Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match Read online

  ‘Not so ill that I can’t receive one of my favourite people. A slight chill, nothing more. My health is less robust than I might wish. The damp of this cottage does me no good. But going out is hard. I worry about people and the lecture series. How goes it this year? Still surviving, I take it.’

  Hattie felt a tug of regret. Until Kit had told her this morning about his plans to leave, she’d been so wrapped up in him that she had quite forgotten her usual routine. Stephanie was right. Her behaviour was causing comment. No more. ‘I’ve been busy. I’ve a new horse, the most lovely chestnut—Strawberry. Riding is a new passion of mine. I hadn’t realised how enjoyable it was. The freedom it gives.’

  She stopped, aware that her cheeks flamed.

  ‘A gift from Sir Christopher, or so the gossip has it. A thank you for nursing him,’ Mrs Reynaud said with a faint frown. ‘His father always did have a good eye for horse flesh.’

  ‘I bought her on favourable terms with Sir Christopher’s assistance. He rescued a little stable boy.’

  Mrs Reynaud waved an impatient hand. ‘You meet him on this horse of yours? Don’t lie to me, Mrs Wilkinson.’

  ‘I’ve discovered that I enjoy the experience far more than I thought I would.’ Hattie put down the basket. She clasped her hands together to stop them from trembling. She’d thought it over last night. She had to know more about Kit. Every time they had discussed about his childhood, he’d neatly turned the conversation away. She had to know what had gone wrong yesterday. ‘You said you knew something of Sir Christopher’s childhood. I understand it was very unhappy.’

  ‘A bit.’ Mrs Reynaud’s eyes turned wary and her hand trembled as she lifted the coffee cup to her lips. ‘Is it important?’

  ‘It was something he said, or rather didn’t say. It has been nagging at me.’ Hattie drew a deep breath. She had come this far. Other than Kit, Mrs Reynaud was the only person who might know. ‘I wondered what happened to his mother.’

  ‘You ought to ask Sir Christopher.’

  Hattie leant forwards. ‘But you know.’

  Mrs Reynaud gave a sad smile. ‘Yes, my dear, I know.’

  ‘Is it breaking a confidence?’

  ‘I doubt that. There was a criminal conversation trial which was splashed all over the papers. It became the talk of England, Europe and, I believe, America. The cartoonists had a field day with the baronet spying on his wife and her lover in the bath.’

  Hattie’s heart clenched. Poor Kit. No wonder he didn’t want to speak of it. She could vaguely remember her mother discussing it in hushed tones when a friend of hers had run away. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Now you do.’

  ‘Unfortunately Kit’s mother was less than discreet, that is what you are saying.’ Hattie’s heart constricted. It had to be awful to have one’s parents involved in such a thing and it was never the man whose name was dragged through the mud, but the woman’s. And Kit had been left with his father, the man who saw no use for toys. ‘What a dreadful mess. The father always gets custody in those cases and Kit’s father was horrible.’

  ‘You call him Kit now, do you?’ Mrs Reynaud gave a warm laugh. ‘Behold the woman who will never have a flirtation, who is one of the walking dead because her husband died. Who disapproved of such things intensely.’ Her gaze became piercing. ‘I trust it remains only a flirtation. Sir Christopher has a certain reputation.’

  ‘We are friends.’ Hattie waved a vague hand before leaning forwards. She’d reached the crux of the matter and only Mrs Reynaud could assist. ‘He helped me when I bought my new horse, but I am interested in his mother. Do you know what became of her? Is she dead?’

  ‘Yes, his mother was silly and naïve. She sought romance in the wrong set of arms.’ Mrs Reynaud’s mouth twisted. ‘A hopeless romantic who didn’t realise what she had lost until too late. Pray do not concern yourself with a piece of flotsam like her.’

  Hattie stared at Mrs Reynaud, remembering the

  stories she had told and the way she had described herself. Hattie narrowed her gaze, comparing. Her stomach tightened with excitement. It made sense now. She’d wondered that she had not seen it before. Mrs Reynaud’s eyes were the exact same myriad shades of grey as Kit’s. Then there was the shape of their jaws. ‘You’re Kit’s mother, the scandalous woman.’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, my dear.’ Mrs Reynaud raised her teacup, hiding her expression. ‘Did I ever tell you about the sheikh and me? It is a wonderful story. It is sure to entertain you immensely.’

