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‘I know how to be a soldier.’ Kit’s shoulders became light. Even without his saying it, she believed he’d done the right thing. He hated to think how few people ever believed that of him. It mattered. ‘Eton prepares one for it.’
The memory of those long-ago days swept over him. Back then, he’d thought himself capable of anything. In his final year, he’d believed himself in love and that Constance Stanley would marry him once he asked her.
His illusions were shattered when he’d arrived at her house unexpectedly with the engagement ring in his pocket. He’d overheard her assessment of him as the son of two wicked people and how her family needed his money and how she’d feared that she would have to marry a devil. He had stepped out of the shadows. Constance’s shocked face had said it all. All of his father’s warnings thudded into him. He bid her and her companion good day and gave the ring to the first beggar woman with a baby at her breast that he saw.
Never again had he allowed himself to contemplate marriage. Never again had he allowed a woman to get close, preferring to end the thing before it happened. Kit had a variety of presents he’d send—a bouquet to end a flirtation, a strand of pearls to end a brief but hugely enjoyable weekend, sapphires to end something longer.
Mrs Wilkinson turned her back on him and walked with quick steps over to the cedar. She stood there, unmoving for a moment, her brows drawn together in a frown. He waited for her to make a remark about the weather or society.
‘Why aren’t you down in London? With Rupert’s father?’ she asked.
He turned from her and stared towards where the great cedar towered over the garden. Everything was so peaceful and still, except for the distant cooing of a dove, calling to its mate. No danger here. This was the England he’d fought for, not the bright lights of London. He wanted that peace that had eluded him. He wanted to show that he had changed and that he did deserve a future, a future that he did not intend to squander. ‘Rupert’s father died.’
‘I didn’t know. I’m sorry for you and for Mr Hook.’
‘False sympathy fails to matter. You never knew him.’
‘You’re wrong. Any man’s death should be remarked on and he was your friend. You must miss him,’ she said with an intense earnestness. ‘When did you decide to come up to Northumberland?’
‘When I was on the battlefield, surrounded by men dying on either side, I swore that next year I would be somewhere which epitomised what I was fighting for.’ The words came from deep within him. He wanted her to understand that on the battlefield he’d decided what was important and how his life needed to change. She, of all the people he’d met recently, might understand and the very thought unnerved him. ‘I thought of the fair, the Stagshaw Bank Fair, and how it is held every year on the fourth of July.’
Her dusky-rose lips turned up into an incredulous smile. ‘You are asking me to believe that you decided to come to Northumberland when you were at Waterloo? I can think of a dozen other more likely places that should have sprung to mind.’
‘It seemed as good a place as any to my fevered mind. When I was a lad, my uncle brought me here. The day has long stood in my memory. He bought me a wooden jumping-jack.’ He shook his head.
There was no need to explain that it had been the first time since his mother’s departure that he’d received a gift or anyone had taken notice of him beyond cuffing him on the ear. He’d kept that jumping-jack for years, hidden in his handkerchiefs so that his father would not stumble across it and destroy it.
‘It seemed like a place worth fighting to see again. I said as much to Brendan, who was on my right—there will be time enough to reminisce as the years go by, but next year I would be up in Northumberland and would go to the fair. He agreed to go with me.’
‘And that is why you and Mr Hook are here,’ she breathed. ‘To honour your vow.’
Kit closed his eyes and said a prayer for Brendan’s soul. He had said enough. She didn’t need to know the rest. He’d asked Brendan to exchange places with him because he thought he’d get a better shot. Brendan had agreed with a laugh and a clap on his back. The next thing he’d heard was the soft thud of a bullet hitting Brendan in the chest. Brendan’s last words were about his son and his hopes for Rupert’s future. Kit had promised and he intended to keep that promise.
‘But he would have been here. We made a vow together.’
‘Is it why Rupert is with you? To fulfil his father’s vow?’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘It would appear that I misjudged Mr Hook. There are not many men who would have done that.’
‘His mother died soon after he was born.’ Kit stared at the grass. There was no need to explain that Rupert’s mother had been a courtesan and they had only married on her deathbed, at Brendan’s insistence. Seventeen and a widower with a baby. Brendan always claimed his heart had died with the woman. Kit tended to counter that at least he had a heart. ‘Rupert’s grandmother took charge of the boy, but she died shortly after hearing of her son’s death. I promised her that I’d make sure her grandson would become the fine man that his father wanted him to be.’
