Читать книгу Regency Bride - Michelle Styles - Страница 13

‘Hurry up, Livvy,’ Hattie called from the governess cart just after ten on the fourth of July. ‘You don’t want to be late for the fair. Your mother and father left over an hour ago.’

Portia had run over and clambered immediately in, but Livvy slowly picked her way across the puddles, holding a white parasol over her head. Hattie wanted to get out of the governess cart and bodily pick her up. All night she had thought about Kit and how she’d behave during the fair. They were friends. The fact that she kept remembering the kiss they had shared was her problem.

‘Isn’t the sun fierce this year?’ Livvy said, finally getting into the cart. ‘You will freckle, Portia, if you don’t pull your hat forwards.’

Portia stuck out her tongue and pushed the straw bonnet back.

‘If there is any bickering, you can stay at home.’ Hattie gave the reins a shake and the horse started off smartly. All she could hope was that the day improved. This was the sort of thing she loved—being with her nieces. Except today, it felt a bit like everyone took her for granted. There was a question of how she greeted Kit as she had not bothered to inform Stephanie about the precise ending of hostilities. ‘I mean it, Portia and Livvy. I want no repeats of last year.’

‘You can’t do that!’ Portia’s eyes went wide. ‘I have been waiting for oranges and gingerbread for ever so long. Whenever I’m feeling sad, I tell myself—oranges and gingerbread lumps as big as hats at the Stagshaw fair. Somehow it makes everything seem more bearable.’

‘I am sure there will be time for both oranges and gingerbread … provided you both behave yourselves.’ Hattie concentrated on navigating the rutted road. The short journey to Stagshaw was fraught with difficulty after so many carriages and carts had churned up the road. The last thing she needed was a broken wheel or to get stuck in the mud. She had taken pains with her dress and had tried out a new hairstyle. ‘I’ve saved some pennies for you. Shall we see how many squares of gingerbread we can eat?’

‘Can I use the money towards a pair of Hexham Tans?’ Livvy smoothed her skirt and tilted her chin. From where Hattie sat, it appeared that she was striking a variety of poses, trying them out to see which suited her best by looking at her shadow. Hattie remembered the phase all too clearly. ‘I would like a pair of gloves more than anything and I have almost enough. I’ve saved my Christmas and birthday money especially.’

Portia snorted. ‘You mean you are hoping to run into Mr Hook and don’t want your face grubby. Personally I fail to see what the fuss is about. He doesn’t appear to know much about newts. I asked him about the toads in our garden when we ran into him at the Halls’ At Home. And he kept primping his curls when he thought no one was looking. The tousled look.’

Livvy rolled her eyes. ‘There is a difference between toads and newts, Portia. Any fool knows that.’

‘Will he be giving the proposed lecture before he departs? I understood they were only staying for the Stagshaw fair,’ Hattie asked, attempting to keep her voice casual. Her mind raced to think about whether Kit had actually said they were staying or if today was truly going to be goodbye. Her heart sank. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

‘It depends on what Colonel Cunningham decides, but I plan to sit in the front row when it happens.’

‘Livvy, we weren’t going to speak about meeting Mr Hook in the High Street. Mama said. Sir Christopher would barely speak to Aunt Hattie at the concert. They have fallen out of civility and it is all Aunt Hattie’s fault. Her best chance for marriage in years is gone.’

Livvy clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, Aunt Harriet. I understand now about the sorrows of the heart.’

‘Is there a particular pair of gloves you want or are you going to look over the stalls?’ Hattie asked, silently damning Stephanie. Sorrows of the heart and Kit being a good marriage prospect indeed. She was not wasting away for love or looking for a loveless marriage with a charming but unreliable man. The only person who would see the irony was Kit.

‘Oh, I thought I would wander up and down the stalls until I found the one I wanted.’ Livvy gave an elaborate shrug.

‘Does your mother approve of your plan? You are hoping to meet Mr Hook.’

