Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12 - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 19

A cold wet nose snuffled into Kit’s shoulder, waking him from a sound sleep. He started, turned his head and saw Moth’s brown eyes peering at him and Hattie. The summer house had sunk deep into twilight’s shadow. Hattie’s bottom curved into him and her hair spilled out across the both of them. Kit found it difficult to remember the last time he had felt this contented or relaxed.

Normally after a spot of bed-sport, he was full of energy and found the first excuse he could to leave. This time, he’d stayed, fallen asleep and now they had to face the possibility of discovery. And it was his responsibility.

‘Harriet,’ Kit murmured, his breath caressing her ear. The last thing he wanted was her to be startled and scream. ‘Moth’s here.’

Hattie mumbled slightly in her sleep, pushing him away. They had made love twice more after the first time. Her passion and inventiveness had surprised and delighted him. One time was not nearly enough. He wanted to explore her hidden depths. He wanted to catch her cry in his throat as she trembled on the brink of passion. And now she slept.

Moth sat down and gave a sharp bark before licking Kit’s shoulder. There was an urgency to the little dog’s movements.

‘I understand, Moth. We have to move. Your mistress needs the veil of propriety.’

He shook Hattie’s shoulder. Harder. ‘Hattie. Time to wake up.’

Her eyes blinked open. He smiled down at her and she jumped. Startled. Kit clasped his hand over her mouth, stifling the cry.

‘Quiet now.’

She gave a brief nod and he removed his hand.

‘It wasn’t a dream?’

‘No dream. A much-desired reality.’

She sat up, moving away from the safety of his arms. Her blonde hair fell wildly about her shoulders, providing a soft veil over her chest. She wrapped her arms about her waist and turned her back towards him.

‘It was wrong of me to fall asleep.’

‘It happened.’

Moth immediately went to her and rubbed her head against Hattie. ‘I didn’t mean to sleep. I only intended to close my eyes for a moment.’

‘Now Moth is here. Will anyone else be looking for you?’ Kit pulled his trousers on and reached for his shirt, trying not to think about the consequences if they were caught. He would have to do the decent thing, but right now he prayed to anyone who might be listening that it would not happen.

‘She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not for a long while. Mrs Hampstead was going to stay at Stephanie’s for a couple of hours.’ Hattie scooped the little dog up and held her against her chest. Moth endured it with a scrunched-up face before wriggling to escape. ‘I only meant to close my eyes for a moment. I must have drifted off. Goodness, how long were we there?’

‘It happens after vigorous activity.’

‘That is one explanation. How … how long did we sleep?’

He gestured towards the garden where the shadows were deep, but the darkness had not really begun. The last rays of the sun remained red-orange. ‘It remains twilight. Barely any time.’

‘Twilight comes much later in Northumberland. At this time of year, it never gets properly dark.’ She stuffed her fist into her mouth. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘It is up to you. Your house. Your rules. Panic never solves anything. Keep a cool head.’

He reached down and retrieved the crumpled gown from where he’d tossed it earlier and handed it to her. She wrinkled her nose as she examined the now highly creased gown.

‘It looks precisely like what has happened to it.’

‘It could be worse. It isn’t grass-stained or torn,’ he said, trying to be encouraging. ‘Will Mrs Hampstead come out into the garden, looking for you?’

She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I hadn’t considered it. I told Mrs Hampstead that I might take a turn about the garden before bed. It will have to do as an excuse. Do you think she will accept the excuse?’

‘It happened.’ Kit caught Hattie’s elbow and turned her towards him. Her eyes were wide with fright and panic. He gently lifted her chin so he was looking directly at her. ‘I’m glad it did. It was delightful to wake up in your arms.’

She turned rosy in the dying sun. It pleased Kit that even after everything they had done, she remained innocent.

Her frantic hands tried to twist up her hair and singularly failed. ‘Thankfully it was only Moth. I suspect Mrs Hampstead would have fainted. And it doesn’t bear thinking about if it was Portia or Stephanie. I meant what I said, Kit. I have no plans to marry again. This must be a summer romance.’

Kit experienced an unexpected pang of regret that it was not either of them. It would have solved a problem. He knew with Hattie that he would do the honourable thing, if it came to it. It surprised and slightly unnerved him. He had never experienced regret like that before.