He willed her to understand his reasoning.
‘I hope the fair lives up to your expectations.’
He forced a smile. ‘I’m sure it shall. Anyway, I was invited along with Rupert to the ball, but I found I needed time alone to reflect, particularly as they had played a reel that I remember from the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. I went to the card room for a few moments and found a book. You know what happened next.’
‘I’m sorry for not believing you.’ She took a step closer to him. Her dark-red lips softly parted.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He knew he lied. It mattered more than he wanted it to. ‘It is in the past. I rarely think about the past.’
‘It was my fault. I rushed away from the dance floor,’ she whispered, putting her hand on his arm. ‘We should have had the second dance. I would have if … if I’d realised about your past.’
‘Never do something because you feel sorry for a person.’ He covered her hand with his. Their breath laced. He knew that all he had to do was to lean forwards a few inches and her mouth would yield. He was surprised that he wanted to. But for the lesson in flirtation to be complete, the movement needed to come from her. He’d be magnanimous in the lecture which he gave her later.
‘Aunt Hattie, Aunt Hattie! I know you are here. Moth found me. We have visitors! You will never guess. Livvy has an admirer!’ a young voice called.
Mrs Wilkinson jumped back and her cheeks flamed bright red. ‘I need to see my niece. You do understand the propriety of the thing.’
Kit forced his hands to his sides. His little lesson in flirtation was proving more enjoyable than he’d considered. He would see where the game led. ‘No one is preventing you.’
Chapter Three
Hattie picked up her skirts and ran to the rose garden, not daring to look behind her and see if Sir Christopher was following. If Portia hadn’t shouted, she would have kissed him. Her lips ached with longing. It went against everything she had promised herself and yet she didn’t feel ashamed, only disappointed. The next time … Hattie stopped and pressed her fingers to her temples. There would be no next time. Sir Christopher had explained why he was in the card room. The matter was finished. She’d survived. Hattie picked up speed as if the devil himself was after her.
As she reached the rose garden, Portia hurtled into her, throwing her arms about her. ‘You will never guess who is here!’
Hattie disentangled herself from the hug and regarded her favourite niece who was four years younger than her sister, Livvy, and still far more interested in four-legged creatures than young men. Her pinafore had a series of smudges and a solitary wisp of hay clinging to the hem. Hattie knew despite her mother’s orders Portia had spent time in the stables, helping out.
She always kept a tit-bit in her pocket when Moth came to call. It was no surprise to Hattie that Moth had gone wandering off to find her treat, but a small part of Hattie wished she hadn’t and that she and Sir Christopher had remained under the cedar tree. Alone.
‘Sir Christopher and Mr Hook,’ Hattie answered, putting away all thoughts of kisses from Sir Christopher. It wasn’t going to start.
If she ever was attracted to any man again, it would be to someone who was steady, sober and scandal free, someone who was completely different from Charles Wilkinson. Not someone who lived and breathed sin. If Charles Wilkinson had a dark wild side which no one knew about until it was too late, then Sir Christopher was midnight-black wild through and through. She forgot that at her peril. Sir Christopher was not a man to be relied on. A man whose wit and conversation were to be enjoyed rather than to be thought of as a life’s partner.
‘Sir Christopher wanted to return my gloves from last night and Mr Hook came along for accompaniment.’
Portia’s plump face fell. ‘You knew? How!’
‘Aunts know these sorts of things. Little birds.’
‘I’ve the honour of being the little bird,’ Sir Christopher said, coming to stand by her, a bit closer than strictly proper. His stock was ever-so-slightly undone and she glimpsed the strong column of his throat. Hattie hurriedly pretended an interest in the roses. ‘Your aunt met me, Miss Portia, and kindly showed me the cedar of Lebanon’s location.’
Portia beamed back at Sir Christopher, her entire countenance lighting up under his voice’s spell.
‘There, you see,’ Hattie said, putting an arm about her niece’s shoulders and turning her away from Sir Christopher. ‘All is explained.’
‘How did you find the cedar tree, Sir Christopher? Does it approach the magnificence of your boyhood home or surpass it?’ her sister, Stephanie, called out from where she sat in the rose garden with a silver teapot by her side. On her other side perched Mr Hook, looking much like an overgrown schoolboy. Livvy appeared all young innocence in her light-blue muslin gown, but the tips of her ears glowed pink. Hattie hated to think how quickly that sort of innocence vanished.