‘Mama fails to understand.’ Livvy bent her head and fussed with her lace gloves. ‘I’m sixteen, but I also have a brain. I want to go to London and have a Season. I’m not about to do anything foolish.’

‘You did go into the card room.’

‘Mr Hook explained that it was not my best idea, but how else could I meet him?’ Livvy screwed up her nose. ‘Sir Christopher gave him a talking to. Being young is no reason to be ignorant of society’s pitfalls.’

Despite her earlier misgivings, Hattie was impressed. Mr Hook had obviously considered his position and decided that he wanted to court Livvy. She might not agree with everything, but the light romance would not put anyone in danger. ‘I agree with Sir Christopher.’

Livvy clapped her hands together. ‘Why did you have to fall out of civility with Sir Christopher? It makes everything much more difficult. Mama has taken against Mr Hook for some unknown reason. And now they say Sir Christopher has taken up with one of the Dent sisters. The elder one who has the annoying laugh. And the younger one probably will get her claws into Mr Hook.’

‘I heard that it was Maria Richley.’ Portia put her hand over Hattie’s. ‘We weren’t meant to tell. Mama made us promise.’

Hattie pasted a smile on her face. Stephanie obviously knew that Portia would be unable to keep a secret and had primed her. After the incident at the musicale with the seating arrangements, she should have guessed that Stephanie was not going to give up her matchmaking scheme easily. Still the gossip caused a slight jealous twinge and that surprised her.

All in all it was safer if no one knew about her renewed friendship with Kit. Hattie forcibly turned the subject away from Sir Christopher and back towards safer subjects like gloves, gingerbread and the possibility of exotic animals.

The odour of spice and citrus fruit mixed with animal and overlaid with sawdust took Kit back to his childhood. He could remember every step of the fair even though he had not been in twenty-five years. The stalls looked tantalisingly familiar—here one for London Spice and there another selling oranges. Still further on were the stalls devoted to all manner of pots and pans. It appeared as if a large tented city had sprung up overnight. Kit struggled to see the windswept field where he and Hattie had picnicked only a few days before.

The memory of waiting outside the ale tent and hoping that his uncle would not turn out like his father sliced through him. Your father has it all wrong, Kit. Bad blood doesn’t mean you have to be bad. Damn your mother to hell. Never wait on a woman.

Kit frowned and pushed the memory away. Over the years he’d perfected the art of not thinking about the past and only living in the present. And the present meant deciding what to do about Hattie. He wasn’t ready to face that … yet, and it was unlike him to be mealy-mouthed. He would end it after the fair. The gift he gave her would be special, but in keeping with their relationship. The weight on his shoulders eased. He was going to do the right thing.

‘Do keep up, Rupert,’ Kit said as Rupert endeavoured to linger at the gun stall and then at Moles Swords where the latest models were hung with precision and a crowd of ten deep stood. ‘You purchased a sword before we left London. Maybe now you will understand why I urged you to wait. Moles always brings out its new range for the Stagshaw fair.’

Rupert put down the rapier with a loud sigh. ‘You are right. Nothing, not even a sword, can give me pleasure when the sight of my beloved is denied.’

‘Petulance does you few favours,’ Kit murmured.

‘You were the one to get into this muddle. Women should be enjoyed, not mooned over.’

Rupert gave a glance behind him and his entire countenance lit up. ‘Miss Parteger is at the glove stall, right when she said she would be. You are wrong, Kit, some women you can count on.’

Kit tensed. Hattie stood next to Miss Parteger, seemingly absorbed in choosing a pair of butter-yellow gloves. Her straw bonnet trimmed with green ribbons made a pleasant contrast with her round gown. Not a London sophisticate, but refreshing, someone who was comfortable in their skin. Was it just the novelty of freshness that intrigued? Kit frowned. It didn’t matter. He would return to London soon and the flirtation would be over.

‘Shall we go and investigate the famous Hexham Tans?’ he said.

