Читать книгу Regency Bride - Michelle Styles - Страница 10

Hattie picked up her skirts and ran to the rose garden, not daring to look behind her and see if Sir Christopher was following. If Portia hadn’t shouted, she would have kissed him. Her lips ached with longing. It went against everything she had promised herself and yet she didn’t feel ashamed, only disappointed. The next time … Hattie stopped and pressed her fingers to her temples. There would be no next time. Sir Christopher had explained why he was in the card room. The matter was finished. She’d survived. Hattie picked up speed as if the devil himself was after her.

As she reached the rose garden, Portia hurtled into her, throwing her arms about her. ‘You will never guess who is here!’

Hattie disentangled herself from the hug and regarded her favourite niece who was four years younger than her sister, Livvy, and still far more interested in four-legged creatures than young men. Her pinafore had a series of smudges and a solitary wisp of hay clinging to the hem. Hattie knew despite her mother’s orders Portia had spent time in the stables, helping out.

She always kept a tit-bit in her pocket when Moth came to call. It was no surprise to Hattie that Moth had gone wandering off to find her treat, but a small part of Hattie wished she hadn’t and that she and Sir Christopher had remained under the cedar tree. Alone.

‘Sir Christopher and Mr Hook,’ Hattie answered, putting away all thoughts of kisses from Sir Christopher. It wasn’t going to start.

If she ever was attracted to any man again, it would be to someone who was steady, sober and scandal free, someone who was completely different from Charles Wilkinson. Not someone who lived and breathed sin. If Charles Wilkinson had a dark wild side which no one knew about until it was too late, then Sir Christopher was midnight-black wild through and through. She forgot that at her peril. Sir Christopher was not a man to be relied on. A man whose wit and conversation were to be enjoyed rather than to be thought of as a life’s partner.

‘Sir Christopher wanted to return my gloves from last night and Mr Hook came along for accompaniment.’

Portia’s plump face fell. ‘You knew? How!’

‘Aunts know these sorts of things. Little birds.’

‘I’ve the honour of being the little bird,’ Sir Christopher said, coming to stand by her, a bit closer than strictly proper. His stock was ever-so-slightly undone and she glimpsed the strong column of his throat. Hattie hurriedly pretended an interest in the roses. ‘Your aunt met me, Miss Portia, and kindly showed me the cedar of Lebanon’s location.’

Portia beamed back at Sir Christopher, her entire countenance lighting up under his voice’s spell.

‘There, you see,’ Hattie said, putting an arm about her niece’s shoulders and turning her away from Sir Christopher. ‘All is explained.’

‘How did you find the cedar tree, Sir Christopher? Does it approach the magnificence of your boyhood home or surpass it?’ her sister, Stephanie, called out from where she sat in the rose garden with a silver teapot by her side. On her other side perched Mr Hook, looking much like an overgrown schoolboy. Livvy appeared all young innocence in her light-blue muslin gown, but the tips of her ears glowed pink. Hattie hated to think how quickly that sort of innocence vanished.

‘I found what I was looking for, yes.’ Sir Christopher gave Hattie a searing look.

Hattie resisted the temptation to explore the renewed aching in her lips. No one could brand with just a look. She clenched her fists. She was not going to behave like a fool again. Heady romance was an illusion that she could ill afford.

‘I discovered Sir Christopher and kept him on the right path.’ Her voice squeaked on the word path. Hattie cleared her throat. ‘It was the charitable thing to do.’

Stephanie, who looked like an older and plumper version of Livvy, held out the gloves with a superior smile. ‘How clever of you to visit this morning, Hattie … particularly as Sir Christopher thought you’d be here. I wonder how that came about?’

A distinct air of accusation rang in Stephanie’s voice. She thought Hattie had arranged all this! Sir Christopher wore a smug expression as if it was precisely the outcome he’d hoped for. Hattie shifted uneasily. Why did he want anyone to think they had a flirtation? She could hardly be the type of woman with whom he generally flirted.