‘I found what I was looking for, yes.’ Sir Christopher gave Hattie a searing look.
Hattie resisted the temptation to explore the renewed aching in her lips. No one could brand with just a look. She clenched her fists. She was not going to behave like a fool again. Heady romance was an illusion that she could ill afford.
‘I discovered Sir Christopher and kept him on the right path.’ Her voice squeaked on the word path. Hattie cleared her throat. ‘It was the charitable thing to do.’
Stephanie, who looked like an older and plumper version of Livvy, held out the gloves with a superior smile. ‘How clever of you to visit this morning, Hattie … particularly as Sir Christopher thought you’d be here. I wonder how that came about?’
A distinct air of accusation rang in Stephanie’s voice. She thought Hattie had arranged all this! Sir Christopher wore a smug expression as if it was precisely the outcome he’d hoped for. Hattie shifted uneasily. Why did he want anyone to think they had a flirtation? She could hardly be the type of woman with whom he generally flirted.
‘I’ll take possession of them. They have caused a great deal of trouble.’ Hattie plucked them from Stephanie. A faint scent of sandalwood caressed her nostrils. She hurriedly stuffed them in her basket. When she arrived back at the Dower House, she would put them in her bottom drawer, never to be worn again.
‘You really are too careless, Hattie. Those gloves were a gift. I spent hours getting those bows correct. First you mislaid them at the ball and then you place them in the basket all higgledy-piggledy.’ Stephanie carefully poured a cup of tea. ‘You were always the careless one of the family. When will you ever grow up and take responsibility for your actions?’
Sir Christopher cleared his throat. ‘I was grateful for the excuse to call.’
‘Will you and your godson be in the Tyne Valley long?’ Stephanie asked in a speculative tone.
‘It depends on a number of things.’
‘It will depend on Aunt Harriet, that is what Sir Christopher means,’ Portia said, bristling with self-importance.
‘What on earth are you talking about, Portia?’ Stephanie asked with an arched brow.
‘Aunt Harriet is in the midst of a flirtation with Sir Christopher,’ Portia burst out, her entire being quivering with excitement. ‘Last night in the card room at Summerfield as well as today beside the cedar. Livvy told me. She swore me to secrecy, but that’s why Sir Christopher kept the gloves. Why will no one tell the truth?’
‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ Sir Christopher said in a low tone.
‘Next time I want to go, Mama. Things happen at balls. Please, Mama. Pretty please.’
‘You are twelve, Portia,’ Livvy replied with crushing firmness. ‘You have years to wait.’
Portia stuck out her tongue.
‘Portia, you know it is wrong to repeat tales, particularly highly embroidered ones,’ Hattie said before either of her nieces uttered another damning phrase or their squabbling descended into all-out war. ‘Sir Christopher has returned the gloves and seen the famous tree. His time will be required elsewhere. Do not seek romance where there is none, young Portia.’
Sir Christopher showed no inclination to take her hint and to depart. If anything, he seemed to be amused at her discomfort. He sat down and accepted the cup of tea that Stephanie held out. ‘Fascinating place. Northumberland. My godson and I look forward to attending the Stagshaw Bank Fair.’
‘Oh, the fair. Of course, I should have guessed the reason for you being here.’ Her sister leant forwards. ‘Mrs Wrigglesworth said it true when we first heard of your arrival—Stagshaw Fair attracts all sorts of people. Everyone had wondered. But hopefully having seen the delightful entertainment Northumberland has to offer, you can be persuaded to stay longer.’
Hattie bit her lip. Stephanie was up to something. She could feel the sense of impending doom creeping up her spine. She dismissed it. Stephanie knew of Sir Christopher’s reputation. She’d never dare.
‘I’m sure Sir Christopher is fully capable of finding entertainment to occupy his time,’ Hattie said, seeking to end the discussion. ‘We mustn’t presume, Sister.’
‘My godson and I would be delighted to take a full part in the village life while we are here. The estate I inherited has been neglected for far too long. And the company is utterly charming.’ He inclined his head. The twinkle in his eyes deepened. ‘We should go for a picnic out to Stagshaw to see what it is like before the fair. A local guide would prove of great assistance.’ His voice became silken smooth. ‘Would tomorrow suit, Mrs Wilkinson?’