Kit pushed the thought away immediately.

He had no need of a wife, even one like Hattie. He had to keep perspective. Like him, she had no desire to stick her head in the parson’s noose. Their affair would last for the summer, no longer.

He was in no hurry for autumn, but some day Hattie would get possessive and throw a tantrum as so many of his mistresses had done before he’d learnt. Time limits at the start saved heartache at the end.

Far better to cause a little hurt than to experience the great searing pain of one’s heart breaking or having her discover that he was actually like his father—cruel and unlovable.

‘Until the summer’s end, then,’ he remarked when he was certain he had his feelings under control. ‘Unless you have regrets?’

‘It is far too late for regrets. Far too late.’

He released his breath. ‘You can only regret things you haven’t done.’

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her hands pausing in their task. It was all Kit could do to keep from hauling her back into his arms. Instead he bent and picked up several of the scattered hairpins and held them out to her. She smiled her thanks.

‘And I enjoyed myself far too much,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever happens, thank you for that. I thought it was me, but it wasn’t. I know now why people are so fond of the act.’

‘The person matters more than the act.’

‘Thank you for saying that.’

He reached out and straightened the folds of her gown. Once again she appeared prim and proper, reminding him of the night they had first encountered each other. He had what he wanted from her then, but it did not matter. This was not about teaching her a lesson in love. He desired her and her alone.

‘You look well kissed,’ he said, lightly touching her cheek.

She dipped her head. ‘I shall take that as a compliment. But Mrs Hampstead will refrain from enquiring. I will tell her that I was gathering late roses and dropped off in the summer house.’

‘Second thoughts? I thought you were determined to carve a new life for yourself.’

She worried her bottom lip. ‘Because it is far too new and I have no wish for speculation. I’ve no wish to force you to do something you might regret.’

‘Allow me to look after myself.’

‘I knew I could count on you.’ She gave a few final twists to her hair and patted the side of her gown, signalling to Moth to follow. ‘Until the next time, Kit.’

‘I look forward to it.’ Kit knew that any further meeting had to come from her. If he pursued, it would look like he cared. And he wasn’t ready for that. ‘And, Harriet …?’

‘Yes, Kit?’

He smiled at her, enjoying the way her gown accentuated her curves. ‘Make it soon.’

‘I will try my level best.’

She clicked her fingers and Moth trotted along behind her. Kit watched until she had gone into the house and lit a lamp in the drawing room. He saw her speaking to Mrs Hampstead and laughing. She was safely back in her world without a stain on her character. He’d kept his word.

Kit leant against the doorway and closed his eyes.

‘I wish you had come to dinner at the Dents. Doctor Hornby was there and everyone wanted to hear about your exploits. You are quite the heroine,’ Stephanie said when Hattie stopped by Highfield the next morning.

In the depth of the night, Hattie had resolved to continue about her routine as if nothing had happened. She had determined that today would be making jam and doing things about the still room. She found making the preserves, flavoured vinegars and chutneys ultimately satisfying. She had discovered a real talent for the enterprise when she came up to Northumberland. Her elderflower cordial might be prone to exploding, but she knew her damson gin was some of the best in the county.

Above all, she wanted to avoid visiting, in particular seeing Mrs Reynaud. If anyone was going to guess about the affair, Mrs Reynaud was the most likely candidate. Her eyes were so sharp. She’d even guessed about the kiss at the Roman ruins. And everything was far too new and precious. Hattie needed to decide if she wanted anyone else to know, but for now she wanted to hug the news to her chest like some glorious secret.

‘I take it that Sir Christopher and Mr Hook were absent?’

‘Obviously.’ Stephanie rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘A fight like that is not something you simply get up and walk away from. Mrs Dent agrees that you were reckless, but did what you did out of pure Christian spirit. If your reputation wasn’t so spotless, questions might be asked, but you have been on the shelf for so long, there is little danger of anything untoward happening.’

‘I don’t very much care what Mrs Dent thinks.’ Hattie crossed her arms. On the shelf, indeed! ‘She has a mouth like the Tyne and speaks before she thinks.’

