Meg Alexander

by The Gentlemans Demand

  ‘Why not? The boy is quick to learn and interested in everything about him. Besides, Reuben has no objection to being regarded as some kind of demi-god.’

  Sophie saw the gleam of perfect teeth, and she laughed in spite of herself. ‘I’m afraid he takes up far too much of Reuben’s time, Mr Hatton. I wonder that you allow it.’

  ‘It is no great problem at the moment,’ he replied with a dismissive gesture. ‘Now, ma’am, since your son is safely bestowed in his bed, I hope that you’ll agree to dine with me?’

  Alarm filled Sophie’s head. Had she not decided to keep Hatton at a distance? She searched her mind to think of a plausible excuse to refuse him. She could not plead a previous engagement. The very idea was ludicrous. She had no friends in the locality. Nor had she any transport.

  Hatton noticed her indecision. ‘Come, you won’t tell me that you prefer to dine alone? That is bad for the digestion, ma’am. Companionship is essential for full enjoyment—of a meal, I mean of course!’

  He was teasing her again, and to her annoyance Sophie found that she was blushing furiously.

  ‘Quite charming!’ he announced with a twinkle. ‘And rare indeed in a wife and a mother… Naturally, if you feel that you can’t trust yourself to my company I shall understand.’

  Hatton was enjoying himself and Sophie determined to give him a sharp set-down. Anything to wipe that infuriating smile from his lips.

  ‘Were we not agreed that your understanding of women is limited, sir? I shall be happy to dine with you.’

  She heard a shout of laughter.

  ‘What a fib! Unconvincing, my dear, when that look would turn a man to stone. Shall we say at seven, then?’

  Sophie could not bring herself to speak. She swept past him with her head held high.

  She reached her room to find that Abby had put away all the garments which she had intended to return, leaving out only the bronze gown.

  ‘I won’t wear that!’ she said. Her tone was sharper than she had intended and Abby looked surprised.

  ‘Why, ma’am, is something wrong with it? I thought it quite the prettiest of all.’

  Sophie saw the girl’s downcast look and was ashamed of her ill-temper. ‘You are right,’ she admitted. ‘The difficulty is that I did not order it. The garments left on the bed were to be returned. There must have been some mistake.’

  Abby’s face cleared. ‘I’d keep them if it were me,’ she told her mistress with a mischievous look. ‘Oh, ma’am, you won’t send back the fur-lined tippet? It’s fit for a queen!’

  ‘And I am not a queen, Abby.’ Sophie was strongly tempted to change into her drab black gown, but she could imagine Hatton’s reaction. He would realise at once that it was a childish attempt to annoy him. She would not give him that satisfaction.

  ‘You may bring me the blue which is buttoned to the neck,’ she said.

  Abby brightened. ‘It will go well with your brooch, Mistress Firle. My, that’s a fine piece of jewellery! Mother says that it’s high time a gentleman took care of you.’

  This remark did nothing for Sophie’s state of mind. She was almost tempted into another sharp retort, but she bit her tongue. She walked over to the wash-stand and poured some water into the basin.

  ‘Is it still hot?’ Abby asked anxiously. ‘Mr Hatton told me to bring it up for six o’clock…’

  ‘Did he, indeed?’ Sophie’s feelings threatened to overcome her. She washed and dressed quickly. She had had more than enough of Hatton’s arrogance. This evening she would make it clear that she would brook no further interference.

  He needed her to help him carry out his plans. He had made that clear enough. She was beginning to suspect that his threats to turn her out were simply an attempt to ensure her co-operation. Now she sensed that he would never do so.

  She couldn’t quite decide why she felt so certain of that fact, but tonight she would test out her belief. The challenge excited her and she made her way to his private parlour relishing the battle of wills ahead.

  He was standing by the fireplace, but he turned as she entered the room, immaculate as always in a well-cut coat of the finest broadcloth, snowy linen and tight pantaloons with gleaming Hessian boots pulled over them. He had an excellent leg for the prevailing fashions, she noted grudgingly.

  Sophie walked towards him with a smile which would have graced a crocodile, and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘You are in looks tonight, Mistress Firle. Is this one of Madame Arouet’s gowns?’