Hattie’s mouth went dry. There should be a thousand different reasons why she should refuse, but she heard herself say, ‘Tomorrow would be wonderful.’
‘Then it is all settled. Tomorrow at noon.’
‘We will all go.’ Hattie looked at Livvy, who suddenly straightened her back and blushed a violent pink at the hopeful glance Mr Hook gave her. Now that she knew Mr Hook was properly interested in making an honourable offer she was prepared to help. They did deserve a chance to get to know each other better, properly supervised. A picnic was hardly a debauched party. ‘Livvy and Portia love picnics. It will make for a splendid expedition. You were saying just the other day, Stephanie, how we ought to picnic more often now that the fine weather had arrived.’
‘Then it is settled. The day will be much brighter for the presence of all the ladies here.’
‘Oh dear!’ Stephanie banged her cup down. ‘Tomorrow is no good at all. Far too much is on. Livvy and Portia have their dancing class. And I will be required at the Corbridge Reading Rooms. Colonel Cunningham will be thrilled to learn that we now have the world expert on newts in our midst. An illustrated lecture must be organised before Mr Hook departs.’
‘Please, there is no need,’ Mr Hook said, turning a violent red. ‘It is nothing. My research is at an early stage.’
‘I disagree, Mr Hook.’ Stephanie raised an imperious hand. ‘You mustn’t be allowed to hide your light under a cloak of false modesty. You’ve informed me about your prowess and this must be shared with the neighbourhood. Immediately, before the schedule is cast into iron. There is a committee meeting tomorrow which I must attend.’
‘Stephanie!’ Hattie glared at her sister. Stephanie enjoyed the kudos of being on the village hall committee, but hated actually doing any work. She always produced the flimsy excuses to avoid the meetings where events like lectures were decided. ‘We’re talking about an invitation to a picnic, rather than this summer’s lecture series schedule, which was decided weeks ago.’
‘You must go of course, Hattie. You gave your word.’ Stephanie waved a vague hand in the air. ‘I feel certain that Sir Christopher and his godson understand why I must decline. Mr Parteger told the Colonel the other day that the lecture series was looking a bit thin. And the Colonel had the temerity to blame me. Schedules are made to be altered.’
Mr Hook turned a sickly greenish-yellow. ‘I’ve not lectured before. I’ve no plans.’
‘Then you must start. How else will you get on in this world? Mr Parteger has always said that we must have educated men as Livvy’s suitors.’
‘In that case, I … I would be honoured.’ Mr Hook mirrored a tomato for colour.
Hattie curled her fists and attempted to ignore Stephanie’s triumphant look.
‘Of course, I will go on the picnic.’ Hattie turned towards Sir Christopher. ‘I would be delighted to accompany you and Mr Hook. Mr Hook can plan his lecture there.’
The flecks in Sir Christopher’s eyes deepened. ‘The picnic will be all the more memorable for it.’
Kit relaxed against the carriage seat, going over the morning events. It had unfolded differently than he’d planned, but not disastrously. After the picnic, he decided, he would send the flowers. He wanted to see Mrs Wilkinson fully blossom and realise the error of her censorious ways.
If he stopped prematurely, she would revert and cause her nieces problems. The lesson needed to be learnt thoroughly. Kit enjoyed the sense of goodness which radiated from his decision to take Mrs Wilkinson on the picnic.
‘Do you care to explain precisely what happened while I was exploring the garden, Rupert?’ Kit asked to keep from thinking about the precise shape of Mrs Wilkinson’s mouth. ‘How did you end up with a possible lecture engagement for a subject that you have never professed an interest in? Do you even know what a newt looks like?’
Rupert tugged at his neckcloth. ‘Of course I know what a newt looks like. They are a type of amphibian, have four legs and a tail.’
‘Is there some reason for Mrs Parteger to suspect that you are a world expert on newts?’
‘I needed to say something to mark me out from the crush.’ Rupert’s ears turned pink. ‘Miss Parteger is an angel. Two more bouquets arrived when you were touring the garden. I was desperate. Then I remembered how Miss James’s father dismissed me as a know-nothing. It was not going to happen again. My tongue rather ran away with me. Newts were the first thing to pop in my brain.’
