Lodge.’ The tone in his voice seemed to indicate something troubled him more than the Lodge.
‘And will you be doing up your tenants’ houses?’ Hattie asked, trying to steer the conversation away from their friendship.
‘They appear to be in good order. My uncle may not have cared for his own comforts, but he did make sure that his tenants all had a roof over their heads.’ Kit drew himself up to his full height. ‘I do employ the same estate manager. No one has been to me with complaints about him.’
She thought about Mrs Reynaud and how she had mentioned him. It would be the perfect opportunity for them to renew their acquaintance. ‘Perhaps your tenants might like to meet you. People like the personal touch rather than being treated like a component in one of those new-fangled machines. You hardly want to be considered aloof.’
He quirked his eyebrow. ‘Are you seeking to teach me my duty now, Mrs Wilkinson?’
‘No. It was merely a suggestion. I believe they feared you would never arrive.’
‘Sir Christopher, there you are.’ A trilling voice called behind Hattie. ‘Mama and I thought we had lost you. I should be most distressed if that happened.’
Miss Dent and Maria Richley. How many other women after that? Hattie ground her teeth. Had he lied when he said that he only pursued one woman at a time? Kit knew what he was on about. She shouldn’t have to spell out how tenacious the Dents could be. He had the perfect right to see anyone he wanted.
�
�Miss Dent, I was endeavouring to follow, but circumstances dictated otherwise. Please go on to our arrangement. I will follow you shortly.’ He inclined his head. ‘You must excuse me, Mrs Wilkinson. We must continue this highly interesting conversation some other time. I did promise Miss Dent that I would join her father for a cup of coffee in the Reading Room. He apparently knows a good joiner and the staircase at the Lodge will have to be replaced.’
Hattie kept her head up. It was not as if she had any claim on him. She had made her choice the other day. And if anything, her encounter showed that she was wrong to suspect his hand in Dr Hornby’s odd behaviour.
‘You are busy, you should have said. The social whirl surrounding this year’s fair has been phenomenal. I’ve no wish to keep you...from your duties.’
‘I’m never too busy to speak with a friend.’
‘I thought...’ She attempted to focus on the coal scuttles, grates and variety that adorned the walls of the ironmonger’s rather than on Kit’s face.
‘We remain friends.’ There was no mistaking the finality in Kit’s voice. ‘We may have quarrelled, but it is settled now. What is friendship without quarrels? Life would be very dull indeed.’
The air rushed out of her lungs. He was determined to ignore her letter. It shouldn’t make her heart feel so light, but it did. ‘Yes...yes, of course.’
His smile brought sunshine into the gloom of the ironmonger’s. She wasn’t going to ask for more than he could give. She knew what he was. He was precisely the same as Charles and if she ever forgot that for a moment, she’d lose her way. She was not going to be betrayed like that again. ‘I knew you’d see it my way.’ His smile increased as he rocked back on his heels. ‘I burnt your letter. It held little of value.’
‘You burnt it? Did you even read it?’
Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match Page 8
