Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge

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. You will come to my lecture on the problems of mapping the Holy Places in two weeks’ time?’

      Murder, Hattie decided, was too humane a punishment for Stephanie. She needed to be tortured slowly. ‘I look forward to it.’

      ‘My dear Mrs Wilkinson, you do me such honour.’ Doctor Hornby made a grab for her hand and froze. His face became a mottled purple.

      ‘Are you well, Dr Hornby?’

      ‘Perfectly fine. I must leave you ladies.’

      Hattie had half-turned and saw Kit glowering. He gave her a cold nod. ‘As long as you are certain.’

      ‘On second thoughts, I do believe Miss Gormley has saved me a seat. I would hate to disappoint her.’

      ‘I understand completely.’

      Hattie drew in a breath of air and concentrated on steadying her pulse. She resisted the urge to turn around and see Kit’s reaction. They were finished, and she was not going to be kissed again. Ever. The thought made her unbearably sad.

      ‘If you will excuse me … I believe this is my seat.’ Kit pushed passed her and sat down in the chair Dr Hornby had just vacated.

      ‘I hadn’t realised it was spoken for.’

      ‘It was.’ He turned his back on her. ‘Mrs Parteger saved it for me.’

      Stephanie developed a sudden interest in her programme and ignored Hattie’s sudden jab to her side.

      Hattie spent the entire concert busily trying to ignore his very existence. And failing. She rejected a number of possible conversation topics but finally settled on a polite discussion of music. She’d demonstrate to Stephanie and Kit that she bore no ill feeling. The remainder of the concert was spent in happy contemplation of what she would say.

      When the concert was over, he stood up.

      ‘It has been a pleasure, Mrs Wilkinson, Mrs Parteger.’

      Before Hattie could utter another word, he was gone.

      ‘You could have done more, Hattie. I am highly disappointed in you.’

      ‘He nearly cut me dead.’

      ‘You were the one to send the letter. Ill timed and ill advised. I was attempting to mend bridges. Sir Christopher is a neighbour.’

      He’d only sat with her to prove a point. Stephanie in her misguided way had given him an opportunity. Hattie narrowed her eyes. ‘If you ever do that again, Stephanie, I will create a scene and, more than that, a scandal. How would you like me to be embroiled in a scandal?’

      ‘Some people are entirely too touchy.’ Stephanie gave a loud sniff. ‘Very well, you will hear no more from me on the subject. I entirely wash my hands of you, Harriet Wilkinson. I hope you enjoy your widow’s bed.’

      ‘I find it utterly comfortable. Far better than my marriage bed,’ she muttered under her breath.

      ‘Aunt Hattie, it is his carriage. I know it is,’ Livvy breathed when Hattie turned the governess cart into the Corbridge High Street the morning after the concert.

      ‘Whose carriage?’ Hattie asked absently as she brought the cart to a halt outside the ironmonger’s. Her dreams had been confused last night after the concert. Twice she had woken with her mind full of thoughts of Kit and the way his lips had moved over hers. She should have said something before he left. It was quite possible he considered that she had a part in that saving of a seat débâcle. She couldn’t decide which was worse—Stephanie’s behaviour or the fact she had been supremely aware of him.

      Today was a day for concentrating on the jobs that needed to be done before the Stagshaw Bank Fair, rather than considering what might have been. Once the fair was over, he’d depart the neighbourhood and she would not have a constant reminder. She could get over this attraction.

      ‘Whose carriage, Livvy?’

      ‘Sir Christopher’s, of course!’

      Hattie ignored the sudden fluttering in her stomach. She had made the correct decision. She’d no other choice. Any lady would have done the same thing. ‘I wasn’t aware that you ever paid much attention to carriages.’

      ‘It has butter-yellow wheels and is quite new. Mr Hook told me all about it. Sir Christopher purchased it once they arrived in Newcastle by packet boat.’

      ‘Other carriages have butter-yellow wheels,’ Hattie said, more to control her own sudden onset of nerves than Livvy’s. After the concert where he’d barely spoken to her, she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

      Livvy kicked the board under her seat. ‘Can I go to the circulating library?’

      ‘May I. Where are your manners today, Livvy?’

      ‘May I go? Portia, you will come with me.’ Livvy grabbed her sister’s arm. ‘Aunt Hattie, surely you can’t object if I have a companion. I wish to improve my mind.’

      Portia gave an indignant squeak.

      Hattie pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I thought you wanted to go to the haberdasher’s for more ribbon.’

      ‘I can do that after. Please. I want to see if the latest by the author of Waverley is there. And Papa wants a book on animal husbandry. He wants to settle an argument with Colonel Cunningham. I will catch you up in the haberdasher’s.’

      Hattie gave a weary wave. It would make life easier if neither Livvy nor Portia accompanied her on her errands, particularly when she needed to find out if indeed the firebox for Mrs Belter’s cook stove could be repaired as Mr Ogle had promised weeks ago or if she’d be better investigating the range of stoves at the Stagshaw fair for Mrs Belter. The fair did represent an opportunity to buy a wider range of goods than were generally available in the Tyne Valley.

      She watched the pair for a few steps and decided that they would be all right. Livvy could not get up to any mischief at the circulating library and the probability that Mr Hook was actually there was slim. The back of her neck crept. The last person she wanted to encounter was Kit and if Mr Hook was in the library, Kit would not be far behind. And she certainly did not want to explain about the concert.

      She stepped into the ironmonger’s and collided with a solid expanse of chest. Hattie inhaled the sandalwood scent. Strong fingers caught her elbow and steadied her.

      She hurriedly took a step backwards out of the shop. She ducked her head, hoping that he wouldn’t see her flaming cheeks. ‘Sir Christopher. This is most unexpected.’

      ‘Mrs