As he approached, Hattie looked up. Her straw bonnet framed her face, shadowing her features and making her look far more desirable than the majority of women of his acquaintance.

‘Are you buying gloves?’ he asked after they had exchanged pleasantries.

‘Livvy is. She desires a new pair and they always do specials on fair days. She is looking at the other stalls, but I always come back to Hedley’s.

There is a certain something about the way they soften the leather.’ She stretched out her hand. ‘I can’t make up my mind about whether the butter yellow or light tan is best.’

‘For riding?’

‘General purpose.’

He looked down at her hands. Her fingers were small and slender, but there was a certain indomitable strength in them. She was the sort of woman who would bend, but not break. ‘Can a lady accept gloves from a gentleman or would it be too intimate a gift?’

Her eyes twinkled, warming him. He found he’d missed the barely suppressed humour. ‘I suspect you already know the answer.’

‘A pity as those butter-yellow gloves suit your hands perfectly.’ He waited for her to agree. ‘It is a fair day after all and the normal rules don’t apply.’

‘I would hate to cause talk. And you make your rules as you go along in any case.’

‘Not all my rules. Some are immovable.’

‘But most of them. It lulls people into a false sense of security.’

‘Is it my fault if they wish to be lulled?’

Hattie stripped off the glove and handed it back to the stall owner with a decided shake of her head. As she began to make a pile of the various other gloves, Kit signalled first to the stall owner and then to Rupert, handing the stall owner some money. He’d give Hattie the gloves when the time was right.

‘Is the fair everything you hoped at Waterloo?’ she asked, glancing up just after he had completed the transaction.

‘It is everything I remember, but it is as if I am looking through a Claude glass rather than actually being here.’ He gave a laugh. ‘Perhaps I need a guide.’

Her hand brushed his as she reached for the next set of gloves. ‘Is there anything missing? Something that would help make the day perfect?’

Kit contemplated saying her exploring the fair with him, but decided that it would be revealing too much. He opted for something safer, less declaratory. ‘I need to find a toy manufacturer.’

Her hands stilled. ‘What sort of toys? Dolls? Wooden tops? You hardly seem like the child-loving sort.’

‘Jumping-jacks—little men or women with a string you pull. I had one from the fair when I was a young boy. My uncle bought it for me.’ Kit gazed over her shoulder and knew it would help ease the unsettled feeling if he could find the stall. It would reassure him that there was nothing magical about the stall. The jumping-jack was just that, a wooden toy. ‘I wanted to see if such a creature still existed. The stall holder had a humpback and a hook nose, but he made the most wonderful wooden toys.’

Her mouth became a perfect O. ‘You had one as a boy. From this fair. It is why you wanted to come back here?’

‘That’s right,’ he agreed, surprised that she had guessed. ‘My uncle gave me one as consolation.’

‘Consolation? That is a strange word to use. Why did you need consolation? Had someone died?’

‘I had waited outside the ale tent for hours.’ Kit clamped his mouth shut. He had explained too much already. He remembered thinking that he’d meet his mother. Of course she had never appeared. He’d blocked the memory until now. The last thing he wanted was to discuss his mother, particularly not with Hattie Wilkinson. He’d already revealed more about his past than he’d intended. He never spoke about her. It saved having people look at him with pity.

‘You won’t find one on this row.’ Hattie’s brow knitted. ‘The toy manufacturers are two rows down, near the London Spice merchant. I think I know the one you mean. I used to buy my nieces and nephews toys from him when they were little.’

‘It sounds straightforward enough.’ Kit touched his hat. He silently thanked her for not pursuing the topic. ‘Rupert …’

Rupert had wandered down the stall and appeared to be in earnest discussion with Miss Parteger over a pair of gloves. Instantly he broke off the conversation and stood up straighter. Rupert appeared to have taken their conversations to heart. Kit gave a wry smile. Then he was Brendan’s boy and Brendan could always be counted on to do what was right.

‘I’m about to go that way after Livvy finishes and I return her to her mother.’

