Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

by Michelle Styles

  Hattie closed her eyes. It broke her heart. She wanted to gather him in her arms and tell him that it was not down to him that his mother had left, but she knew he’d refuse to believe it.

  ‘I know,’ she said miserably. ‘Mrs Reynaud wrote you letters, but never posted them. She told me.’

  ‘That woman...doesn’t deserve to be called a mother.’ His voice trembled.

  ‘That woman gave birth to you,’ Hattie said gently. She could never excuse what Mrs Reynaud had done, but she had heard Kit’s stories about his father. She suspected the truth was complicated and complex and that Mrs Reynaud knew precisely what she had lost. ‘Your mother wanted to see you. She wanted to gaze upon you and see the sort of man you’d become. She was not seeking any sort of grand reunion watched by all and sundry. I thought... It doesn’t matter what I thought.’

  ‘You never even considered me or what I might think. You were utterly thoughtless, Harriet Wilkinson. You abused my trust. You want the world to be the way you want it and life isn’t like that.’

  Hattie put her hands into the small of her back. Her heart ached like the very devil. She refused to cry. She had known what could happen, where this was leading. Somehow a little piece of her had hoped that if he saw his mother, he might have a reason to stay. Instead he would use it as a reason to go. The last thing she wanted was to seem needy. She knew the bargain they had had—a summer romance, that was all.

  ‘Very well then. We have reached that point. Summer is ended. We knew it was coming. I wish you godspeed, Sir Christopher. Forgive me if I don’t bother to see you out, but you may go the same way that you came in. I do so hate confrontations.’

  She died a little as she said the words.

  His jaw dropped. ‘No hysterics. No pleas for forgiveness or more time?’

  ‘Should there be? We both knew what this was—a summer affair. Nothing more, nothing less.’ Hattie kept her chin up. She refused to give him the satisfaction of collapsing. What did he expect—that she’d grab his ankles and beg or plead for forgiveness? Not her. She’d acted with the purest of motives. He’d warned her what he was capable of and she’d chosen to forget it.

  ‘You are not going to complain about being used?’

  ‘Why should I?’ She crossed her arms. ‘I was never one of your women, Kit. We both knew what this little piece of play-acting was all about.’

  His nostrils flared. ‘Play-acting?’

  ‘You can’t stand to have a woman leave you. You leave before your emotions are engaged because you are afraid that the woman might bolt like your mother. You set rules that dictate your actions. But you are wrong about me. I would have stayed the course. And you are wrong about your mother.’ She fumbled in her reticule and drew out the little jumping-jack. ‘Your mother asked me to give this to you. She lacked the courage at that long-ago fair. She has letters that she wants you to read. She is dying. To forgive is divine.’

  She waited for Kit to relent and to show her that he was the man she’d fallen for. That the strong principled man was not some illusion her brain had conjured up.

  ‘Will you do it for me? This one last thing?’ she whispered. ‘Visit your mother? Let her know that you care about her. I know you do.’

  The only sound she heard was the tick-tock of the mantelpiece clock, ticking away the precious illusions of her life. She had told herself so many lies—that she was immune from him, that their relationship was purely physical, that she was not going to get hurt. Silently she willed him to take it and prove himself. His fingers stretched out, but then his gaze hardened. His hand fell to his side.

  ‘I’m no longer a child, Mrs Wilkinson. I’ve grown beyond the need for toys. Thank you all the same. Perhaps one of your nieces will have a use for it.’

  He wasn’t going to do it. He was going to allow Mrs Reynaud to die without acknowledging her as his mother. A great hole opened within Hattie. She had to make one final attempt to reach the man she knew he could be.

  ‘I did it because I cared about you and what happens in your future,’ she whispered. ‘Why don’t you care enough about me to even try?’

  His mouth twisted. ‘I’m not the sort of man you should care about. I warned you of that before we began.’

  Hattie balled her fists. The scene swam before her eyes and she desperately wished her heart had remembered that. Having him here, breaking all her illusions, was far worse than finding out about what Charles thought of her, but she refused to collapse in a heap. ‘You are right. You did. We have nothing more to say to each other.’

