Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge
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is not necessary. I have everything in hand. Pray stay seated and visit with your sister. I can see my own way out.’ He gave an approximation of his smile. ‘Until next time, Mrs Wilkinson. Mrs Parteger.’
Hattie sat completely still until the voices had receded. He had gone just like that. No searing look or even a promise to call when he was better.
‘I declare Sir Christopher is a gentleman—putting your reputation above his own comfort and consideration.’ Stephanie reached for the coffee pot, a sure sign that she intended to stay a while. ‘At last someone in this sorry affair thinks about reputations and the impact their actions may have on others. I declare you have no more sense than a gnat, Hattie. Livvy is due to make her début next season. The last thing you want is for your exploits to become common fodder for the gossips.’
‘He certainly did that.’ Hattie hated the way the butterflies in her stomach started. Surely he could not have forgotten about last night so quickly? They spoke at such length. It was impossible and if he had, how could she face him knowing that she had once divulged those secrets to him?
Stephanie dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘Here I was a bit concerned about Mr Hook, but with an example such as his guardian, I know that he will behave with the upmost propriety.’
‘You are resigned to Mr Hook now? Or do you think Livvy will do better in London?’
‘Mr Hook’s relations with Livvy are not something I entirely want to discuss. Rather I want to speak about your gloves.’
‘Which gloves this time?’ Hattie rapidly considered all her pairs of gloves. She knew where they were.
‘It was so kind of you to buy Livvy that pair of butter-yellow gloves. They are far too expensive.’
‘I bought Livvy a pair of gloves?’
‘She tried to tell me that they were yours, but you never buy frivolous things like that. You are always so practical, Hattie. Charles always said that it was one of your more admirable qualities. I will confess that I failed to see it until after his death, but there you go. A sister is always the last to notice.’
‘I am pleased she likes them.’ Hattie made a mental note to speak to both Mr Hook and Livvy about lying. It was entirely possible that Stephanie had become muddled, but Livvy had to understand the consequences. A tiny prickle went down her back. Unless …’Did you say they were butter-yellow?’
‘They must have been tremendously expensive.’
‘They were.’ Hattie pressed her lips together, remembering Kit’s gesture to the stall keeper at the Hexham Tans stall. She should have intervened then. No matter what happened, she did not intend to accept gifts from him. It would make the relationship less equal.
‘Is there any other news? Surely something else happened beside Livvy’s mysterious pair of gloves?’
‘Beyond Sir Christopher’s injury?’ Stephanie frowned. ‘Mr Hook has agreed to give his lecture on newts. Apparently Mr Hook has decided that it would be best if they stay in the neighbourhood while Sir Christopher recuperates. That young man has a sound head on his shoulders. After you became separated from Livvy, he made certain that she was escorted back to me. I just pray he finds some confidence from somewhere or otherwise poor Livvy will be dreadfully disappointed.’
Hattie hid her smile behind her hand. It appeared that Livvy and Mr Hook were enjoying a romance, despite Stephanie’s interference and she found that she wasn’t inclined to stop it. It was no one’s business and she had to trust that Livvy would be sensible. ‘Is that so?’
‘He is far too diffident. I doubt he has any idea about women.’
Hattie moved the conversation on to much safer topics. When she next saw Kit, she’d tackle him about the gloves. But whatever he had intended, the gloves now belonged to Livvy. Hattie quite looked forward to quizzing him about it.
The sickroom was immaculate. No sign beyond the tidily folded laundry that Kit had ever slept here. Hattie regarded it with distaste. She had come up immediately after Stephanie left, hoping for a little clue or perhaps a forgotten article which would enable her to visit him.
Hattie caught sight of her stricken reflection in the little mirror over the chest of drawers.
‘What did you expect, my girl? You knew he had suffered from a concussion. He probably doesn’t even remember.’
The irony did not escape her. How could she go to him and ask? What did one say—when you were suffering from a concussion, you promised to make love to me? Will you do so now? The mere thought made her feel sick to her stomach.
A great wave of tiredness came over her and she stumbled to her bedroom. Everything would be clearer after a sleep.
She put her hand to her head as a wave of dizziness passed through her. Whatever happened, she was not going to humiliate herself again. She was going to retreat and lie down.
There, propped up on the middle of her bed, was a single red rose and a note. Hattie’s tiredness melted away.
With trembling fingers, Hattie undid the sealing wax and opened to the note.
Summer house in your garden. Four p.m. Tomorrow. If you are still willing. Kit.
Hattie sank down on the soft bed. He’d left her a note where only she would find it.
She pressed the note to her lips, trying to think. He’d given her an option and had preserved her reputation in case she changed her mind.
Hattie tightened her grip on the paper. Retreating was the last thing she wanted to do.
She’d be naïve if she thought she was anything but a distraction. She knew the boundaries going in. This was not about love or finer feelings. She’d had all those words from Charles and had believed them. This was about proving her independence.
She could stop living the life that Charles had chosen for her now. She had a choice and she intended to take it.
She gulped twice. What did one wear to a seduction?
The garden was bathed in warm golden sun the next afternoon. Hattie had sent Mrs Hampstead to Highfield on the pretext of helping Livvy get ready for the dinner party the Dents were giving. She claimed tiredness and the wish to have some peace after the turmoil of the last few days. Mrs Hampstead had taken Moth with her so that Hattie could sleep properly and undisturbed.
A life of half-truths had begun, Hattie thought with a wry smile. Perhaps it said something about her that they sprang so easily to her lips. She had been certain that Mrs Hampstead guessed, but she accepted Hattie’s rather garbled explanation.
At first, Hattie considered that no one was there, but then she saw movement in the shadows.
‘Kit?’ she called softly, wondering precisely how one went about this new life of sin.
When she had gone to the summer house with Charles, he had led the way, insisting that she could see the fireworks better from there. She had been far too young and in love with love to question him. It had seemed a dream that someone so handsome and at ease with society, not to mention brave, should be interested in her. She had never thought about it until far too late. Then, looking back with the benefit of hindsight, she had seen the signs—the unexplained absences, the moodiness, the perfunctory love-making. It was not going to happen again. This time, she wasn’t going to give her heart.
He appeared in the doorway. He was simply dressed and bareheaded. The bruising on his face was starting to come out and gave him a decidedly roguish appearance.
‘You made your decision.’
‘It was painfully easy.’ She held out her hands. ‘I’m not certain about what happens next.’
He crossed the short distance between them. His fingers touched her jaw. ‘We go slowly. It happens at the pace you want it to happen.’
‘I