‘I’ll take possession of them. They have caused a great deal of trouble.’ Hattie plucked them from Stephanie. A faint scent of sandalwood caressed her nostrils. She hurriedly stuffed them in her basket. When she arrived back at the Dower House, she would put them in her bottom drawer, never to be worn again.

‘You really are too careless, Hattie. Those gloves were a gift. I spent hours getting those bows correct. First you mislaid them at the ball and then you place them in the basket all higgledy-piggledy.’ Stephanie carefully poured a cup of tea. ‘You were always the careless one of the family. When will you ever grow up and take responsibility for your actions?’

Sir Christopher cleared his throat. ‘I was grateful for the excuse to call.’

‘Will you and your godson be in the Tyne Valley long?’ Stephanie asked in a speculative tone.

‘It depends on a number of things.’

‘It will depend on Aunt Harriet, that is what Sir Christopher means,’ Portia said, bristling with self-importance.

‘What on earth are you talking about, Portia?’ Stephanie asked with an arched brow.

‘Aunt Harriet is in the midst of a flirtation with Sir Christopher,’ Portia burst out, her entire being quivering with excitement. ‘Last night in the card room at Summerfield as well as today beside the cedar. Livvy told me. She swore me to secrecy, but that’s why Sir Christopher kept the gloves. Why will no one tell the truth?’

‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ Sir Christopher said in a low tone.

‘Next time I want to go, Mama. Things happen at balls. Please, Mama. Pretty please.’

‘You are twelve, Portia,’ Livvy replied with crushing firmness. ‘You have years to wait.’

Portia stuck out her tongue.

‘Portia, you know it is wrong to repeat tales, particularly highly embroidered ones,’ Hattie said before either of her nieces uttered another damning phrase or their squabbling descended into all-out war. ‘Sir Christopher has returned the gloves and seen the famous tree. His time will be required elsewhere. Do not seek romance where there is none, young Portia.’

Sir Christopher showed no inclination to take her hint and to depart. If anything, he seemed to be amused at her discomfort. He sat down and accepted the cup of tea that Stephanie held out. ‘Fascinating place. Northumberland. My godson and I look forward to attending the Stagshaw Bank Fair.’

‘Oh, the fair. Of course, I should have guessed the reason for you being here.’ Her sister leant forwards. ‘Mrs Wrigglesworth said it true when we first heard of your arrival—Stagshaw Fair attracts all sorts of people. Everyone had wondered. But hopefully having seen the delightful entertainment Northumberland has to offer, you can be persuaded to stay longer.’

Hattie bit her lip. Stephanie was up to something. She could feel the sense of impending doom creeping up her spine. She dismissed it. Stephanie knew of Sir Christopher’s reputation. She’d never dare.

‘I’m sure Sir Christopher is fully capable of finding entertainment to occupy his time,’ Hattie said, seeking to end the discussion. ‘We mustn’t presume, Sister.’

‘My godson and I would be delighted to take a full part in the village life while we are here. The estate I inherited has been neglected for far too long. And the company is utterly charming.’ He inclined his head. The twinkle in his eyes deepened. ‘We should go for a picnic out to Stagshaw to see what it is like before the fair. A local guide would prove of great assistance.’ His voice became silken smooth. ‘Would tomorrow suit, Mrs Wilkinson?’

Hattie’s mouth went dry. There should be a thousand different reasons why she should refuse, but she heard herself say, ‘Tomorrow would be wonderful.’

‘Then it is all settled. Tomorrow at noon.’

‘We will all go.’ Hattie looked at Livvy, who suddenly straightened her back and blushed a violent pink at the hopeful glance Mr Hook gave her. Now that she knew Mr Hook was properly interested in making an honourable offer she was prepared to help. They did deserve a chance to get to know each other better, properly supervised. A picnic was hardly a debauched party. ‘Livvy and Portia love picnics. It will make for a splendid expedition. You were saying just the other day, Stephanie, how we ought to picnic more often now that the fine weather had arrived.’