  Hattie crossed the floor and knelt at Mrs Reynaud’s feet and gathered Mrs Reynaud’s hand between hers. ‘I should like to think we are friends, Mrs Reynaud. Why didn’t you tell me that Sir Christopher Foxton was your son when he first arrived here?’

  Mrs Reynaud’s body vibrated with emotion. A long drawn-out sigh emerged from her throat as she bowed her head. ‘Does it really matter? I gave up the right to be anyone’s mother years ago. All I did was to try to play matchmaker. You are the sort of woman he should have as a bride, rather than the women he has squired throughout the years. You are beautiful and intelligent, the sort of woman I always hoped he’d marry. I may not have seen him, but I have retained an interest.’

  ‘I shall take that for a yes.’ Hattie refused to think about Mrs Reynaud’s attempt at matchmaking. Her stomach churned. She’d nearly confided about her affair to Kit’s mother. ‘He has your eyes and your jaw. I suspect your sense of humour as well.’

  ‘I know about the eyes and jaw, but will have to take your word for the humour. I haven’t spoken to Christopher for years.’ Mrs Reynaud’s cheeks flushed pink.

  ‘And the other men? Did you really lead a scandalous life?’

  Mrs Reynaud lifted her head defiantly. ‘I had to survive after Christopher’s father ruined me. Thanks to my marriage settlement, my late husband was able to lay claim to my inheritance and use it how he pleased. He refused to divorce me in the end and kept me on pin money. The criminal conversation was proved, but my lover only had to pay a meagre fivepence for destroying my reputation. He and I parted.’ Mrs Reynaud spread her gnarled hands. ‘I made sure my late husband knew about each and every one of my new lovers. It served my purposes to have him suffer.’

  ‘Your late husband. Kit’s father.’ The words tasted like ash.

  ‘Yes.’ The word was barely audible. ‘When I left, I thought it would be only for a few weeks before I could get Christopher to join me. Christopher’s father had shown no interest in the boy. But I lived in a fool’s paradise. The courts look ill on fallen women who leave their husbands.’

  ‘But he’s been dead for years. Why haven’t you been in touch with Kit? He must long for his mother. He is your son. I know if my mother was alive, I’d want to see her.’

  Mrs Reynaud touched her pockmarked face. ‘You know what I look like. I fell ill just before Christopher’s father died. Divine retribution. I changed my name by deed poll as soon as I could. I didn’t want to shame him.’

  ‘You’re his mother.’

  ‘I am the woman who left him. He was only four. At first I tried to justify it. He had his nurse. He had stability and John, my brother-in-law, promised to look after him as much as he could. John desired me once, you see. The brothers were like that—rivals.’ She held up her hands and turned her face away. ‘When John gave me this cottage, I agreed I would never contact Christopher. My late husband spent my inheritance. I had nothing. I had no choice.’

  Hattie clenched her fists. Mrs Reynaud had had a choice. She had simply chosen not to take it. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The agreement was I would let him contact me. I have stuck by the agreement. John used to share his letters with me. He’d bring them over and read them. The highlight of my existence, those letters. I used to write to him. I have packets of letters which were never sent, just waiting for the day when he did contact me.’

  ‘Does he know you are here?’

  ‘John promised to leave him a letter. O
nce, a long time ago, I begged John for a chance to see Kit. He brought him to the Stagshaw fair. I made wild plans. John suggested we run away together and raise him. In the end I lacked the courage as I loved John like a brother, not a lover. It wouldn’t be fair to him. I bought Christopher a jumping-jack and had John give it to him. Shortly afterwards, I left for the Continent.’

  ‘Your former husband and brother-in-law are dead,’ Hattie whispered. She didn’t dare tell Susan Reynaud about the jumping-jack and what it had meant to Kit. She also knew the longing she had seen in his face when he spoke about his mother. She and Kit might have ended, but she cared about him. He needed to know that his mother wanted him. He needed to read those letters that his mother had saved for him. The question was how to do it. She couldn’t just show up at his house and demand.