‘Hattie, what has got into you today?’ Stephanie frowned. ‘You are not usually rude. Of course you care about what Mrs Dent thinks. She is our close neighbour and a powerful force in Tyne Valley society.’

‘She is looking to marry off her eldest daughter.’

‘Livvy is more than a match for her.’ Stephanie tapped a forefinger against her mouth. ‘Come to think of it, Mrs Dent was awfully curious about Mr Hook and his habits. She has heard about the proposed lecture.’

‘I thought you were not interested in Mr Hook for Livvy. Livvy must have a title and all that.’

‘Mr Hook has asked Mr Parteger if he will help with the final preparation. Mr Parteger is reluctant. There is no good encouraging him, Mr Parteger says, as there is no title.’

Hattie leant forwards. She had been racking her brain all morning as she picked strawberries about how she could go about contacting Kit and the answer lay before her—the lecture preparations. ‘But it was your scheme.’

Stephanie heaved a long drawn-out sigh. ‘I swear my husband does not appreciate any of my schemes. I have had to ask the Colonel.’

Hattie glanced over to the firmly closed library door. ‘I believe he likes a bit of peace, Stephanie. He doesn’t see the same urgency as you and he has never been terribly social.’

‘You know I was pregnant with Livvy when I was just a bit older than her. It scarcely seems possible.’ Stephanie put her hand on her stomach. Her face crumpled. A single tear ran down her cheek.

‘What is wrong, Stephanie? You are practically in tears.’ Hattie covered Stephanie’s hand with hers. ‘Was Harold cruel? He doesn’t mean to be cutting. He does want the best for Livvy.’

‘I fear it might be happening again. I have been ill every morning for the last week. If it had not been for the fair, I’d have stayed in bed, but someone had to support dear Mr Parteger. He expects me to be there for him on that day of all days. Then you went and recklessly endangered your reputation with rescuing Sir Christopher after that dreadful fight where you needlessly exposed yourself. No one cares about my nerves.’

Hattie closed her eyes. Stephanie pregnant. Again. She had half-hoped to suggest to Kit that they travel or arrange to meet abroad. And she’d even toyed with going down to London next spring for the entire Season … if their affair lasted that long. However, if Stephanie was pregnant, it would mean a baby in the late spring, and she knew how much Stephanie counted on her help.

‘We shall cross that bridge when it comes.’

‘But Livvy and her Season. It has been promised. Livvy is over the moon with excitement.’ Stephanie dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes and gave a rather pathetic sniff. ‘I will need you here. No one understands me and my babies like you do. But I dislike the thought of Livvy being without support and guidance.’

‘I could go.’

‘Of course you could go, Livvy respects your opinion, more than mine. But … how am I going to run the house? You are my sister and the only person that Harold truly tolerates.’

Hattie sighed. She knew that she had to stay, if only to ensure her brother-in-law’s sanity. It did make things easier. If Kit asked, she’d explain. And if he didn’t, she was safe in the knowledge that she could not have gone anyway. She curled her fists.

‘Mrs Hampstead could stay with you. She is far more useful than I on such matters,’ Hattie said more in hope than expectation. The colour drained from Stephanie’s face. ‘But Joyce should be willing to sponsor Livvy. Livvy and Joyce’s eldest niece are close in age. It will give her someone to have as a friend. These affairs can be awfully daunting if you have to go alone.’

Instantly Stephanie’s countenance cleared. ‘You are right of course. It is about time our sister-in-law did something for this family. It is not as if they are troubled by us much.’

Hattie squeezed Stephanie’s hand. Remorse washed over her. Stephanie always dreadfully suffered in the first few months of a pregnancy. What she was asking was not too difficult. It was simply that for once she wanted a little time to live her own life. She pushed the thought away.

‘You must concentrate on the new life. I will make sure everything runs smoothly.’

‘You are so good to me, Hattie. I couldn’t ask for a better sister.’

‘I try.’ Hattie nodded towards where the baskets of strawberries stood. ‘I have an appointment in the still room. It is that time of the year. Jams, jellies, tinctures and a wide variety of gins await preparation. It gives me an outlet for my energy.’

Stephanie put her handkerchief to her face. ‘I can’t bear the thought of the jam bubbling, particularly not now.’

‘You always did prefer the eating of jam to the making of it.’

