Читать книгу Regency Bride - Michelle Styles - Страница 12

‘Forbid?’ Kit watched Hattie through narrowed eyes.

Hattie’s breath was far too quick and her eyes were huge blue-green pools. It took all of his self-control not to pull her back into his arms. His response to her was entirely unexpected. Ever since Waterloo, nothing—not even with the most experienced courtesans London could offer was there any excitement or response, but one gentle brush of his lips against hers and his body started to rage out of control. He’d kissed her again to make sure and had nearly fallen off the edge.

He wanted to drink from her mouth and leisurely explore the contours of her body. Silently he willed her to come back into his arms and to allow the kiss to develop further. With a great effort, he concentrated and brought his breathing under control.

‘You only needed to tell me to stop,’ he said when she continued to stand away from him, looking at him with those huge eyes. ‘And I will, if that is what you truly desire.’

‘I should never have done something like that. I’m not like that. I’m not given to …’

‘I’m very honoured.’ Kit clung on to his sanity. She was frightened of her response. Intellectually he should have expected it, but it still hit him in his gut. She had enjoyed the kiss until she had started thinking and remembering that she was a respectable person.

‘All I know is that it must not happen again. I’m not that sort of a woman. I’m a widow who has responsibilities. I’m not looking for a quick tumble in the hay.’

‘Do you see any hay around here?’

Hattie gave an impatient stamp of her foot. ‘You know what I mean!’

Hattie took a step backwards, half-stumbled on a rock and tumbled down on her bottom. She gave an exasperated cry.

‘Do you need help?’ Kit held out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it and scrambled to stand up.

‘I can manage on my own. I always do.’

‘Your bonnet is crooked.’

‘Is it? I … I hadn’t noticed.’

Kit reached out and straightened her straw bonnet, placing it firmly on her head, pulling it forwards so she was once again the perfectly proper woman he’d first met. He should say the words he’d planned to end it, but they stuck in his throat. He wanted more of her. He wanted to see if the promise in the kiss held true, but he knew he’d have to go slowly, coax her and discover why the physical frightened her. He wanted to see what would happen when she fully gave in to the passion that simmered under the surface.

‘There, no one will guess. Your armour is back on.’

‘Armour?’

‘To keep you safe from the world’s scrutiny. No one will remark if that is what you are afraid of.’

‘Nothing. I am not afraid of anything.’ Her words were barely audible as she half-turned from him. ‘It has to be this way for both our sakes.’

Kit allowed his hand to drop to his side. Not only did her body have to crave his touch, but her mind as well. He wanted her to want him as he wanted her. He’d felt the passion in her kiss. He wasn’t ready for the flirtation to end. He wanted it to continue and for them to explore this white-hot spark that flickered between them. He’d be a poor person if he gave up at the first hurdle. ‘I’ll respect your wishes, but will allow you the luxury of changing your mind.’

A long sigh escaped her mouth before she straightened her back. ‘I can’t. I won’t. It ends here. It has to. Things like this don’t happen to me.’

‘Denying your passion won’t bring your husband back.’

‘You seek to discomfort me. Never mention Charles Wilkinson again. He has nothing to do with this. He died seven years ago.’ She wrapped her arms about her waist. ‘That … that demonstration of your prowess was totally unnecessary.’

Kit clung on to her response as a dying man might cling to a wooden spar. She didn’t say unwelcome. He hated that it mattered and that he wanted her to want him. Silently he cursed her husband and what they must have shared. He’d never had to compete with a ghost before.

He could just imagine the upright Army hero who had won her. Someone who had more to offer than he ever could. A sudden irrational hatred of the man filled him.

‘Why did you do it, Kit?’

‘If we intend on falling out of civility, I wanted it to be for something real,’ he said lightly, pushing the unaccustomed jealousy to one side. He never examined the past. ‘The truth is far easier than a lie. The mealy-mouthed kiss earlier was nothing, but this, this will make the falling out worthwhile.’

The colour rose in her cheeks, rivalling the dusky pink of her lips. ‘Just so you understand, there can be no future.’

‘I try never to look to the future,’ Kit said stiffly. ‘And I never regret the past where women are concerned. It helps.’

She clasped her hands together so tightly he could see the knuckles through her gloves. ‘Just know that I have no intention of becoming somebody’s mistress. Anyone’s mistress. I wouldn’t want to soil … to soil my spotless reputation.’

‘We are friends.’ Kit bit back the words that he didn’t want her to become just anyone’s mistress—he wanted her to be his.

It would be laying claim to her. He’d never laid claim to anyone. To claim someone meant that you cared. And if you cared, you got hurt.

‘We should go back to the picnic.’ She turned away from the ruins. ‘Mrs Hampstead may need rescuing from Mr Hook’s lecture.’

‘We should indeed.’ Kit put his hand in the small of her back. ‘Careful. The path is unsteady.’

‘I can walk on my own.’ She made no attempt to move away.

‘Sometimes everyone needs help.’

‘I’ll remember that.’