  ‘But I’m alive and I gave my word.’ Mrs Reynaud shook her head. ‘Some mistakes you never recover from, my dear. I learnt that the hard way. I would like to see him just once. Not to speak to, necessarily, but to see. There is nothing I could say to him which would explain why I did what I did. Could you help me?’

  Hattie hated the way her stomach trembled. Kit was leaving. He might never be returning. It might be the only chance for Kit to learn the truth—that his mother did care about him. She hated to think about might-have-beens. She knew she’d regret it if she didn’t do it. She wasn’t going to think about giving him a reason to stay. They were finished. The summer was over.

  ‘Kit’s ward, Rupert Hook, is giving a lecture tomorrow,’ she said, coming to a sudden decision. ‘You could attend. You are one of the patrons of the lecture series. You can at least see what he looks like. You don’t have to greet Kit, but you could see him.’

  Mrs Reynaud’s hands trembled and she set down her teacup. Her grey eyes swam. ‘Yes, of course. No one would think it amiss. I just want to see what he looks like, to see if there is anything of me in him. I’m so frightened that...’

  ‘You can sit next to me,’ Hattie said.

  ‘You are a good woman, Hattie Wilkinson.’

  ‘I can’t understand why you did what you did, Mrs Reynaud, but I do know you can only change the future. Take the first step.’

  ‘It tore the life out of me to leave him, but my marriage was intolerable. I don’t expect you to understand. I made some bad choices in my life and I have paid for them, but the one I never regretted was having Kit.’ Mrs Reynaud straightened her back. ‘You are right, my dear. It is time I faced my demons. I will take your suggestion and go to the lecture. You have given me strength.’

  * * *

  The Corbridge Village Hall was full to bursting for Rupert’s lecture. Kit regarded the various personages—the great and the good going in to hear Rupert. He had handled things badly with Hattie. The break had been too abrupt, too final. Normally he was far more civilised about such things.

  Rather than going to the front and taking his seat, he waited at the back to escort Hattie to hers. He’d make one last attempt and then they’d be through.

  An elderly pockmarked lady half-stumbled on the step leading to the hall. Kit put out a hand and caught her before she tumbled completely.

  ‘The steps up can be tricky,’ he said.

  She gave him an odd look. ‘Yes, they can.’

  ‘You must take better care on them.’

  The woman gave a small smile. ‘I will.’

  ‘Mrs Reynaud—’ Hattie stopped. The colour drained from her face.

  Kit froze. He stared at Mrs Reynaud and knew. She was his mother. His stomach plummeted. He moved away from the woman, from his mother. This was most definitely not where he wanted to meet her and not in front of a crowd of people.

  From Hattie’s reaction, he knew that she knew the truth as well. Somehow Hattie was aware of who his mother was. For how long? Had she engineered this meeting?

  Deep-seated anger filled him. He disliked being manipulated. If his mother wanted to meet him, she knew where he was. He had hardly kept his whereabouts secret, but she had. He struggled to control his temper. It was wrong of Hattie to do this, particularly after their quarrel. She had set him up. It seemed everyone in the entire lecture hall had turned to look at him and his mother. It was worse than a nightmare. His first impulse was to run away, but he rejected that idea. All that would show was cowardice. He was no coward.

  Whatever happened, he refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing his emotions. Politeness and graciousness. Nothing to show that he was hurt beyond measure by both of their behaviours. He swallowed hard and regained control of his emotions. He knew what he had to do. Hattie with her superior expression would be held to account for her behaviour.

  ‘I wish both of you the joy of the evening. You must forgive me, but I have a lecture to attend. I made a promise to my ward. Mrs Wilkinson, Mrs Reynaud, your servant.’

  Hattie’s hand flew to her mouth as she watched Kit stalk off. He had cut her and Mrs Reynaud with absolute aplomb.

  She heard several shocked gasps and knew the encounter had not gone unremarked.

  She had made a grave error. She had never considered Mrs Reynaud would actually encounter Kit face to face, as it were, in the lobby before everyone. The final look he gave her before he turned away had damned her for all eternity, but he seemed in control, greeting any number of people with perfect politeness as if the meeting meant nothing to him.

  She went over to where Mrs Reynaud stood, clutching her reticule to her chest with a distressed look on her face. ‘This is all my fault.’