Stephanie had the grace to blush.

Kit rode his new stallion, Onyx, hard. He enjoyed the freedom and excercise after weeks of inactivity.

When he woke up this morning with the memory of Hattie’s mouth moving under his, he resolved that he’d stay away for a little while. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in her life or for her to start to depend on him. He knew what women could be like. The rules of engagement were strict and developed after years of practice.

He reached the ridge above Pearl Cottage. He looked down at the little house with its curl of smoke. Something struck in the gut. His tenant, Mrs Reynaud, was down there in that cottage but her identity remained a mystery.

He had spent the majority of the day going through his uncle’s papers while he tried not to think about Hattie and what she might be doing. As he suspected, the woman who had rented the cottage did not go by the name of Reynaud, but another name altogether: Smith. The tenancy agreement was odd to say the least and his uncle had ensured that Mrs Smith could never be thrown out of the cottage. According to his estate manager, the quarterly rent was always paid on time from a London bank. His Uncle John had overseen the details personally.

Kit bent down and patted Onyx’s neck. The horse blew out his breath.

‘Who is she, Onyx? And why did my uncle let the house to her in that fashion? What was she to him? A mistress? A former love?’

Onyx pawed the ground and tossed his head.

It would be easy to turn the horse’s head towards the cottage and visit. He just couldn’t shake the suspicion that this woman might be his mother—hidden away from her shame by his kindly uncle for all these years. He wasn’t at all sure what he felt, but as he watched the door a bent figure came out. Nothing. She was too far away. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure his mother’s features. They were a blur, an impression really. He recalled a scent of night jasmine, but nothing real and substantial.

A great part of him wanted to know the truth. He deserved to know what his uncle wanted hidden. Had his uncle defied his father?

Silently he willed her to look up and acknowledge him. Take it out of his hands. He’d go down if she so much as waved.

The woman stretched and went back into the house without looking towards him.

Kit curled his hands about the reins. Did he truly want to know who the woman was? How would he cope if it really was his mother?

She knew where he was. He refused to beg. He was not going back to that little boy on the stairs, silently pleading with his mother to turn around and stay, not to leave him. He had left the past behind him.

To hell with his rules. He needed Hattie. He needed her to make the past vanish. His life was about the here and now and the past was kept in a little place marked Do Not Open.

Kit spurred his horse towards the Dower House and Hattie. Solace.

Hattie put her hands on her back and stretched. The scent of strawberries perfumed the still room. There was something supremely satisfying about making jams and preserves. And the entire process kept her mind off Kit and the fact that neither had arranged for the next meeting.

She carefully poured a bit of the bubbling liquid onto a cool plate.

‘Mrs Hampstead said I would find you out here, but she neglected to say how delightful you’d look in your apron and mob cap.’

Hattie jumped and the plate crashed down on to the flagstones. ‘Kit!’

She spun around and there he stood, dressed in riding gear. His highly polished black boots contrasted with the tight-fitting tan breeches. His top hat was rakishly tilted on his head. His grey eyes sparkled.

‘I came to see if you’d like to go for a ride with me, but if you are busy …’

‘I am making strawberry jam. It won’t take long, but it has restored my mood. Stephanie was here earlier …’ Hattie found she couldn’t frame the words. To explain about her disappointment would mean having to explain why and that she had started to make castles in the clouds. She clenched her fist around the spoon. When she next saw him, she had wanted to be properly dressed, not in her oldest gown with a voluminous apron tied about her waist and the awful mob cap. How could he think she looked delightful? She looked a fright.

‘I’ve never seen anyone make jam before.’ He stepped into the small room, filling it. ‘It is fascinating. You have a bit of jam on your cheek.’

Hattie gave a light laugh and scrubbed with her hand. ‘All gone now. I’m a messy cook.’

‘Is jam-making a messy occupation?’

He was exaggerating. How could anyone not have seen jam being made before? The preservation of food happened in all sorts of houses and it was the responsibility of the lady of the house. It was criminal to allow produce to go to waste. Stephanie might not enjoy the process, but she did lend a hand when called upon, particularly when it was the wines or other types of alcohol. ‘You must have had a deprived childhood.’

His mouth turned down and the light faded from his eyes. ‘An unusual one.’

