Regency Bride. Michelle Styles

and its perils all too well.’

      ‘Is this the one you want? Now that we are finally here.’ Hattie held up a red-coated jumping-jack.

      ‘And whose fault is that?’

      ‘Yours, I believe.’ She gave a light laugh, basking in the warmth of his smile. ‘You kept seeing another stall you wanted to investigate.’

      ‘It has been an age since I’ve been to a fair. I wanted to make certain things were here.’

      ‘Including having a go at the ha’penny man?’

      ‘I did win.’

      The toy stall had proved more difficult to find than she thought it would be, not the least of which Kit seemed intent on taking the most circuitous route. Not that she had strenuously objected. She had enjoyed talking with him and laughing. They seemed to share the same sense of humour. They were friends, nothing more. It could never be anything more.

      She refused to go back to the girl she had once been, and in any case, Kit had been clear about his views on marriage. She wished that she could be like someone in Mrs Reynaud’s stories, but there were considerations. She shivered slightly, remembering how Charles’s mistress had said that they were more alike than she thought.

      To banish the unwelcome memory she blindly reached for another toy.

      ‘Do you like this jumping-jack? Personally I think he has a roguish smile, just the sort of thing for a man like you.’

      ‘It will do.’ His hand closed over it. A sudden fierce longing crossed over his face. ‘The one I had as a boy had a dark-green coat with white trim.’

      ‘You must have loved it.’

      ‘It meant a lot to me once. It was about my only toy.’

      Hattie’s heart bled for the lonely boy that he must have been. ‘Your only toy?’

      ‘My father didn’t hold with such things, but as it was a present from my uncle, he allowed me to keep it.’

      ‘Then it was good that you loved it so much.’

      He tilted his head to one side. ‘I suspect you find it strange. But my father had his own views on life.’

      ‘Not at all. Just tell me that he died a lonely and bitter old man.’

      He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

      ‘It saves me from having to kill him. Children should have toys. There is time enough to be grown up.’

      ‘My father would not have agreed. Boys need to learn to be men. My father was a hard man.’

      ‘But you are not your father.’

      ‘I’m grateful you realise that. I try not to take after either of my parents.’

      Hattie relaxed in the sunshine of his smile. A sharp longing sliced through her. If only … Hattie pushed it away. It was far too late for regrets. She was not the type to indulge in casual affairs of the heart. She had her responsibilities and duties to think about. This had to be the last time she indulged in a flirtation with Kit.

      ‘The jumping-jack will be a present from me,’ she said, taking control of the conversation.

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Are jumping-jacks different than gloves?’

      ‘Jumping-jacks are better given as gifts. Every child since time began knows that. It adds to the magic.’

      ‘I agree.’ There was a catch in his voice and he turned his face from hers.

      ‘Is something wrong?’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Kit, explain. We are friends. I want to know.’

      He turned back towards her. His eyes held a distinctly sultry look which caused a warm curl to wind its way around her insides. ‘I normally never let my lady buy me anything.’

      A warm shiver went down her back. She envied the unknown lady who would be his. A longing to feel his lips against hers and the touch of his hand against her skin filled her.

      ‘But I’m not yours, am I?’ she returned more tartly than she had intended. ‘It is a gift from a friend, nothing more.’

      His eyes bore into her, searching down to her soul. Hattie returned his gaze as steadily as she could, hoping he didn’t see the white lie.

      ‘I stand corrected,’ he said finally. ‘In that case I shall be delighted to accept the gift. Child that I am.’

      ‘Play with it wisely. It is what I always tell my nieces and nephews when I give them a toy,’ she joked after she had paid the wizened toymaker.

      Keep it light. She needed to keep it light. She gripped her reticule tighter. Their time was coming to an end and she didn’t want it to.

      She could easily imagine what one of his London mistresses would be like—the highly sophisticated way she’d laugh and how her gestures would be perfectly poised. Everything she wasn’t and could never be.

      ‘I intend to treasure it.’ Kit tucked it into his breast pocket. ‘It should be safe there. Thank you, Hattie. It is a first being given something like this from a woman, but then you are unique.’

      Hattie dipped her head. There was a wealth of meaning in those words. If she wasn’t careful, she would start wanting to be kissed again. And that would be a very bad idea. ‘I should get back to the family. Livvy and Portia will be wondering what has happened to me.’

      ‘Surely they can spare you for a while longer yet? There must be some part of the fair you haven’t explored. Perhaps you’d like your fortune told. There are always gypsies at fairs like these.’

      ‘I’m not overfond of fortune tellers. My husband used to enjoy such pastimes.’

      ‘And you gave them up as frivolous on his death.’ He held up his hand. ‘Say no more, Hattie. Your past defines you.’

      ‘That is not it at all.’

      ‘Why can’t you linger with me a while? We won’t have our fortune told. We can enjoy the fair in other ways.’

      ‘They count on me. I don’t know where I’d be without them.’ A sudden chill passed through Hattie. She’d been so close to agreeing. She needed to keep this friendship light and easy, but not lose sense of what was truly important in her life, permanent and lasting—her family. ‘It helped so much to have them near after Charles’s death. They restored my faith in humanity.’

      ‘You should try living for yourself more.’

      ‘It’s funny … that is precisely what Mrs Reynaud said.’ She straightened her back. ‘You mustn’t worry. Once they are grown, I intend to travel the world, really travel. There are so many places I long to see. I make a list every year. I only stay in Northumberland because Stephanie and her girls can’t cope without me.’

      ‘Mrs Reynaud?’ A puzzled look came on his face and he seemed to go rigid. ‘Do you know someone called Reynaud?’

      ‘An elderly lady. One of your tenants. At Pearl Cottage.’

      ‘None of my tenants is called Reynaud. I would know.’

      ‘Perhaps she used a different name.’ Hattie gave a little shrug. ‘Her agreement was with your uncle. I think she knew your family when she was younger.’ Hattie lowered her voice. ‘She has led an exciting life and doles out tales of her wickedness. Stephanie doesn’t entirely approve of her, but I enjoy her company.’

      Kit’s face became carved out of stone. All humour and goodwill had vanished. ‘I can’t remember ever meeting a Mrs Reynaud. What does she look like?’

      ‘She says she is much altered. A few years ago before she came to the Tyne Valley, she suffered from smallpox and totally lost her looks. Recently she has become more of a recluse than ever. Mrs Belter told me that she had refused to come to