  ‘You are asking me to go.’ He tilted his head to one side.

  Hattie clung on to the remains of her self-control. ‘I am demanding. I am sure you know the difference, Sir Christopher. Enjoy your life in London. I intend to enjoy mine here in Northumberland. Summer has ended. Irrevocably and completely.’

  ‘Never let it be said that I don’t do as a lady requests.’ He gave an elaborate bow, but his expression might as well have been carved from marble. ‘Your servant, Mrs Wilkinson.’

  Hattie kept her body upright until she heard the front door slam. At the sound she crumpled down on the floor. Moth came over and nuzzled her shoulder. Hattie gathered the little dog to her breast and rocked back and forth.

  ‘What have I done, Moth? Oh, what have I done?’

  * * *

  ‘I saw him,’ Hattie said, coming to kneel beside Mrs Reynaud’s bed early the next morning. She had called, but Mrs Reynaud’s maid said that she didn’t feel well enough to rise and she had refused to allow the doctor to be called. However, Hattie insisted on seeing Mrs Reynaud and was ushered up.

  Mrs Reynaud’s blue-veined hand grasped Hattie’s as tears glimmered in her eyes. ‘You saw him this morning? So early?’

  ‘Last night. He was waiting for me when I returned from the lecture.’ Hattie bit her lip, promising herself that she wouldn’t burst into tears all over Mrs Reynaud.

  She had volunteered for this. She could hardly confess that she considered Kit to be a different sort of person. He had turned out to be made from the same cloth as her late husband—charming but unreliable, not someone to count on. ‘I fulfilled your request and gave him the jumping-jack. He deserved to know that you regretted abandoning him. He reacted badly. He will be well on his way to London. He wasn’t the man I thought him to be.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Mrs Reynaud gently placed her hand on Hattie’s shoulder. ‘I had such hopes. I wanted... It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with you. I simply had a few misconceptions.’ Hattie gave a careful shrug. There was little point in recounting the precise details of what had happened. ‘The scales truly fell from my eyes. I realised that I was living a life full of illusions, thinking the best of people. From now on, I shall live a life full of practicality and strict cynicism.’

  Mrs Reynaud’s hand dropped from her shoulder. All the vitality fell from her, leaving her an old and helpless woman. ‘He isn’t coming. Ever. You are trying to tell me gently. I hate gentle, Hattie. I always have.’

  ‘I don’t think he will.’ Hattie forced the words from her throat.

  ‘What sort of a child can forgive their mother for that? I was wrong to hope for understanding.’ Mrs Reynaud’s bottom lip quivered. Then she gave herself a shake and continued. ‘There were so many things I wanted to tell him. I should have listened to John and stayed away. I ruined everything for you.’

  ‘There was nothing to ruin,’ Hattie admitted. ‘You must get that idea out of your head. It was a summer flirtation and now summer is over. We both knew the rules.’ Hattie forced a smile. ‘Perhaps it will make for a cautionary tale to my nieces when I can bear to speak about it.’

  ‘Last night I saw how he looked at you.’

  ‘He has his life in London. He always did. He never made a secret of it, even if for a time I chose to forget it.’ Hattie hated how the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t excusing Kit, but she had seen his unguarded expressio
n when he realised who Mrs Reynaud was. Despite everything, her heart still bled for him and what he could be. Underneath his charm, part of him remained that little boy whose mother had rejected him. ‘He has no interest in staying.’

  ‘I understand.’ Mrs Reynaud sat up straighter and tightened the shawl about her shoulders. ‘He made his own fortune, you know. Far more than my unlamented husband’s. He can be very single minded. Over the years, I have followed every single scrap of news.’

  ‘I wanted you to know and I will go now, leave you to rest.’ Hattie gripped her reticule. She wished she could offer Mrs Reynaud more comfort. She wanted to tell her that Kit was better than she thought and that he actually cared and would appear once his temper had cooled. ‘It is not good to live a life of illusions. That lesson is now etched on my heart.’

  ‘Mrs Wilkinson may know a lot of things, but she doesn’t know everything,’ a low voice said behind her. ‘She remains far too quick in judging others.’