‘Then it is settled. The day will be much brighter for the presence of all the ladies here.’

‘Oh dear!’ Stephanie banged her cup down. ‘Tomorrow is no good at all. Far too much is on. Livvy and Portia have their dancing class. And I will be required at the Corbridge Reading Rooms. Colonel Cunningham will be thrilled to learn that we now have the world expert on newts in our midst. An illustrated lecture must be organised before Mr Hook departs.’

‘Please, there is no need,’ Mr Hook said, turning a violent red. ‘It is nothing. My research is at an early stage.’

‘I disagree, Mr Hook.’ Stephanie raised an imperious hand. ‘You mustn’t be allowed to hide your light under a cloak of false modesty. You’ve informed me about your prowess and this must be shared with the neighbourhood. Immediately, before the schedule is cast into iron. There is a committee meeting tomorrow which I must attend.’

‘Stephanie!’ Hattie glared at her sister. Stephanie enjoyed the kudos of being on the village hall committee, but hated actually doing any work. She always produced the flimsy excuses to avoid the meetings where events like lectures were decided. ‘We’re talking about an invitation to a picnic, rather than this summer’s lecture series schedule, which was decided weeks ago.’

‘You must go of course, Hattie. You gave your word.’ Stephanie waved a vague hand in the air. ‘I feel certain that Sir Christopher and his godson understand why I must decline. Mr Parteger told the Colonel the other day that the lecture series was looking a bit thin. And the Colonel had the temerity to blame me. Schedules are made to be altered.’

Mr Hook turned a sickly greenish-yellow. ‘I’ve not lectured before. I’ve no plans.’

‘Then you must start. How else will you get on in this world? Mr Parteger has always said that we must have educated men as Livvy’s suitors.’

‘In that case, I … I would be honoured.’ Mr Hook mirrored a tomato for colour.

Hattie curled her fists and attempted to ignore Stephanie’s triumphant look.

‘Of course, I will go on the picnic.’ Hattie turned towards Sir Christopher. ‘I would be delighted to accompany you and Mr Hook. Mr Hook can plan his lecture there.’

The flecks in Sir Christopher’s eyes deepened. ‘The picnic will be all the more memorable for it.’

Kit relaxed against the carriage seat, going over the morning events. It had unfolded differently than he’d planned, but not disastrously. After the picnic, he decided, he would send the flowers. He wanted to see Mrs Wilkinson fully blossom and realise the error of her censorious ways.

If he stopped prematurely, she would revert and cause her nieces problems. The lesson needed to be learnt thoroughly. Kit enjoyed the sense of goodness which radiated from his decision to take Mrs Wilkinson on the picnic.

‘Do you care to explain precisely what happened while I was exploring the garden, Rupert?’ Kit asked to keep from thinking about the precise shape of Mrs Wilkinson’s mouth. ‘How did you end up with a possible lecture engagement for a subject that you have never professed an interest in? Do you even know what a newt looks like?’

Rupert tugged at his neckcloth. ‘Of course I know what a newt looks like. They are a type of amphibian, have four legs and a tail.’

‘Is there some reason for Mrs Parteger to suspect that you are a world expert on newts?’

‘I needed to say something to mark me out from the crush.’ Rupert’s ears turned pink. ‘Miss Parteger is an angel. Two more bouquets arrived when you were touring the garden. I was desperate. Then I remembered how Miss James’s father dismissed me as a know-nothing. It was not going to happen again. My tongue rather ran away with me. Newts were the first thing to pop in my brain.’

‘You are now committed to giving a lecture about a subject you know nothing about. How is that going to impress anyone?’