‘You are now committed to giving a lecture about a subject you know nothing about. How is that going to impress anyone?’
‘But I love her! I want to be with her. I know you will think me mad, but it is how I feel about her.’ He thumped his chest. ‘Sometimes, you know in here. The instant you see her. It was as if I had been waiting all my life and she walked into the room.’
Something inside Kit twisted. Rupert had no idea about love. It was calf-love like he’d experienced with Constance, something that burned bright and fierce and vanished. And when it went, it hurt like the very devil. Every boy goes through it in order to become a man. And now he was a man, he protected that vulnerable bit of him so he would not get hurt again.
‘You don’t know what you are saying, Rupert. You hardly know her. How long will it last? Do you remember what you said about Miss James?’
‘That was different.’ Rupert flicked his fingers. ‘I was merely a boy of nineteen.’
‘You are only twenty!’
‘What were you like when you were my age?’
‘Young and foolish. Luckily your father stopped me before the folly went too far.’ Kit shook his head. Never again would he allow a woman to share his secrets. All Constance had done was to mock him about his parents’ scandalous past. ‘I thanked him for it later.’
‘Do you ever see her?’
‘Who?’
‘The woman who broke your heart? The one my father used to mention in his cups.’
‘Your father was right. My broken heart lasted until the next dance when I found another lady who welcomed my attention.’ Kit forced a laugh. His heart had been broken long before when his mother refused to look at him, despite his pleading, as she went out the door and his life. He’d settled for something less and kept his patched-up heart protected.
‘Surely your heart was truer than that!’
‘What heart? Didn’t you know I’m heartless? How many women have despaired of taming me and thrown the accusation at me when I ended the affair?’
‘My father didn’t think that. He used to say—’
Kit held up his hand, stopping Rupert’s words. ‘Whatever he said, he said in confidence. Your father had a unique way of looking at life.’
‘I wish he was here,’ Rupert whispered.
‘Your father asked me to look after you.’ Kit glanced up at the carriage’s ceiling, regaining control. ‘I’m offering my advice. You keep your word. If you are determined to give this lecture, you study. My uncle did have an interest in amphibians and his papers and books are in the library. They should be enough to enable you to give an account of yourself. And you never make a false claim again. Lying never makes for a happy relationship.’
Rupert hung his head. ‘Now you are committed to going on a picnic with The Widow.’
‘Which I plan to enjoy.’ Kit frowned. The lesson in flirtation was going better than he’d hoped. It would be one that Mrs Wilkinson would not soon forget. She might not thank him for it, but her two charming nieces might benefit. ‘I could not have arranged matters better.’
‘You and Mrs Wilkinson … but she is so old.’
‘She is younger than I am.’
Rupert screwed up his face and stared out the window. ‘I had always thought … they tell stories about you and the beauties. Mrs Wilkinson will never be a toast of London.’
Kit tapped his fingers together. He refused to indulge in speculation about Hattie Wilkinson’s beauty. Rupert would not understand that it was precisely the point. Hattie Wilkinson possessed a refreshing charm that hadn’t been powdered and primped to an inch of its life.
‘One final lesson for today, Rupert. Never discuss a lady. Ever.’
‘What precisely is going on, Stephanie?’ Hattie asked once her nieces had been otherwise occupied with refurbishing their bonnets. For the first time in a long while, Livvy had expressed an interest in improving her mind, but the suggestion had been firmly quashed by her mother.
‘Whatever can you mean, dear?’ Stephanie looked up from where she was sorting out a variety of ribbons. ‘I do hope you are not going to be tiresome, Hattie, and ruin your chances again. Simply because you had a wonderful marriage that was cut cruelly short does not mean you will not find happiness again.’
Hattie sighed. Her decision not to tell anyone about the full extent of Charles’s betrayal did make for awkward moments. Stephanie refused to believe that her marriage was anything other than breathtakingly romantic. And this was the second lecture she had received today about making more of her life. Why didn’t anyone understand that she was content as she was?
‘This is Sir Christopher Foxton! Are you aware of his reputation? Marriage won’t be on offer, if he has anything beyond mere politeness in mind.’ Hattie clasped a hand to her chest and tried to regain control of her emotions. ‘There, are you satisfied? I’ve said it. He is notorious in the extreme. He will be after more than an innocent conversation.’