  Hattie jumped. Half-afraid that somehow her fevered mind had conjured the voice, she could do nothing more than breathe. ‘Kit.’

  He stood in the doorway, wearing the same clothes that he’d worn last night. His eyes were sunken and his chin unshaved. Bits of bracken and twigs clung to his breeches. She had never seen him look that dishevelled or that dangerous before.

  Hattie ruthlessly suppressed the leap in her pulse. After what she’d learnt about him, she refused to be attracted to him. She was not going to suffer any more lusting after someone who could never be the person she deserved. From now on, she took charge of her life. ‘You should be on your way to London, Sir Christopher. You said you were going.’

  ‘I am no apparition, Mrs Wilkinson. I am here and not on the road to London.’

  ‘How? Why?’

  Mrs Reynaud gave a little squeak and the colour drained from her face.

  ‘Your maid let me in, Mother. I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Kit held out his hands. ‘I am here as you requested.’

  Tears flowed down Susan’s face. ‘You called me mother.’

  ‘You did give birth to me.’ Kit moved into the room, filling it. ‘Until Mrs Wilkinson gave me the jumping-jack, I had no idea you were dying. You should have informed me. You knew where I was.’

  ‘Would you have read the letter?’

  Kit shrugged. ‘As you didn’t write it, it is a moot question. But I like to think I would have without prompting. But why did you involve Mrs Wilkinson in your scheme? That was unforgivable.’

  Hattie pressed her fingers together, trying to take it in. Kit remained in Northumberland, rather than departing immediately for London. And he was calling Mrs Reynaud ‘Mother’ as if he had been saying such a thing every day of his life. She pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. ‘I volunteered.’

  Mrs Reynaud struggled to sit and a series of violent coughs racked her.

  ‘Are you dying?’ Kit asked when the coughs subsided. ‘Or has Mrs Wilkinson been exaggerating in an attempt to appeal to my better nature?’

  ‘Kit!’ Hattie cried. ‘One does not ask questions like that! Particularly not to one’s mother.’

  He raised an eyebrow. His sardonic glance raked her. ‘You are going to tell me what to say as well as what to do now?’

  The heat rose on Hattie’s cheeks. ‘I merely meant that you should not be so direct.’

  ‘I appreciate direct,’ Mrs Reynaud cackled. ‘I’m not dead yet. I hope you appreciate that Mrs Wilkinson is a good person with a sterling reputation.’

  ‘My reputation is my concern,’ Hattie said proudly, keeping her shoulders back. She was never going to ask him for anything.

  ‘Is it really you, Kit?’ The tears welled up in Mrs Reynaud’s eyes. ‘I’ve wanted to speak to you for so very long. I feared today would never come. Doctor Gormley has given me a little while yet, but my wicked past is catching up with me.’

  ‘I have come, Mother.’ He glanced about the small room. His gaze seemed to take in everything. Hattie was conscious of her old blue gown and the fact that the lace needed replacing. ‘You should have let me know earlier that you were in trouble.’

  ‘You see now why I did what I did,’ Hattie said in an undertone. ‘Your mother wanted to see you. It was important.’

  He turned to her. His face was an imperious mask. ‘I believe I have an adequate understanding of what is important.’

  ‘I will take your word for it.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you would allow me some time alone with my mother.’ His face softened. ‘Please,

  Hattie.’

  Hattie gave a helpless glance at Mrs Reynaud. She hated leaving her alone with Kit, knowing how cold and cutting he could be. Mrs Reynaud nodded. ‘I will be fine now, Hattie. You brought my son to me.’

  ‘You don’t allow him to bully you, Mrs Reynaud.’

  ‘Such an opinion of me,’ Kit said in a low tone.

  ‘You deserve it.’ Hattie did not pause as she walked through the door.

  * * *

  Kit sat with his mother quietly without saying anything. He had planned several speeches out on the moor, but no words were adequate to explain the depth of emotions which coursed through his body. This crumpled bit of humanity was his mother, the woman who had given birth to him. He tried to reconcile her with his memory of the beautiful, fascinating creature who had walked away from him all those years ago. But when he looked into her eyes, he knew and he saw something akin to love and regret.