  ‘It is.’ Sophie’s smile did not waver.

  Hatton bowed. ‘It is most becoming. The woman is a genius. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I do, but sadly, her accounting system leaves much to be desired. I had not ordered more than one half of the goods which I received.’

  ‘Really? Perhaps it is no great matter, ma’am. Can you make use of them?’

  ‘Possibly…if I could afford them. Mr Hatton, please don’t try to gammon me. This is your doing, is it not?’

  ‘I may have suggested a few additions…’

  ‘You had no right to do so. I won’t accept them, sir!’

  ‘Very well then, send them back!’ he said indifferently. ‘It does not matter to me.’

  Sophie was nonplussed. She had expected a fierce argument.

  ‘On the other hand, you could pay me for them when this sorry business is ended,’ he continued smoothly. ‘You may find them useful at some later date.’

  ‘Possibly!’

  He had cut the ground from under Sophie’s feet and she knew it. She ground her teeth in frustration. It was impossible to get the better of him.

  Now he looked up with pleased anticipation as Abby entered the room bearing a tray. He seated Sophie at the table with his usual formality, and favoured Abby with a smile.

  ‘I’m starving!’ he announced. ‘What does your mother offer us this evening?’

  ‘Dressed lobster, sir. It was brought up from the coast today. Mistress Firle will enjoy it—it’s one of her favourites.’

  ‘Your mother spoils us, Abby, with gourmet foods. How can she top that?’

  ‘You are to have broiled fowl with mushrooms, Mr Hatton, and then a Celerata cream.’

  ‘No apple pie?’

  Abby looked confused. ‘We finished it off,’ she said timidly. ‘The men were that hungry, but Mother will make another for you if you wish it.’

  ‘No, you shall not worry her. Let us enjoy the Celerata cream, possibly with some cheese to follow. With that I shall hope to survive till morning.’

  As Abby scurried from the room, Sophie gave him a look of reproach.

  ‘You must not tease her, Mr Hatton. Now she will go back to the kitchen and tell Bess that you are not satisfied with your meal.’

  ‘I doubt that, ma’am. Bess knows that I appreciate her cooking. I have been at some pains to get her on my side, you know.’

  ‘I wonder that you bothered.’

  ‘I had my reasons. Bess’s opinion goes for much among the servants. I’m relying on her to back up my cover story. I wish her to consider me a suitable candidate for your hand…’

  ‘You ask too much of her, Mr Hatton. With your lack of concern for the properties, it may have escaped your notice that a recent widow would be in mourning for at least a year. Most certainly no lady in that situation would think of offering encouragement to another man…however charming.’ She gave him a smile which would have frozen daffodils.

  Hatton grinned at her. ‘Compliments, ma’am? That is a pleasant change. At the risk of causing you some distress, I should inform you that Bess had no time for your late husband. She will not find it strange that you would seek for happiness so soon.’

  Sophie glared at him. ‘Have you been gossiping behind my back, and with the servants too?’

  ‘No, I have not! My information comes from Reuben. Bess does not speak out in front of Kit, of course, but when the child is absent she makes no secret of her opinions. She feels that you were cheated by a man u
nworthy of you.’

  ‘Richard’s behaviour was none of her concern,’ Sophie replied stiffly.

  ‘You are mistaken, Mistress Firle. Your servants are fond of you. They did not care to see you duped. You were kept in ignorance of much that was happening here.’

  ‘Then why did they not tell me?’

  ‘Would you have believed them? Loyalty alone would have prevented it, and you say yourself that you will not listen to gossip.’

  Sophie was silent.

  ‘Or was it loyalty?’ he continued inexorably. ‘I find it astonishing that you did not question your husband’s frequent absences, or the reasons for his tolerance of a clientele too dangerous for you to meet them.’

  ‘He did not say that they were dangerous,’ she replied. ‘Just that they were rough and noisy.’

  ‘You have not answered my question, ma’am. Perhaps you did not care to know the answer…?’

  ‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘You shall not blacken his name. He was your own man, after all. I had thought you must be proud of him. He died in a worthy cause.’