‘But I love her! I want to be with her. I know you will think me mad, but it is how I feel about her.’ He thumped his chest. ‘Sometimes, you know in here. The instant you see her. It was as if I had been waiting all my life and she walked into the room.’

Something inside Kit twisted. Rupert had no idea about love. It was calf-love like he’d experienced with Constance, something that burned bright and fierce and vanished. And when it went, it hurt like the very devil. Every boy goes through it in order to become a man. And now he was a man, he protected that vulnerable bit of him so he would not get hurt again.

‘You don’t know what you are saying, Rupert. You hardly know her. How long will it last? Do you remember what you said about Miss James?’

‘That was different.’ Rupert flicked his fingers. ‘I was merely a boy of nineteen.’

‘You are only twenty!’

‘What were you like when you were my age?’

‘Young and foolish. Luckily your father stopped me before the folly went too far.’ Kit shook his head. Never again would he allow a woman to share his secrets. All Constance had done was to mock him about his parents’ scandalous past. ‘I thanked him for it later.’

‘Do you ever see her?’

‘Who?’

‘The woman who broke your heart? The one my father used to mention in his cups.’

‘Your father was right. My broken heart lasted until the next dance when I found another lady who welcomed my attention.’ Kit forced a laugh. His heart had been broken long before when his mother refused to look at him, despite his pleading, as she went out the door and his life. He’d settled for something less and kept his patched-up heart protected.

‘Surely your heart was truer than that!’

‘What heart? Didn’t you know I’m heartless? How many women have despaired of taming me and thrown the accusation at me when I ended the affair?’

‘My father didn’t think that. He used to say—’

Kit held up his hand, stopping Rupert’s words. ‘Whatever he said, he said in confidence. Your father had a unique way of looking at life.’

‘I wish he was here,’ Rupert whispered.

‘Your father asked me to look after you.’ Kit glanced up at the carriage’s ceiling, regaining control. ‘I’m offering my advice. You keep your word. If you are determined to give this lecture, you study. My uncle did have an interest in amphibians and his papers and books are in the library. They should be enough to enable you to give an account of yourself. And you never make a false claim again. Lying never makes for a happy relationship.’

Rupert hung his head. ‘Now you are committed to going on a picnic with The Widow.’

‘Which I plan to enjoy.’ Kit frowned. The lesson in flirtation was going better than he’d hoped. It would be one that Mrs Wilkinson would not soon forget. She might not thank him for it, but her two charming nieces might benefit. ‘I could not have arranged matters better.’

‘You and Mrs Wilkinson … but she is so old.’

‘She is younger than I am.’

Rupert screwed up his face and stared out the window. ‘I had always thought … they tell stories about you and the beauties. Mrs Wilkinson will never be a toast of London.’

Kit tapped his fingers together. He refused to indulge in speculation about Hattie Wilkinson’s beauty. Rupert would not understand that it was precisely the point. Hattie Wilkinson possessed a refreshing charm that hadn’t been powdered and primped to an inch of its life.

‘One final lesson for today, Rupert. Never discuss a lady. Ever.’

‘What precisely is going on, Stephanie?’ Hattie asked once her nieces had been otherwise occupied with refurbishing their bonnets. For the first time in a long while, Livvy had expressed an interest in improving her mind, but the suggestion had been firmly quashed by her mother.

‘Whatever can you mean, dear?’ Stephanie looked up from where she was sorting out a variety of ribbons. ‘I do hope you are not going to be tiresome, Hattie, and ruin your chances again. Simply because you had a wonderful marriage that was cut cruelly short does not mean you will not find happiness again.’

Hattie sighed. Her decision not to tell anyone about the full extent of Charles’s betrayal did make for awkward moments. Stephanie refused to believe that her marriage was anything other than breathtakingly romantic. And this was the second lecture she had received today about making more of her life. Why didn’t anyone understand that she was content as she was?