He caught her hand. ‘And you won’t lead me astray?’

She tilted her head to one side. Her eyes danced with mischief. ‘I can show you if you like. As for leading you astray, I fear you went from that path long ago.’

Kit laughed. A heartbeat later, Hattie joined in.

The sound of her laughter made the whole day seem brighter. Kit knew he would get his way. He’d enjoy today and finish the flirtation before it started to mean anything. It was better that way. He’d retrieve the gloves from Rupert later and send them with a note before he left for London. And he would leave for London, once his business here was finished.

‘That would be perfect. With you by my side, Mrs Wilkinson, I know I shan’t lose my way.’

‘I’ll tell Livvy to hurry up. She has lingered far longer than I thought she would. Portia and Stephanie went off to buy oranges over an hour ago.’

‘Rupert can look after your niece. He is quite safe.’

‘Are you sure? The memory of the card room lingers.’

‘He has grown on this trip. You must take my word for it.’

‘I shall.’

Kit called to Rupert and told him to take Miss Parteger back to her mother without stopping for refreshment on the way. His godson blushed a deep scarlet.

‘Very neatly done.’

‘I like to think so.’ Kit tucked her hand in the crook of his arm before she had a chance to pull away. ‘What is the wagering that they do stop? Maybe not for refreshment, but to watch a Punch and Judy show or one of the other entertainments?’

‘Just so you know, I never bet on a sure thing. It takes the fun out of it. Everyone should have a little romance in their life. It will be harmless.’

‘You surprise me, Mrs Wilkinson. I was willing to wager on you not understanding about young romance except I make it a policy never to wager on a lady, only with her.’

Her eyes turned cloudy and something close to sorrow tugged at her mouth. In that instant, Kit hated her late husband. Seven years and he retained a hold over her. ‘You are wrong about that. I understand about romance and its perils all too well.’

‘Is this the one you want? Now that we are finally here.’ Hattie held up a red-coated jumping-jack.

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘Yours, I believe.’ She gave a light laugh, basking in the warmth of his smile. ‘You kept seeing another stall you wanted to investigate.’

‘It has been an age since I’ve been to a fair. I wanted to make certain things were here.’

‘Including having a go at the ha’penny man?’

‘I did win.’

The toy stall had proved more difficult to find than she thought it would be, not the least of which Kit seemed intent on taking the most circuitous route. Not that she had strenuously objected. She had enjoyed talking with him and laughing. They seemed to share the same sense of humour. They were friends, nothing more. It could never be anything more.

She refused to go back to the girl she had once been, and in any case, Kit had been clear about his views on marriage. She wished that she could be like someone in Mrs Reynaud’s stories, but there were considerations. She shivered slightly, remembering how Charles’s mistress had said that they were more alike than she thought.

To banish the unwelcome memory she blindly reached for another toy.

‘Do you like this jumping-jack? Personally I think he has a roguish smile, just the sort of thing for a man like you.’

‘It will do.’ His hand closed over it. A sudden fierce longing crossed over his face. ‘The one I had as a boy had a dark-green coat with white trim.’

‘You must have loved it.’

‘It meant a lot to me once. It was about my only toy.’

Hattie’s heart bled for the lonely boy that he must have been. ‘Your only toy?’

‘My father didn’t hold with such things, but as it was a present from my uncle, he allowed me to keep it.’

‘Then it was good that you loved it so much.’

He tilted his head to one side. ‘I suspect you find it strange. But my father had his own views on life.’

‘Not at all. Just tell me that he died a lonely and bitter old man.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

‘It saves me from having to kill him. Children should have toys. There is time enough to be grown up.’

‘My father would not have agreed. Boys need to learn to be men. My father was a hard man.’

‘But you are not your father.’

‘I’m grateful you realise that. I try not to take after either of my parents.’