  ‘He knows?’ Mrs Reynaud choked out.

  ‘Yes, I believe he does...now.’ She put an arm about Mrs Reynaud’s shoulders. ‘It will have been a shock for him and for you. If there is anything I can do for you...just ask.’

  ‘I should go. It was wrong of me to come. I should have waited for him to contact me as John suggested. He looked so like his father then. It quite unnerved me.’ She moved out of Hattie’s embrace. ‘You must allow me to depart, Mrs Wilkinson.’

  ‘What, and miss this lecture? You can sit next to me and we shall hear this lecture. See, Livvy is signalling to us.’

  Mrs Reynaud fumbled in her reticule and withdrew a battered lady jumping-jack. ‘No, I won’t enjoy it. Give Kit this jumping-jack from me. It is up to him then. You may tell him where to find me. Please do this for me, Mrs Wilkinson.’

  Hattie closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to have a confrontation with Kit, but how could she refuse? She had to do something to make amends...to both of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hattie walked into her darkened drawing room and struck a match so she could put the lamp on. She was far too keyed up to sleep. Somehow she had to find a way to deliver the jumping-jack to Kit in person. She had thought about it all during Mr Hook’s lecture, but was no closer to an answer.

  Despite the incident with Kit at the beginning, the lecture had been a huge success. Stephanie beamed afterwards, loudly declaring that she knew Rupert Hook had not been lying when he proclaimed he was an expert on newts. Hattie had answered vaguely, made her excuses and left.

  ‘Don’t bother to light the lamp.’

  She nearly dropped the match in surprise. Kit stood in the middle of the drawing room, lit from the back by the small fire. Tall and forbidding. Her mouth went dry. ‘Kit! What are you doing here?’

  He indicated the French doors. ‘It is easy to get into a house when you want, and your guard dog is a friend of mine.’

  Moth turned on her back and wriggled.

  Hattie put a hand to her head. ‘Oh, Moth.’

  ‘I have one question for you and then I will leave you in peace.’ There was no mistaking the finality to his tone. ‘Why did you do it, Harriet?’

  ‘Why did I do what?’ she asked cautiously. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation.

  ‘When did you find out? How long have you known where my mother was? Why did you set me up like that?’

  Hattie’s heart thudded in
her ears. She knew precisely what he was speaking about. The day of reckoning had arrived, much sooner than she thought it would.

  ‘Earlier today.’ Hattie blew out the match before it burnt her fingers. She struck another one, moved over to the small table and lit a candle. ‘There wasn’t time to tell you.’

  ‘You convinced her to come to the lecture expressly to see me, without consulting my feelings on the subject. Don’t deny it. My mother had all summer to contact me if she desired.’ Kit gave a fierce scowl. ‘What did you think would happen—a joyful reunion of two people long separated? Did you even consider how I might feel about the matter? About seeing my mother suddenly after so many years?’

  Hattie gave a tiny shrug as Kit’s scowl increased. When he put it like that, she could see there was no defence. She should have let him know, but if she had, the situation would have remained unresolved. She bit her lip. It wasn’t exactly resolved now.

  ‘Mrs Reynaud only wanted to see you.’ Hattie held out her hands, palms upwards, willing him to understand. ‘I didn’t plan you two meeting like that. It was supposed to be different.’

  He lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Was she hard to convince?’

  ‘It only took the slightest bit of encouragement. She wanted to go. She wanted to see you, but feared something bad would happen.’ Hattie willed him to understand why she had done it. ‘She is unwell, Kit. It might have been her last chance to make amends. She has a stack of letters which she wrote for you. She wants you to read them. She made a promise to your uncle not to contact you.’

  ‘My uncle has been dead for over a year.’ He slammed his fist down on the table making the china ornaments jump. ‘Dead men don’t know the difference between a kept promise and a broken one.’

  ‘Like you, she believes a promise is a promise.’ Hattie carefully put the china dog back in the centre of the table. Losing her temper was not going to accomplish anything.

  Pure fury leapt from his eyes. ‘And I was young, little more than a babe in arms. Do you think she thought about me when she turned her back on me? She never once sent me a letter. Ever.’