Regency Bride: Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match / An Ideal Husband?. Michelle Styles
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and the way his face was swelling. A primitive urge to see the men hanged filled her. She pushed it away. ‘You must do as you see fit, Mr Jessop. It was a fight, but it is also the day of Stagshaw fair. You will have to speak with Sir Christopher when he is in a better state.’
‘I see, Mrs Wilkinson. No doubt there will be a few sore heads in the morning. A spell cooling off over in Hexham gaol will do them good.’
‘I wish to get medical help for Sir Christopher before anything else happens. Sir Christopher’s well-being is the most important thing.’
Kit mumbled something. Hattie bent down. ‘What is it you want to say?’
His fingers curled about hers. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he murmured in a broken whisper. ‘Please stay … please, I beg you.’
Hattie’s heart flipped over. She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. He’d risked his life for her. All this had happened because she had decided to take offence at his flirtatious comments, comments which were not meant to be taken literally. She had behaved worse than an aged maiden aunt. He wasn’t asking her to stay for ever, just until he recovered. ‘Yes, I’ll look after you. I promise. I’ve no intention of leaving you.’
He gave a crooked smile and closed his eyes. ‘Good.’
She held his hand, waiting until he became calm and his breathing regular. After what Kit had said, her decision was surprisingly easy. It didn’t matter that Stephanie would be terribly shocked. Stephanie would get over it. One simply did not turn one’s back on someone who had risked his life for her.
‘His lordship can’t stay here,’ Mr Jessop said. ‘It’s not right.’
‘I will take Sir Christopher back to the Dower House where he can be properly nursed.’ Hattie stood up. ‘I would appreciate the doctor arriving there as soon as possible. I will want several stout men to help me to get him into the governess cart.’
‘Back to your house, ma’am? Are you sure that is wise?’
‘I pay my debts, Mr Jessop, and I owe this man a huge debt. You send Dr Gormley to me once he has been found.’
‘It is fair day, Mrs Wilkinson.’ Mr Jessop rocked back on his heels.
‘You may try the ale tent or, failing that, machinery exhibition. The good doctor is as fond of inventions as the next man.’
Hattie waited, trying to keep her gaze steady. Surely Mr Jessop was going to assist her, rather than throwing up roadblocks?
Mr Jessop nodded and gave the orders. ‘It is my profound regret that this happened. We run a clean fair. It must be ten years since anything of significance has happened.’
‘I know you do. It wasn’t your fault.’ Hattie bent down and shook Kit’s shoulder. ‘Kit, can you walk or do you need to be carried?’
‘Give me your shoulder, Hattie, and I’ll walk. I can do anything if you help me. I can do more things if you’d kiss me.’ The words were a bit slurred and Hattie wondered if he’d hit his head in the fight. The Kit she was used to would never say such a thing.
Mr Jessop, she noticed, had studiously averted his eyes. So much for her hope to keep anything with Sir Christopher private—the gossip would be all over the fair within minutes. ‘If you are sure you don’t need us for anything else, I will get him back to my house. I believe he has hit his head.’
‘I’ll help you, ma’am, in case he falls like,’ a thin farmer said. ‘Way aye, I saw the whole thing and one of them brought a walking stick down on his head. ‘Tweren’t right, that. The man’s a hero. It weren’t many men who’d do something like that.’
‘We will haul this lot up in front of the magistrates come Monday morning,’ Mr Jessop declared.
‘I will be happy to give evidence,’ the farmer said. ‘And me lad as well.’
Hattie felt the tears well up. She hadn’t expected any assistance and now it seemed people were queuing up to support her.
‘Let me know if his condition worsens,’ Mr Jessop called out as she started the slow march towards her governess cart with Kit’s heavy weight leaning on her shoulder.
‘Obviously.’
Was what she was doing the right thing? Hattie gave a small shudder when she thought about Stephanie, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d given Kit her word and she intended on keeping it. They were friends.
Please let him be all right. That was all that mattered.
Kit woke with a start from confused dreams about Hattie, his uncle and various jumping-jacks. A single candle shone by the bed and there was an engraving of some biblical scene hanging on the opposite wall. The room was small and austere, a sickroom and utterly unfamiliar.
His entire body ached and his right eye was swollen shut. And he was dressed in a voluminous nightshirt, unlike the sort he normally wore. His head ached like the very devil.
He searched his mind, trying to figure out how he’d arrived here. The events of the afternoon came flooding back. As far as bright ideas went, taking on four men was not one of his better ones. But try as he might, between landing the first punch and to just now, his mind was a blank.
He put a hand to the back of his head, probing. A huge pain shot through him, blinding in its intensity. He’d obviously banged his head. But beyond a few aches and pains, he would survive. There was no reason to stay here, helpless and at the mercy of some unknown quack.
He swung his feet over the side of the bed and started to push his protesting body to a stand.
‘Oh, no, you don’t. You are to stay in bed and get well.’ Cool hands pushed him back down on to crisp linen sheets. He turned his head in case his fevered mind had conjured her up.
The candlelight made her blonde hair shine and highlighted the hollow at the base of her throat. An angel. No, an angel would not wear a sprigged muslin. An angel would be dressed in flowing robes. It was Hattie in the flesh and blood. Her sewing had fallen to the floor as she stood to enforce her command. The sheer domesticity of the scene made him want to weep.
He rubbed his left eye and tried to open his right to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He could not remember the last time when someone volunteered to look after him. Since an early age, it had always been someone who was paid and done out of duty, rather than for any other reason. A sense of great humbleness filled Kit. Hattie had done this for him.
‘Where am I?’
‘At my house.’
‘Your house?’ Kit searched his mind, but the big black well prevented him. ‘What am I doing here? The last thing I remember is getting into a fight with a stubborn drunk.’
‘You are to stay in bed until the doctor says that you can rise.’ She crossed her arms and glared at him. ‘I’d be grateful if you obliged me in this if nothing else.’
He tried to catch her hand before remembering how she’d walked away from him and settled for clutching the sheet instead. He refused to beg. He had deliberately driven her away.
‘Hattie? Why am I here? How? You live miles away from Stagshaw. The last thing I recall is the fight near the cockpit. And that drunk with his paws on you.’
‘Not too far.’ She turned her face from him, revealing her slender neck. ‘I had them bring you to my house. It seemed the best place. A bit closer than Southview. I was being practical after … after the fight. You couldn’t be left on your own, waiting for the doctor to show up.’
‘I thank you.’
‘It was the least I could do in the circumstances. I’d do it for any