Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match Read online

  ‘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.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘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 Christoph
er.’

  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 r
ight.

  ‘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.’