Hattie relaxed in the sunshine of his smile. A sharp longing sliced through her. If only … Hattie pushed it away. It was far too late for regrets. She was not the type to indulge in casual affairs of the heart. She had her responsibilities and duties to think about. This had to be the last time she indulged in a flirtation with Kit.

‘The jumping-jack will be a present from me,’ she said, taking control of the conversation.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Are jumping-jacks different than gloves?’

‘Jumping-jacks are better given as gifts. Every child since time began knows that. It adds to the magic.’

‘I agree.’ There was a catch in his voice and he turned his face from hers.

‘Is something wrong?’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Kit, explain. We are friends. I want to know.’

He turned back towards her. His eyes held a distinctly sultry look which caused a warm curl to wind its way around her insides. ‘I normally never let my lady buy me anything.’

A warm shiver went down her back. She envied the unknown lady who would be his. A longing to feel his lips against hers and the touch of his hand against her skin filled her.

‘But I’m not yours, am I?’ she returned more tartly than she had intended. ‘It is a gift from a friend, nothing more.’

His eyes bore into her, searching down to her soul. Hattie returned his gaze as steadily as she could, hoping he didn’t see the white lie.

‘I stand corrected,’ he said finally. ‘In that case I shall be delighted to accept the gift. Child that I am.’

‘Play with it wisely. It is what I always tell my nieces and nephews when I give them a toy,’ she joked after she had paid the wizened toymaker.

Keep it light. She needed to keep it light. She gripped her reticule tighter. Their time was coming to an end and she didn’t want it to.

She could easily imagine what one of his London mistresses would be like—the highly sophisticated way she’d laugh and how her gestures would be perfectly poised. Everything she wasn’t and could never be.

‘I intend to treasure it.’ Kit tucked it into his breast pocket. ‘It should be safe there. Thank you, Hattie. It is a first being given something like this from a woman, but then you are unique.’

Hattie dipped her head. There was a wealth of meaning in those words. If she wasn’t careful, she would start wanting to be kissed again. And that would be a very bad idea. ‘I should get back to the family. Livvy and Portia will be wondering what has happened to me.’

‘Surely they can spare you for a while longer yet? There must be some part of the fair you haven’t explored. Perhaps you’d like your fortune told. There are always gypsies at fairs like these.’

‘I’m not overfond of fortune tellers. My husband used to enjoy such pastimes.’

‘And you gave them up as frivolous on his death.’ He held up his hand. ‘Say no more, Hattie. Your past defines you.’

‘That is not it at all.’

‘Why can’t you linger with me a while? We won’t have our fortune told. We can enjoy the fair in other ways.’

‘They count on me. I don’t know where I’d be without them.’ A sudden chill passed through Hattie. She’d been so close to agreeing. She needed to keep this friendship light and easy, but not lose sense of what was truly important in her life, permanent and lasting—her family. ‘It helped so much to have them near after Charles’s death. They restored my faith in humanity.’

‘You should try living for yourself more.’

‘It’s funny … that is precisely what Mrs Reynaud said.’ She straightened her back. ‘You mustn’t worry. Once they are grown, I intend to travel the world, really travel. There are so many places I long to see. I make a list every year. I only stay in Northumberland because Stephanie and her girls can’t cope without me.’

‘Mrs Reynaud?’ A puzzled look came on his face and he seemed to go rigid. ‘Do you know someone called Reynaud?’

‘An elderly lady. One of your tenants. At Pearl Cottage.’

‘None of my tenants is called Reynaud. I would know.’

‘Perhaps she used a different name.’ Hattie gave a little shrug. ‘Her agreement was with your uncle. I think she knew your family when she was younger.’ Hattie lowered her voice. ‘She has led an exciting life and doles out tales of her wickedness. Stephanie doesn’t entirely approve of her, but I enjoy her company.’

Kit’s face became carved out of stone. All humour and goodwill had vanished. ‘I can’t remember ever meeting a Mrs Reynaud. What does she look like?’

