Michelle Styles - Regency Bride - Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match / An Ideal Husband?

‘That excuse might do.’ She gave a heart-stopping smile. ‘It will do very well indeed.’

Kit raised two fingers to his hat. They said that there was a first time for everything, but he had never considered that he’d be involved in this—pursuing a woman by giving her advice on how to break up with him. Quarrels were made to be mended. He would see this one was. ‘Until the next time.’

‘Will there be a next time?’

He leant forwards and brushed her cheek with his forefinger. ‘You can count on it.’

Reasons why she was not interested in Kit Foxton …

Hattie read down the list of reasons, starting with his notoriety and his lack of reliability and ending with the taste of his kisses making her unsettled. She frowned. The taste of his kisses was not something she wanted to consider. With a furious stroke of her pen, she crossed it out.

‘There you are, my dear,’ Mrs Reynaud said, bustling into the drawing room of the Dower House. Unlike the day before, which had been bathed in brilliant sunshine, a steady rain fell, adding to the general air of gloom.

Hattie nearly dropped her pen in surprise. She was hard pressed to remember when Mrs Reynaud had last come calling. Hattie slid a piece of paper over the list.

‘Is something the matter, Mrs Reynaud?’

‘I feared something had happened to you,’ Mrs Reynaud explained in a rush as she removed her veil, depositing it on an armchair. ‘You failed to stop by this morning. There were things I wished to discuss with you. The picnic you had yesterday with Sir Christopher … did everything go as you would wish?’

‘I went on a picnic. For the most part, it was highly pleasant. Mr Hook practised his proposed lecture and sent Mrs Hampstead to sleep. I ate my fill of strawberries for once as neither Livvy nor Portia were there.’ Hattie folded her hands in her lap and tried to keep from looking at the list. ‘There is little to discuss. A typical picnic. Nothing exciting. No handsome highwaymen or rescuing distressed maidens like you always seem to be encountering.’

‘No picnic is typical if it involves Sir Christopher.’ Mrs Reynaud lifted her chin. ‘Your sister quite bristled with importance when she called yesterday. You dined with Sir Christopher Foxton. Your sister has expectations, great expectations. Left to her own devices, I believe she would be calling for banns. Do you have expectations, my dear?’

‘My sister came to see you,’ Hattie said slowly. How many other people had Stephanie happened to tell? Expectations indeed! Silently she offered up thanks that she had already dispatched her note to Kit, severing any connection. It had come to her last night. After the kiss they enjoyed, sending a letter was her only course forwards, but it had to be carefully worded, coded without appearing to mention That Incident. She had retained a copy to show Stephanie when she appeared, but she didn’t want to appear too eager to share the news.

‘Mrs Parteger required urgent advice about Mr Hook and her eldest.’ Mrs Reynaud narrowed her eyes. ‘I believe you mentioned something about me knowing Sir Christopher …’

‘Only in passing.’

‘It was many years ago.’ The elderly woman fluttered her hands as two bright spots appeared on her pockmarked cheeks. ‘I wouldn’t want Sir Christopher to feel that I claimed an acquaintance. And I have no knowledge of Mr Hook’s antecedents in any case.’

‘Stephanie should never have bothered you with such a trivial matter. I fear she wanted to gossip about the picnic.’ Hattie leant forwards and lowered her voice. ‘No doubt she neglected to mention that Sir Christopher invited the entire family, but she declined, preferring to concentrate on arranging a series of lectures.’

‘No, your sister never mentioned that.’ Mrs Reynaud gave a merry trill of laughter. ‘I thought Colonel Cunningham had charge of the lectures this year because it was something your sister loathed. Indeed, we very nearly did not have any lectures last year because your sister forgot.’

‘Stephanie changed her mind. She thinks Colonel Cunningham needs some assistance now.’

Mrs Reynaud’s eyes danced. ‘Fancy forgetting that piece of information about who was originally invited. It puts the invitation in a different light.’

‘My sister is rather inclined to make overmuch of the matter.’ Hattie stood up and faced Mrs Reynaud. The sooner she stopped the gossip, the better for all concerned. ‘The matter is now closed.’

‘The matter with Sir Christopher or Mr Hook?’

‘Both.’ Hattie remembered the uncomfortable way Mr Hook had shifted in the carriage and how Mrs Hampstead had confided that she doubted anyone, even Livvy, could sit through something that dull and tedious. It was better for all concerned if they drew a line under the entire episode. ‘Livvy might suffer for a few weeks, but London gentlemen never stay. It is no good hoping they will. They never do. I will inform Stephanie and the lecture can be postponed before real harm is done. I would hate for anyone to be disappointed.’

Mrs Reynaud tilted her head. Her sharp eyes assessed her. It seemed as if her gaze bore into her soul. Hattie toyed with her pen as her cheeks flamed.

‘He kissed you. More than once, I reckon,’ Mrs Reynaud said in solemn tones. ‘It is far from a crime and occasionally most enjoyable. You were discreet. Yes. Yes, that goes without saying. You are the sort of woman who would be discreet. It was always part of my trouble when I was young and foolish. I forgot to be discreet.’

Hattie put her hand to her throat. How had Mrs Reynaud guessed? Nearly twenty-four hours later, and there should be no mark on her. Hattie glanced down and saw the word kiss, underlined, rather than scratched out. She moved the piece of paper more firmly over the list.

‘We quarrelled. I doubt he will kiss me again. Nor would I wish him to.’ She tilted her chin upwards. ‘I sent him a note explaining the situation. It is impossible. He is impossible.’

‘Why did you do that if you wanted to end it?’

Hattie put her hand on her stomach and concentrated on keeping her shoulders straight. She could hardly explain that she saw herself becoming like the woman whom Charles had loved, living on the margins of society, and for the first time it had tempted her.

‘Because I have Livvy and Portia’s reputation to think about,’ she said firmly. ‘How could they make the matches they need if their aunt is pilloried for being wicked? Sir Christopher does not believe in marriage. His parents had a dreadful one, I believe.’

The colour drained from Mrs Reynaud’s face. ‘He spoke to you about his parents and their marriage?’

‘Only briefly to explain why he intends to remain unwed.’ Hattie resolutely did not look at her list.

‘People should not visit the sins of one generation on the next.’

‘It was a brief interlude and now it is over.’ Hattie walked over to the window and looked out over the garden with its gravel paths and roses. Off to her left, she could just make out Highfield’s chimneys and the great cedar of Lebanon. This was home and safe. She was not prepared to risk her heart again. Charles had seen to that. Life would have been much easier in ways if Kit had been the marrying kind, but he wasn’t. His honesty made her decision easy. ‘I love the girls like my own and I would hate anything I did to ruin their chances of a good marriage.’

Mrs Reynaud made an impatient noise. ‘Stop using them as shields to stop you from living. You are as bad as a foolish débutante who believes that a man’s promise in a summer house offers a life of undying romance.’

‘The heat of the moment overcame me, but I recovered before any real harm was done. He accepted my verdict.’ Hattie pressed her hand into her stomach. Even a day later, the intensity of the final kiss made her senses reel. She had been so close to giving in completely. And she knew the next time she kissed Kit, she’d lack the will-power to stop. A very large part of her had wanted to drown in that kiss and blot out any memory of Charles’s rough love-making. And she worried that it made her very wicked indeed, whatever Mrs Reynaud might say.