‘This is Sir Christopher Foxton! Are you aware of his reputation? Marriage won’t be on offer, if he has anything beyond mere politeness in mind.’ Hattie clasped a hand to her chest and tried to regain control of her emotions. ‘There, are you satisfied? I’ve said it. He is notorious in the extreme. He will be after more than an innocent conversation.’

‘Why did he visit me and take pains to be correct?’ Stephanie rolled her eyes. ‘He brought the flirtation out in the open rather than hiding it behind closed doors. No man wants to remain a bachelor for ever.’

‘You are mistaken, Sister. Some men are determined to remain bachelors. They are far from safe in carriages or conveyances of any kind. And Sir Christopher is first amongst them.’

‘Sir Christopher seems very pleasant, rather sweet.’ Stephanie crossed her hands in her lap and gave one of her Madonna-like smiles, which always grated on Hattie’s nerves. ‘On the other hand Mr Hook was painfully ill at ease. He droned on about his blessed newts. I doubt he even knows what women are.’

‘You dislike Mr Hook’s shyness?’ Hattie stared at her sister in astonishment. She had anticipated Stephanie’s objecting to Rupert Hook on the grounds of his association with Sir Christopher, but not because of his timidity. ‘I believe you’re wrong about the man. He has an abundance of confidence.’

‘I dare say he will do for a chaperon for this picnic of yours or you can take Mrs Hampstead if you wish to have conversation on subjects other than amphibians. The man will not be moved. I did try.’

‘Surely it is better for Livvy to realise what a bore Mr Hook is rather than to sigh for the love of his fine eyes. You can allow Livvy to accompany me,’ Hattie said firmly, giving her final argument.

‘Hattie, I do despair. Livvy is too young for such things.’ Stephanie made a superior clucking noise. ‘Sir Christopher Foxton pursues you. You should allow yourself to be caught and then force the marriage. It is how it is done.’

‘You’ve muddled everything, Stephanie. The visit was about Mr Hook properly courting Livvy, rather than Livvy arranging clandestine meetings with her fan.’

‘Pshaw!’ Stephanie slammed her hand down on the table. ‘My little Livvy would never do such a thing. Besides, Mr Hook was not acquainted with Livvy until today. Sir Christopher formally introduced him.’

With a heavy heart, Hattie rapidly explained the events of last evening, emphasising that Sir Christopher had only danced with her to prove a point about making assumptions. A forfeit, nothing more and then she’d left him standing on the dance floor.

‘According to your tale, Sir Christopher was already chaperoning. Why was he there if not to ensure that nothing untoward happened to my dear girl? I do declare that people have done him a grave disservice in the past. He is the most perfect of gentlemen. I refuse to hear another disparaging word said against him.’ Stephanie leant forwards and gestured with her fan. ‘That is the end of the matter. Sometimes I worry that you became a walking ghost after your husband died. Why not enjoy the fun of a mild flirtation? After all, it is not as if you don’t know where the boundaries lie.’

Hattie pinched the bridge of her nose. The conversation was starting to spin out of control. She refused to confess after all these years. At first it had been far too hard and Stephanie had never enquired. Her throat had swelled every time she thought about Charles and how he’d used her, how she’d stood mourning at his grave, bereft, and then had discovered about his other family, the woman he’d loved. And she had felt so stupid.

Her whole idyllic life had been a lie. Never again would she make the mistake of loving someone who could not love her back. Her blood ran cold every time she considered it.

‘You would have to ask him why he was in that card room.’

‘And you should ask yourself why he chose to dance with you and then to invite you specifically on a picnic. Now shall we speak about the colour of ribbon you will wear on your bonnet to this picnic?’

Hattie ignored Stephanie’s peace offering. ‘Why do you want me to go on this picnic alone? Do you truly want me to ruin my reputation?’

‘You are a sensible widow of twenty-seven who learnt your lesson years ago. If it had been anyone but Charles in that summer house, I shudder to think what would have happened. He worshipped the ground you walked on back then … It was utterly romantic. Your wedding when you fainted at the altar was so … so special. Then he had to leave to go to the front and wrote you such beautiful letters. They made me weep when you showed them to me.’