‘She says she is much altered. A few years ago before she came to the Tyne Valley, she suffered from smallpox and totally lost her looks. Recently she has become more of a recluse than ever. Mrs Belter told me that she had refused to come to the fair because the children might point their fingers and call her a witch.’

Kit tapped his fingers together. He looked her up and down in an assessing sort of way. Hattie was aware of the simplicity of her dress and the fact that it was several seasons old. He must consider it hopelessly naïve and unattractive. He took a step closer to her and his eyes became almost feline.

‘I agree with her assessment, whoever this Mrs Reynaud is. You should have a life, Hattie, and let your nieces lead their own.’ His hand slid down her back and his breath tickled her ear. ‘It is your life to live. You only have one. Seize it.’

‘I don’t understand what you are saying.’ She hated the way her voice caught. Her lips ached as if he had kissed them again.

‘I think you do.’ His voice rolled over her, silently urging her to move closer. Seductive in the extreme. ‘I think you understand me very well. We could be good together.’

Hattie pulled her hand away. She pressed her fingers to her temples and willed the siren call to be gone. She knew what he was asking and she also knew she wasn’t ready. Not today and probably not ever. She had to leave now and not look back.

‘Hattie?’

‘When I require your advice, I’ll ask,’ she said stiffly. She had nearly done it and she couldn’t. She’d hate herself later if she embarked on an affair. She wasn’t going to be like … like her late husband’s mistress. She shuddered, remembering the time she’d visited and how awkward it had all been. She had to stay with where she was safe. She started to walk away from Kit.

‘Where are you going now?’ He reached her in two strides and put his hand on her elbow, bringing her against his body. ‘I didn’t think you were given to false modesty, Hattie.’

‘Stephanie will have created a small camp for us near the black-faced sheep. She worries about my brother-in-law becoming lost and so they go back to the same place every year.’ Hattie jerked her arm away. To think how close she had come! Poor deluded Hattie had nearly done it again. Been swept away on the romance and forgetting the cost. ‘They will be wondering where I am. It was bad of me to go off like this.’

The dimple shone in his cheek, highlighting his lips. ‘Your brother-in-law gets confused?’

‘It is the one day of the year that he spends time in the ale tent. Stephanie refuses to go in, but always waits to take him home.’ Hattie gave a careful shrug, but she was aware of how near he stood and where his hands were. Her sister and brother-in-law were very different but they did seem to have a happy marriage, something that was for ever going to elude her. All she wanted to do was to find a quiet place and regain control of herself. She’d been so close to giving in to temptation. It had been seeing the longing in his face when he held the jumping-jack in his hand which had nearly undone her and made her think that he might want something else. ‘It is an arrangement which has served them well.’

‘Shall I walk you there? Fairs can be notorious for drunks and others making a nuisance. Allow me to keep you safe.’

‘I can find my own way.’ Hattie used her reticule as a shield. ‘The fair has so much to offer. You must try the ale tent yourself. If you find my brother-in-law, remind him that we are expecting to go home at a reasonable hour rather than at eight when the fair finishes. Please let me go, Kit.’

‘Independent to a fault.’ He held up his hand and his eyes became steely grey. ‘I understand.’

Hattie didn’t flinch even though she was dying inside. ‘It is the way I like it. Independent but respectable. I can’t have it any other way.’

‘Because of your husband’s memory?’

‘Do not bring my late husband into this.’ A cold chill went down her spine. She couldn’t lie about Charles. Not to Kit. The thought stunned her.

‘Let me know if you ever feel lonely.’

‘I bid you adieu, Kit. I’ll understand if you have to go back to London suddenly.’ She made an expansive gesture as her insides wept. ‘I hope this is everything you wanted.’

His hand curled about hers and then let go. ‘Thank you, Hattie … for my jumping-jack.’

Hattie forced herself to walk away without looking back. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but she knew it was the right thing. Kit suddenly appeared to be taking liberties, to misunderstand why she’d purchased that stupid jumping-jack. She was safer on her own.