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

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.

      ‘As you say, it is all over. Then no harm is done.’ Mrs Reynaud came over to her and put her hand on Hattie’s shoulder. ‘In my experience with men like Sir Christopher, they wish to be the one to end things. Formally. Informally is quite another matter.’

      ‘This time it will be different,’ Hattie said decisively as she gave Mrs Reynaud a copy of the letter. ‘I was very firm and unyielding.’

      ‘And you are prepared for the consequences, my dear?’ Mrs Reynaud handed the letter back to Hattie. ‘If Sir Christopher is half the man I have heard him to be, he will not give up at the first hurdle. He will see your letter as a challenge, an invitation to raise the stakes.’

      ‘A challenge?’ A pulse of warmth went through Hattie. ‘You’re wrong. He will see the logic of my argument. After all, it is not as if it were a serious flirtation.’

      Kit tapped the note with his forefinger. The various scrawled words leapt out at him. Faint aromas of Hattie’s jasmine scent permeated the paper and forcibly reminded him of how her lips had yielded. How she had forgot herself and given in to the passion for a moment.

      Hattie had put her case for breaking with him in flowery language which did not detail the situation. She regretted that they were incompatible and that the picnic had proved a great trial. From now, they would have to be distant friends.

      ‘Liar,’ he whispered. ‘All a quarrel means is a chance to become closer. You want this friendship. And I’m going to prove it to you. I do not quit over a simple misunderstanding. Or a baseless fear.’

      Kit held Hattie’s note over a candle and watched it smoulder and burn to ash. Over? It wasn’t over until he ended it. He made a point of it. No woman had left him since Constance and she had begged in the end to return.

      He paused. Hattie wasn’t like any woman he’d been involved with before.

      It didn’t matter. He refused to allow Hattie to end it on such a slim pretext. No woman had ever written to him like that. And Hattie certainly had not kissed him like they would not suit. He had allowed her a chance to raise her drawbridges and retreat. But retreat was not for ever. The next stage needed to begin. Today, before she had a chance to think.

      ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ Johnson, his valet, appeared in the doorway.

      ‘I find I require my evening clothes after all today.’

      ‘You are going out?’

      ‘The musicale in celebration of Waterloo awaits.’

      ‘Sir?’ Johnson struggled to keep his face blank. ‘You loathe such things. Tuneless playing.’

      ‘I shall go and enjoy myself. Where was that note from Mrs Parteger? After all, I do have an invitation. A seat has been saved.’

      ‘You were wrong to send that letter discarding Sir Christopher.’ Stephanie sank down next to Hattie in a flurry of feathers and ruffles.

      ‘This is not the time to discuss it, Stephanie,’ Hattie said through clenched teeth. She had to wonder how much Stephanie knew of the contents. ‘The concert to celebrate the deliverance from Napoleon is about to begin.’

      ‘You always do such things to me. At least this time, hopefully I learnt about it early enough.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh dear!’

      ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Stephanie.’ Hattie slid towards the vacant chair on her right. Stephanie’s feathered turban kept tickling her nose. The last thing she needed now was a frank-and-public discussion about her severing relations with Kit. ‘What is the problem?’

      ‘Maria Richley has waylaid Sir Christopher.’

      Hattie fought against the inclination to turn her head. She had counted on Kit not appearing at this concert. ‘Really? I wish her the joy of it.’

      ‘I feel certain that the Widow Richley will not squander any opportunity. No … hush.’ Stephanie laid a proprietary hand on Hattie’s arm. ‘All might not be lost, Hattie. Be civil if he approaches.’

      ‘You are making it seem like I am younger than Portia.’

      A trill of laughter cut through the musician’s tuning. Hattie turned her head. Maria Richley clung to Kit’s arm as if she were drowning. Over the heads of the other concertgoers, Kit nodded directly at her. A sardonic smile curled on his lips. He leant down and said something to Maria Richley, which sent the woman into further peals of laughter.

      Hattie forced her eyes forwards. She crumpled the music programme in her hand. It was none of her business if he chose to enjoy Maria Richley’s favours. All it did was to confirm that she’d been correct in the first place. That man was trouble.

      Only she wished that he had not stood quite so close to Maria Richley.

      Her view was suddenly obscured by a large expanse of black broad cloth.

      ‘Mrs Parteger, Mrs Wilkinson … if I may squeeze in? You have a free seat, I believe.’

      Hattie shrank in her seat. She was now going to have to spend several hours trapped between Stephanie’s headdress and the vicar, Dr Hornby’s, bulk. The perfect way to spend an evening. No doubt Kit would have secured a place with plenty of space for Maria Richley.

      ‘Doctor Hornby.’

      ‘Your sister said that you would be here, Mrs Wilkinson. How delightful to see you again.’ Doctor Hornby gave a jowly smile. ‘I’m looking forward to the planned lecture series now that it is finally settled.