‘You appear far more serious than I intended,’ Kit remarked when they neared the picnic area. Rupert’s voice declaiming loudly about the sleeping habits of the great crested newts punctuated the air. ‘What have I done to cause the frown besides kissing you?’

‘I was considering how to break the news to my sister of our incompatibility so I can prevent further meddling.’

‘Surely the kiss is excuse enough?’

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘There is no need for anyone to know about the kiss. I have no plans to tell.’

‘Honesty is always best.’ Kit stifled a smile. The kiss had caused her to go off balance by a bit, but she hadn’t fully capitulated. A wise man knew when to retreat and when to advance. He’d pursue her slowly and see what happened, but first he’d give her the protection she craved. ‘We quarrelled and you see no way to mend the quarrel. You are far too distraught to talk about the quarrel because it was over a trifling matter.’

‘That excuse might do.’ She gave a heart-stopping smile. ‘It will do very well indeed.’

Kit raised two fingers to his hat. They said that there was a first time for everything, but he had never considered that he’d be involved in this—pursuing a woman by giving her advice on how to break up with him. Quarrels were made to be mended. He would see this one was. ‘Until the next time.’

‘Will there be a next time?’

He leant forwards and brushed her cheek with his forefinger. ‘You can count on it.’

Reasons why she was not interested in Kit Foxton …

Hattie read down the list of reasons, starting with his notoriety and his lack of reliability and ending with the taste of his kisses making her unsettled. She frowned. The taste of his kisses was not something she wanted to consider. With a furious stroke of her pen, she crossed it out.

‘There you are, my dear,’ Mrs Reynaud said, bustling into the drawing room of the Dower House. Unlike the day before, which had been bathed in brilliant sunshine, a steady rain fell, adding to the general air of gloom.

Hattie nearly dropped her pen in surprise. She was hard pressed to remember when Mrs Reynaud had last come calling. Hattie slid a piece of paper over the list.

‘Is something the matter, Mrs Reynaud?’

‘I feared something had happened to you,’ Mrs Reynaud explained in a rush as she removed her veil, depositing it on an armchair. ‘You failed to stop by this morning. There were things I wished to discuss with you. The picnic you had yesterday with Sir Christopher … did everything go as you would wish?’

‘I went on a picnic. For the most part, it was highly pleasant. Mr Hook practised his proposed lecture and sent Mrs Hampstead to sleep. I ate my fill of strawberries for once as neither Livvy nor Portia were there.’ Hattie folded her hands in her lap and tried to keep from looking at the list. ‘There is little to discuss. A typical picnic. Nothing exciting. No handsome highwaymen or rescuing distressed maidens like you always seem to be encountering.’

‘No picnic is typical if it involves Sir Christopher.’ Mrs Reynaud lifted her chin. ‘Your sister quite bristled with importance when she called yesterday. You dined with Sir Christopher Foxton. Your sister has expectations, great expectations. Left to her own devices, I believe she would be calling for banns. Do you have expectations, my dear?’

‘My sister came to see you,’ Hattie said slowly. How many other people had Stephanie happened to tell? Expectations indeed! Silently she offered up thanks that she had already dispatched her note to Kit, severing any connection. It had come to her last night. After the kiss they enjoyed, sending a letter was her only course forwards, but it had to be carefully worded, coded without appearing to mention That Incident. She had retained a copy to show Stephanie when she appeared, but she didn’t want to appear too eager to share the news.

‘Mrs Parteger required urgent advice about Mr Hook and her eldest.’ Mrs Reynaud narrowed her eyes. ‘I believe you mentioned something about me knowing Sir Christopher …’

‘Only in passing.’

‘It was many years ago.’ The elderly woman fluttered her hands as two bright spots appeared on her pockmarked cheeks. ‘I wouldn’t want Sir Christopher to feel that I claimed an acquaintance. And I have no knowledge of Mr Hook’s antecedents in any case.’

‘Stephanie should never have bothered you with such a trivial matter. I fear she wanted to gossip about the picnic.’ Hattie leant forwards and lowered her voice. ‘No doubt she neglected to mention that Sir Christopher invited the entire family, but she declined, preferring to concentrate on arranging a series of lectures.’

‘No, your sister never mentioned that.’ Mrs Reynaud gave a merry trill of laughter. ‘I thought Colonel Cunningham had charge of the lectures this year because it was something your sister loathed. Indeed, we very nearly did not have any lectures last year because your sister forgot.’

‘Stephanie changed her mind. She thinks Colonel Cunningham needs some assistance now.’

Mrs Reynaud’s eyes danced. ‘Fancy forgetting that piece of information about who was originally invited. It puts the invitation in a different light.’

‘My sister is rather inclined to make overmuch of the matter.’ Hattie stood up and faced Mrs Reynaud. The sooner she stopped the gossip, the better for all concerned. ‘The matter is now closed.’

‘The matter with Sir Christopher or Mr Hook?’

‘Both.’ Hattie remembered the uncomfortable way Mr Hook had shifted in the carriage and how Mrs Hampstead had confided that she doubted anyone, even Livvy, could sit through something that dull and tedious. It was better for all concerned if they drew a line under the entire episode. ‘Livvy might suffer for a few weeks, but London gentlemen never stay. It is no good hoping they will. They never do. I will inform Stephanie and the lecture can be postponed before real harm is done. I would hate for anyone to be disappointed.’