‘Yes, I was lucky there.’ Hattie fought to keep the irony out of her voice.

Stephanie smiled. ‘I want you to have your last chance at a second marriage. Go on the picnic with Sir Christopher without distractions.’

‘Livvy and Portia are not distractions.’

‘I, too, remember last year when Portia put the lizard in Dr Hornby’s tea. He had planned to propose to you that day. Portia and Livvy never gave you that chance.’

Hattie hid a smile. It had taken her the better part of three hours to capture that lizard. ‘It happened for the best, Sister.’

‘Hmmph.’

Stephanie in these moods was insensible to reason and ever likely to come up with more transparent schemes for entrapping Sir Christopher into marriage. Hattie gave an involuntary shudder.

There was no hope for it. She refused to sit here and allow herself to become embroiled in one of Stephanie’s projects.

She would have to go and explain to Sir Christopher the dangers. He had to understand why the picnic and any hint of intimacy was an impossibility. And she had to do it before she lost her nerve.

Hattie clicked her fingers. ‘Moth, we are going.’

Her sister’s face creased. ‘Hattie, I am only doing this because I love you and want you to be happy. You need someone in your life. You looked happy when you arrived in the rose garden. Your cheeks were bright pink.’

‘I like my life with Moth, with Mrs Hampstead and with you and your children.’ She raised her chin. She refused to go back to that needy deluded girl who believed romance happened when two people’s glances met across a crowded room. Going on a picnic with Sir Christopher was not going to happen.

‘Hattie …’

‘It satisfies me. Do not tell me otherwise.’ Hattie hoped Stephanie believed her words because she was less than sure.

Hattie stood in the gloomy panelled hall of Southview Lodge. A variety of stuffed birds peered down at her. All the way here, she had planned her speech. Somehow it seemed right to explain the situation in person rather than writing a letter. Sir Christopher had to know what Stephanie was trying to do and why it would never work. The solution had come to her as she tramped home over the fields. Sir Christopher needed to know about her sister’s machinations.

She had deposited Moth with Mrs Hampstead before driving the governess cart to Southview. She intended on handling this problem on her own without interference from Moth and her penchant for investigating.

‘Mrs Wilkinson, what a pleasant surprise.’ Sir Christopher came out of his study. His stock was undone and he was in his shirtsleeves. His black hair swooped down over one eye. Despite her intentions of being aloof, a curl of warmth twined its way around her insides.

Hattie inclined her head and was pleased her straw poke bonnet shadowed her face. ‘Sir Christopher, I do hope you will forgive the intrusion.’

‘I wasn’t expecting any visitors. My uncle’s affairs are in a bigger tangle than I had anticipated. He appears to have used a code …’ He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. ‘But as you are here, you must stay and have a cup of tea. Come into the drawing room.’

‘My sister was rude in proposing that Mr Hook lecture,’ Hattie began before she lost her nerve. ‘Take no notice of her. She became dreadfully confused and believes Mr Hook is a shy newt-fancier who needs bringing out.’

‘Is this a problem?’

‘Is he … a newt-fancier? A world authority? He appears awfully young for such a thing.’

The corners of his mouth twitched. Hattie risked a breath. She might not have to confess about Stephanie’s other machinations after all.

‘Rupert confessed. He misjudged the moment. Rupert shall be spending all his time studying the habits of newts until the lecture. He should know better than to lay false claim.’

‘He doesn’t know.’ Hattie clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh dear. Just before I left the Dower House, Livvy arrived, looking for books on amphibians.’

Their shared laughter rang out.

His eyes turned sober. ‘You didn’t come all the way here simply to tell me about Rupert’s folly. Out with it, Mrs Wilkinson. What else was your sister attempting to do? Why must I be wary?’