‘Surely your mother …’

‘My mother was not part of my life after my fourth birthday.’ His tone indicated the subject was closed.

‘An aunt or another relative, then?’ She gave a little shrug and moved the steaming pan off the stove to show she wasn’t hurt by his refusal to talk about his childhood. Was his mother dead or had she just left? Hattie hastily bit back the question. Some day she’d question Mrs Reynaud, who knew of the family and their history if he never confided in her, as she was curious. But not now as that would be like spying. Silently she willed him to tell her.

‘No, no one like that. My father’s taste ran to other sorts of women.’

‘A pity.’

With a practised eye, she began to pour the gleaming red liquid into the jars. Over the years she’d discovered Livvy and Portia were more likely to tell her secrets if she appeared to be doing something else.

‘My father disliked having women in the house.’

That simple statement combined with the jumping-jack explained so much. Her heart bled for the little boy who was never scooped up or petted or given treats. ‘How awkward.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘My father enjoyed being awkward and contrary. It was his favourite sport. He liked it even better than the horses.’

‘And you are nothing like that,’ she teased. ‘You never force anyone to anything they wish to avoid like waltzing.’

‘Waltzing with you was an unexpected pleasure.’ The grey in his eyes deepened. ‘I’ve discovered many pleasures with you.’

‘Very charmingly put.’

‘I try my best to be charming. I learnt from his example that it is easier to get your way when you are.’

‘I shall remember that.’ Hattie concentrated on the liquid. He hadn’t liked his father and his mother had gone from the household by the time he was four. He would have used the word—dead. She wasn’t sure why that was important, but she knew it was. She had to wonder if Mrs Reynaud knew anything or indeed if she would be willing to confide. All Hattie knew was she had to try. She wanted to unlock his secrets, but she also knew that if she pressed too hard, he’d turn away from her.

‘Did it take you long to learn how to make jam?’

‘Preserving is easy to do once you know how,’ she said, allowing him to change the subject. ‘There is something satisfying about seeing rows of jars and bottles. I can’t cook, but I can preserve.’

‘Why do you do it?’

‘And not leave it to the servants?’ Hattie leant back against the small wooden table. He appeared genuinely interested. ‘I like to do it. I find it leaves me free to think as I work.’

‘Are you finished?’

‘For now.’ She tilted her head to one side, assessing him.

His body was perfectly still, but coiled like a spring. She wanted to go to him and see if what they had experienced yesterday afternoon remained or if it had burnt out after one joining.

Her stomach knotted. She had imagined that he’d stride over to her and kiss her as they were alone, but he just stood there. She balled her fist, wishing she knew more about how one actually conducted an affair. And there was no one she could ask! Stephanie would collapse in a fit of vapours even if she so much as hinted at having an affair.

To break the tension, she attempted a light laugh. ‘You should have a taste. Dip your finger into the pot. It is one of the perks for knowing the cook.’

He stood watching her without moving. ‘You do it. First.’

‘Do what?’

‘Stick your finger in the jam. Show me how it is done.’

‘Don’t tell you never have …’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Didn’t you used to go and sneak biscuits from the cook?’

His face became shuttered. ‘No, I never did. My father had simple tastes.’

Hattie ground her teeth. She hated to think of the lonely little boy he must have been. She stuck her finger in the cooling jam and held it out. ‘There, see. It is simple.’

He captured her wrist and brought the finger to his mouth, suckling. The faint tugging at her finger made her insides skitter. He withdrew and wiped his hand over his mouth. ‘I see what you mean. Thoroughly enjoyable.’

‘That, Kit, was beneath you.’ Her cheeks flamed. She was such a novice at things like flirting with one’s lover. Even the thought felt wicked.

‘But hugely enjoyable. Strawberry-flavoured Harriet. Definitely a good taste.’

She attempted to remain calm. They were alone and no one had seen. ‘I’m pleased I have broadened your education, but you acted like you knew what you were doing.’

‘Once you have the mechanics down, the rest falls into place.’ He leant forwards so their foreheads touched. ‘Your skin smells of strawberries.’

‘That is hardly a revelation.’ She tried for a sophisticated laugh. This meeting in the still room was not how their next encounter was supposed to go. ‘Your charm is slipping, Kit.’