Mrs Reynaud tilted her head. Her sharp eyes assessed her. It seemed as if her gaze bore into her soul. Hattie toyed with her pen as her cheeks flamed.

‘He kissed you. More than once, I reckon,’ Mrs Reynaud said in solemn tones. ‘It is far from a crime and occasionally most enjoyable. You were discreet. Yes. Yes, that goes without saying. You are the sort of woman who would be discreet. It was always part of my trouble when I was young and foolish. I forgot to be discreet.’

Hattie put her hand to her throat. How had Mrs Reynaud guessed? Nearly twenty-four hours later, and there should be no mark on her. Hattie glanced down and saw the word kiss, underlined, rather than scratched out. She moved the piece of paper more firmly over the list.

‘We quarrelled. I doubt he will kiss me again. Nor would I wish him to.’ She tilted her chin upwards. ‘I sent him a note explaining the situation. It is impossible. He is impossible.’

‘Why did you do that if you wanted to end it?’

Hattie put her hand on her stomach and concentrated on keeping her shoulders straight. She could hardly explain that she saw herself becoming like the woman whom Charles had loved, living on the margins of society, and for the first time it had tempted her.

‘Because I have Livvy and Portia’s reputation to think about,’ she said firmly. ‘How could they make the matches they need if their aunt is pilloried for being wicked? Sir Christopher does not believe in marriage. His parents had a dreadful one, I believe.’

The colour drained from Mrs Reynaud’s face. ‘He spoke to you about his parents and their marriage?’

‘Only briefly to explain why he intends to remain unwed.’ Hattie resolutely did not look at her list.

‘People should not visit the sins of one generation on the next.’

‘It was a brief interlude and now it is over.’ Hattie walked over to the window and looked out over the garden with its gravel paths and roses. Off to her left, she could just make out Highfield’s chimneys and the great cedar of Lebanon. This was home and safe. She was not prepared to risk her heart again. Charles had seen to that. Life would have been much easier in ways if Kit had been the marrying kind, but he wasn’t. His honesty made her decision easy. ‘I love the girls like my own and I would hate anything I did to ruin their chances of a good marriage.’

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 disappointed 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 newfangled 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?’

‘I know why it was written, Hattie. And you are wrong to be afraid. I wanted to let you know that.’

She was conscious of staring at him for a heartbeat too long, of drinking in his features. She was very glad now that he hadn’t read the pretentious twaddle. It didn’t change things. Serious flirtations were out. The risks were too great. ‘I’m not afraid.’

‘That is good to know.’

‘There are things I must do.’ Hattie forced her chin upwards so she looked Kit directly in the eye. Here she retook control of the conversation. ‘Mr Ogle was going to fix Mrs Belter’s firebox. It needs to be done or I shall have to order another stove at the Stagshaw fair.’

‘Who is Mrs Belter?’

‘One of my brother-in-law’s tenants. Stephanie can’t be counted on to ensure my brother-in-law knows how they are doing. Over the years, I took the responsibility on. It keeps me out of mischief and makes everyone’s lives happier.’

‘Far be it from me to keep you from doing anything.’ He put two fingers to his hat. ‘Until the fair, Mrs Wilkinson.’

Hattie put a hand to her head as she stepped back into the shop. He probably thought her sighing from love just like Miss Dent and Maria Richley. She gave a little smile. The next time she encountered him, she would not feed his self-importance. Until the fair. Had she agreed to meet him? Did he think they were going to meet? Impossible! She had to find him and tell him that it was not going to happen.

Hattie hurried back out of the ironmonger’s. Her feet skittered to a stop.

Kit stood facing the door, arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. She curled her fists. He knew she’d appear. He had waited for her to appear. Silently she cursed for behaving precisely as he thought she would. Seven years after Charles’s betrayal and she acted worse than Livvy.

‘Is there a problem, Mrs Wilkinson?’

‘I … that is …’ The words stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard and tried again. This time she stuck her chin in the air and took refuge in her dignity. ‘I had no plans to see you during the fair.’

‘But you have no objections, should it happen?’

Hattie waved her reticule in the air in a gesture of magnanimity. ‘If it happens, I will not cut you.’

‘You have relieved my mind.’ His eyes danced. ‘The thought has kept me awake in recent nights. What could be worse than being cut by Mrs Wilkinson at the Stagshaw fair? How can I prevent it?’

Hattie allowed her hand to drop to her side. All the pretence flowed out of her. ‘You are laughing at me. You think me a censorious widow who has forgotten what it is like to be alive.’

‘Not at all. I’m not given to flights of fancy. I do have the honour of having been on a picnic with you. I have heard you laugh.’

‘Then what?’ She found the answer mattered suddenly.

The dimple in the corner of his mouth deepened. His gaze seemed to pierce her very soul. ‘I’m merely welcoming our return to friendship. Nothing more. Your servant, Mrs Wilkinson. Stop being so hard on yourself.’