Michelle Styles - Regency Bride

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.

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