He softly kissed her temple. ‘I have a confession. I was going to wait for you to contact me, but decided not to. Will you come out on a ride with me now?’

‘You decided not to wait.’ She leant back against his arms, staring up into his face. She wanted to believe that she was the only one he’d ever behaved like that with. That she was the only one he pursued.

She had been prepared not to hear from him again, except for a polite note and some little token of false esteem. The fact was he was here with such an eager expression, asking her to go horseback riding with him, looking like he desired her.

She was acutely aware that her hair curled in damp tendrils about her face and her apron was hopelessly stained. Not quite the picture of effortless perfection he required from his women. She gave a wry smile. ‘A pleasant thought but …’

‘You do ride?’ he tilted his head and looked at her with his deep-grey eyes.

‘I am a passable rider. I used to be better and take all the jumps, but someone needed to look after my nieces and so I feel my skills are rusty.’

‘We shall have to make you a better one. All you are lacking is practice.’

‘I suspect you are the sort of person who attempts the largest jumps and thinks about the consequences afterwards.’

His face became carved out of stone. ‘I always think about the consequences. I know the price of failure.’

‘Your father …’

‘My father insisted I learn.’ Kit frowned. ‘He disliked it if I showed fear. The fear of his temper was far worse than my fear of heights. He left me up a tree once overnight until I developed the courage to climb down.’

‘How old were you?

‘Five.’

Righteous indignation filled Hattie. How could anyone have been that cruel and unfeeling? She wished the man was still alive so she could give him a piece of her mind. One simply did not do things like that. ‘It was wrong of your father.’

‘It helped me to learn. He worried that I would be weak, that I had bad blood like my mother.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘There are some who say that Eton is a hard place. When my uncle took me there, I found it a paradise beyond my wildest imaginings and never wanted to leave. That suited my father.’

Hattie shook her head in astonishment. When she had been sent to school as a young girl, she had been homesick for weeks, even though Stephanie had been in her final year there. She had lived for going home at the holidays. But Kit was right. He had been better off at school.

Hattie put her hand on his arm. He shrugged it off.

‘What your father did was inexcusable, but it can’t rule your life,’ she whispered.

His face instantly fell and then he covered it up again with a bland mask and she knew she had overstepped the mark. ‘It doesn’t. I live my life with style.’

‘You are certainly proving a worthy mentor to Mr Hook.’

‘I had little choice in the matter.’ His mouth twisted with self-loathing.

Hattie reached out and covered his hand with hers. ‘People die when they are meant to. You did not fire that bullet. And I suspect you would have taken it if you could have, but you didn’t. You have no idea what attracted the marksman to your friend. You can’t torture yourself with “what ifs”.’

‘I will attempt to remember that when I wake up in a cold sweat, knowing that I begged him to change places with me.’

She stared at him for a long time, suddenly understanding. He blamed himself. ‘Do you expect me to turn away with loathing? Is that why you failed to say anything earlier? I won’t. I do know something of war. My husband fell in battle.’

‘It wasn’t any of your business.’

‘I’m pleased you lack any ounce of self-pity.’

‘Irony is not one of your strong points, Harriet.’ He gave a sardonic laugh.

‘And you are doing a decent job with Mr Hook,’ Hattie continued relentlessly onward, not allowing herself to become discouraged. He had to see the good that he was doing and that he wasn’t like his father. ‘I’m impressed at how he has immersed himself in the study of newts. Even Portia is won over. He does know more than she does.’

He stared at her for a long moment. ‘Shall we go for this ride or do I find another companion? Surely in the country, you can ride without a groom?’

‘I would be delighted to go with you. Or rather to meet you. It is best if we happen to meet rather than ride out together. I have no wish to raise suspicions.’

‘You can be overly correct at times, Harriet.’

‘You don’t have to contend with Stephanie.’ Hattie wiped her hands on a towel. Her heat thumped loudly in her ears. She was going to go riding without a groom. She was going to escape from the Dower House and her responsibilities. One ride and that was all. She could stop any time she wanted to.

‘Let me find my riding habit. And my horse is a bit slow, but she gets there in the end.’

He touched her cheek. ‘That’s all I can ask.’