  ‘Your loyalty to a man you did not love is admirable, my dear, but it is misplaced. It is high time you knew the truth. Firle was a double agent.’

  Sophie stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she whispered.

  ‘Then let me explain. He fed us a certain amount of information, most of it useless. However, the information he supplied to his friends was of great value to them. They were warned well in advance of possible seizures, or a long-planned ambush at their landing beaches.’

  Sophie felt that her throat had closed. It was almost impossible to breathe. She shut her eyes as the full implications of his words came home to her.

  ‘You can’t mean it!’ she whispered at last. ‘Do you tell me that he was working with the smugglers?’

  ‘Beyond a doubt, ma’am. For a time we could not understand why our most secret plans appeared to be known to them. It became clear that we had an informer in our midst. The trail led to your husband.’

  ‘I can’t believe it! You must be mistaken. Why, that would mean that he was privy to the deaths of some of your own men…his friends…’

  Hatton said nothing.

  ‘I can’t accept that you are right,’ Sophie said more firmly. ‘What possible reason could he have for agreeing to such a betrayal?’

  A grim smile crossed her companion’s face. ‘Money, Mistress Firle! His share of the trade would have been substantial, but he must have realised that fortunes were being made by the men who backed the smugglers. I suspect that he tried to blackmail them, and in doing so he signed his own death warrant. They would not have hesitated to remove the danger.’

  ‘But Richard had no money. We had no carriage and we lived so sparingly…’ Then Sophie remembered the huge sum she had found in Richard’s desk, and her face clouded.

  ‘Yes?’ Hatton prompted.

  ‘Why would he need so much?’ she pleaded. ‘I did not ask for it.’

  Her pitiful expression wrenched at Hatton’s heart. The girl had courage, but she had borne enough. He would not explain that a womaniser such as Richard Firle would need bottomless pockets to keep his birds of paradise in luxury.

  ‘Perhaps we shall never know,’ he told her gently. ‘It may be that he hoped to save enough to take you and Kit away from here.’

  Tears gleamed upon her lashes, but she shook her head.

  ‘You don’t believe that, and nor do I. You said that I did not love him. That is true, but I thought I loved him once, and I thought he loved me. I soon learned the truth of it. My father was right. Richard was a fortune-hunter. When my father cast me off he had no further use for me.’ She bent her head, but Hatton cupped her chin in his huge hand and forced her to look up at him.

  ‘Don’t fail me now!’ he urged. ‘You have your son to think about, remember?’ He strode over to the bell-pull and summoned Abby. Then he took Sophie’s hands and drew her to her feet.

  ‘Can I persuade you to sit upon my lap, my dear? I feel that Abby needs convincing of my ardour.’

  Sophie was too shocked by his revelations to put up much resistance. It was oddly comforting to feel his massive arms about her, but it was also embarrassing.

  ‘There is no need, I’m sure…’ she said half-heartedly.

  Hatton settled her more comfortably. ‘This is no hardship, ma’am. Of that I can assure you.’

  Chapter Seven

  As Sophie lay inert within his arms, Hatton showed no disposition to release her, even when Abby had left the room.

  She was very pale, and he looked down at her in some concern, aware that she was trembling uncontrollably. He picked her up and moved closer to the fire.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘My apologies, ma’am. Perhaps I should not have told you of your husband’s perfidy.’

  ‘I prefer to know the truth,’ she whispered through chattering teeth. ‘It’s just that I seem to be so very cold.’

  ‘That is shock, my dear.’ He reached out a long arm to the tray on the table beside him and poured her a glass of brandy. ‘Drink this! I know you hate the taste, but it will warm you.’

  Obediently, she sipped at the fiery spirit. As it coursed through her body she began to regain some semblance of composure. For a time she had seemed to lose all power of thought, but now her mind was racing. Her son was her first concern.

  ‘Kit must not know of this. Please, I beg that you will never tell him.’

  Hatton’s lips tightened. ‘Nothing was further from my mind,’ he said abruptly. ‘No child should carry such a burden.’