  ‘Don’t leave me, Kit,’ she murmured. ‘Stay. I want you here.’

  ‘I’ve no intentions of going anywhere,’ Kit said, watching tears slide down her crumpled face. ‘I am determined to stay. You are my only living relative in the world. I wanted to know you wanted me. You are my mother.’

  ‘Good.’ She frowned slightly. ‘And your intentions towards Mrs Wilkinson?’

  Kit crossed over to the door and shut it firmly. ‘That is my business.’

  ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘We are here to speak about you,’ Kit said, keeping his voice calm, but making sure that his mother knew that speaking about his relationship with Harriet was forbidden. He refused to discuss his feelings for her with anyone. ‘First things first.’

  ‘She is a good woman,’ his mother persisted.

  ‘I know that!’

  ‘You hurt her deeply. Behaving in that fashion. Everyone saw you cut her.’

  Kit crossed his arms. ‘I warned her. Nothing happened that Harriet did not agree to.’

  ‘You’d be a fool to allow her to slip through your fingers. You—’

  ‘Are you going to keep telling me the obvious?’ Kit made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat.

  Susan Reynaud might be his mother, but it gave her no right to interfere in his life. His feelings for Harriet were private and very new. All he knew was that he’d never felt like this about any woman before. Harriet was more than a mistress, she was his friend. He knew he wanted her in his life.

  The worst thing about last night had been the thought that he might never hold Harriet in his arms again. She had told him to go and it was as if his heart had been torn from his chest—a feeling which had only intensified throughout the night and he knew that he had thrown away something very precious.

  The first step to winning back Hattie was to make peace with his mother. To see if Hattie was right and his mother did want him in her life. Out on the fell, he discovered that it was something he hardly dared hope for.

  His mother gave a little laugh. ‘I know that noise. It will work out. All you need to do is to go to her and explain. I believe she loves you despite your dreadful behaviour. You should marry her. I thought she might be right for you and I am never wrong in such matters.’

  ‘And my father—was he right for you?’

  ‘No, we should never have married,’ his mother said firmly. ‘My parents forced me into the marriage. I tried to run away, but they found me and dragged me to the altar. We fought wor
se than cats and dogs. You came along when the marriage was dead.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I regretted many things about that time, but I never regretted having you. I naïvely thought they’d allow me to have you. The court does not look kindly on fallen women. And then later John extracted the promise in exchange for a roof over my head. All I could hope for was that, some day, you’d come and I could tell you of my love and my longing for us to be together. Today is that day.’

  ‘You are a great believer in the power of love.’

  ‘Sometimes, it has been all I have had to believe in.’

  ‘I was waiting for you to come to me,’ Kit explained. ‘My uncle never left me any word. Until Harriet said your name at the Stagshaw fair, I had no idea what had happened to you. You vanished after my father died and that was all I knew. Then I was afraid that you’d see my father in me and would reject me.’

  ‘Oh, Christopher.’ A single tear ran down his mother’s cheek.

  Kit hung his head. ‘I was rude to you last night. It was wrong of me. You gave me life and all I could do was to treat you badly.’

  ‘We both made mistakes. Me more than most.’ She raised her hand and stroked his cheek.

  ‘Am I like my father?’ The words slipped from his throat.

  ‘In looks, maybe, but in temperament, no. He could never admit that he was wrong.’ His mother held up her hand. ‘Before you protest that I can’t possibly know, John used to read me your letters and I have followed every scrap of news about you and your exploits.’

  Kit regarded the woman who gave him life and knew that he wanted her in his life. He wanted her to play a part for the rest of her life. They both had wasted so many years.

  ‘Where are those letters you wrote, Mother? I want to read them.’

  * * *

  Hattie sat in her drawing room, stroking Moth’s head, trying to make sense of this morning. She had paused on the stairs, ready to sweep in if any pieces needed picking up, but all she had heard was the sound of silence and the click of a door.

  Her heart squeezed. She should be pleased that he came back for his mother, but it caused problems. The desire she felt for him remained strong, but whatever happened, she was not going to go back to where they were before. That much had ended. She had more respect for herself.