  Sophie nodded. Then she remembered Nancy. If the girl should ever learn that it was Richard who had betrayed his colleagues…

  She shuddered as she recalled the hatred in the girl’s eyes. Revenge was an obsession with Nancy, and who knew where her vengeance might fall? Kit would be an easy victim.

  Hatton held her closer, chafing her hands in an effort to warm them. ‘What is it?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I was thinking of Nancy. Does she know of any of this?’

  ‘Of course not. Why do you ask?’

  ‘She might harm Kit if she should ever learn that his father was the cause of her husband’s murder. I fear that she is unbalanced.’

  ‘How could she hear of it? No one in this household knows, apart from you and myself.’

  Suddenly, Sophie became aware that she was resting comfortably against Hatton’s massive chest. She coloured deeply as she attempted to struggle to her feet. He made no attempt to stop her.

  ‘Better now?’ he enquired.

  ‘Thank you. I do feel warmer…’ She managed a wavering smile as she took the opposite chair. ‘It must be the brandy, I imagine. Is it your answer to all ills?’

  ‘Only to some of them.’ The hooded eyes regarded her intently. ‘You have my admiration, ma’am—’

  ‘Oh—why is that?’

  ‘You are honest, Mistress Firle, especially with yourself. You do not seek to play the part of the grieving widow.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she told him simply. ‘I won’t pretend to grief because I have lost my love. Richard was no longer that. Yet I do grieve in another way, for a life cut short by evil men. My son has lost his father, and Richard, whatever his failings, was our sole support. For that, at least, I must be thankful.’

  ‘You are generous, ma’am.’ Hatton’s admiration grew. This gently nurtured girl had paid dearly for her one mistake in marrying Richard Firle. He could only guess at her agonies of mind when she realized that fact. The years must have worn away at her hopes, her dreams, her confidence and her faith in her fellow human-beings, but none of it had crushed her.

  ‘You don’t regret your marriage, then?’ He was surprised at his own need to hear her reply, though he knew the answer before she spoke.

  Sophie gave him a radiant smile. ‘Of course not! I have Kit…’

  Hatton turned away. Her courage shamed him. He was beginning to regret ev
er having considered drawing her into his plans. She had done nothing to deserve it. There must have been some other way to gain his ends without the need to involve this girl and her young son in such danger.

  He was under no illusions. Sophie’s life and that of the boy could be snuffed out like candles in the wind if anything went wrong. Only days ago he had thought the price worth paying. Now he knew that it was not. The realisation hit him hard. Hatton was no fool. He knew that he was growing dangerously fond of both Sophie and her son.

  The knowledge shook him badly. It could put all his plans at risk. His expression was carefully controlled when he turned back to her.

  ‘Will you open the inn tomorrow, Mistress Firle?’ he asked. ‘You have everything you need?’

  ‘I believe so. We are well stocked, though I can’t imagine that in the depths of winter we shall have much trade.’

  ‘Then we must try to encourage it. Lamps in all the windows to offer a welcome to the traveller, and roaring fires. Bess may possibly wish to do some cooking…. There is nothing like the smell of fresh-baked bread, or the prospect of a juicy roast…’

  Sophie shook her head at him. ‘Mr Hatton, you are an optimist. Sometimes in the past we have gone for weeks without a single customer. I cannot think that it will change.’

  Sophie was wrong. By noon on the following day she was surprised to hear the sound of carriage wheels. Glancing through the window, she saw six young men striding towards her door.

  Hurrying down the stairs, she moved to greet them, warmed by the admiration in their eyes. Clearly her bronze gown was a great success.

  ‘Gentlemen, what may we do for you?’

  ‘Why, ma’am, we are in need of sustenance. The drive from Brighton has given us an appetite. What can you offer us?’

  The man who spoke was in his early twenties. Tall and dark, he reminded her of someone, though she could not think why.

  Sophie recited the menu quickly and was vastly amused when her customers ordered everything from soup through turbot to chicken, ham and mutton. She doubted if they would be able to eat one half of it, but she hadn’t reckoned on a young man’s hearty appetite. The food vanished like snow in summer. Then her customers set about Bess’s apple pie with evident enjoyment.