as his mother. A great hole opened within Hattie. She had to make one final attempt to reach the man she knew he could be.
‘I did it because I cared about you and what happens in your future,’ she whispered. ‘Why don’t you care enough about me to even try?’
His mouth twisted. ‘I’m not the sort of man you should care about. I warned you of that before we began.’
Hattie balled her fists. The scene swam before her eyes and she desperately wished her heart had remembered that. Having him here, breaking all her illusions, was far worse than finding out about what Charles thought of her, but she refused to collapse in a heap. ‘You are right. You did. We have nothing more to say to each other.’
‘You are asking me to go.’ He tilted his head to one side.
Hattie clung on to the remains of her self-control. ‘I am demanding. I am sure you know the difference, Sir Christopher. Enjoy your life in London. I intend to enjoy mine here in Northumberland. Summer has ended. Irrevocably and completely.’
‘Never let it be said that I don’t do as a lady requests.’ He gave an elaborate bow, but his expression might as well have been carved from marble. ‘Your servant, Mrs Wilkinson.’
Hattie kept her body upright until she heard the front door slam. At the sound she crumpled down on the floor. Moth came over and nuzzled her shoulder. Hattie gathered the little dog to her breast and rocked back and forth.
‘What have I done, Moth? Oh, what have I done?’
‘I saw him,’ Hattie said, coming to kneel beside Mrs Reynaud’s bed early the next morning. She had called, but Mrs Reynaud’s maid said that she didn’t feel well enough to rise and she had refused to allow the doctor to be called. However, Hattie insisted on seeing Mrs Reynaud and was ushered up.
Mrs Reynaud’s blue-veined hand grasped Hattie’s as tears glimmered in her eyes. ‘You saw him this morning? So early?’
‘Last night. He was waiting for me when I returned from the lecture.’ Hattie bit her lip, promising herself that she wouldn’t burst into tears all over Mrs Reynaud. She had volunteered for this. She could hardly confess that she considered Kit to be a different sort of person. He had turned out to be made from the same cloth as her late husband—charming but unreliable, not someone to count on. ‘I fulfilled your request and gave him the jumping-jack. He deserved to know that you regretted abandoning him. He reacted badly. He will be well on his way to London. He wasn’t the man I thought him to be.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Mrs Reynaud gently placed her hand on Hattie’s shoulder. ‘I had such hopes. I wanted … It doesn’t matter now.’
‘This has nothing to do with you. I simply had a few misconceptions.’ Hattie gave a careful shrug. There was little point in recounting the precise details of what had happened. ‘The scales truly fell from my eyes. I realised that I was living a life full of illusions, thinking the best of people. From now on, I shall live a life full of practicality and strict cynicism.’
Mrs Reynaud’s hand dropped from her shoulder. All the vitality fell from her, leaving her an old and helpless woman. ‘He isn’t coming. Ever. You are trying to tell me gently. I hate gentle, Hattie. I always have.’
‘I don’t think he will.’ Hattie forced the words from her throat.
‘What sort of a child can forgive their mother for that? I was wrong to hope for understanding.’ Mrs Reynaud’s bottom lip quivered. Then she gave herself a shake and continued. ‘There were so many things I wanted to tell him. I should have listened to John and stayed away. I ruined everything for you.’
‘There was nothing to ruin,’ Hattie admitted. ‘You must get that idea out of your head. It was a summer flirtation and now summer is over. We both knew the rules.’ Hattie forced a smile. ‘Perhaps it will make for a cautionary tale to my nieces when I can bear to speak about it.’
‘Last night I saw how he looked at you.’
‘He has his life in London. He always did. He never made a secret of it, even if for a time I chose to forget it.’ Hattie hated how the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t excusing Kit, but she had seen his unguarded expression when he realised who Mrs Reynaud was. Despite everything, her heart still bled for him and what he could be. Underneath his charm, part of him remained that little boy whose mother had rejected him. ‘He has no interest in staying.’
‘I understand.’ Mrs Reynaud sat up straighter and tightened the shawl about her shoulders. ‘He made his own fortune, you know. Far more than my unlamented husband’s. He can be very single minded. Over the years, I have followed every single scrap of news.’
‘I wanted you to know and I will go now, leave you to rest.’ Hattie gripped her reticule. She wished she could offer Mrs Reynaud more comfort. She wanted to tell her that Kit was better than she thought and that he actually cared and would appear once his temper had cooled. ‘It is not good to live a life of illusions. That lesson is now etched on my heart.’
‘Mrs Wilkinson may know a lot of things, but she doesn’t know everything,’ a low voice said behind her. ‘She remains far too quick in judging others.’
Hattie jumped. Half-afraid that somehow her fevered mind had conjured the voice, she could do nothing more than breathe. ‘Kit.’
He stood in the doorway, wearing the same clothes that he’d worn last night. His eyes were sunken and his chin unshaved. Bits of bracken and twigs clung to his breeches. She had never seen him look that dishevelled or that dangerous before.
Hattie ruthlessly suppressed the leap in her pulse. After what she’d learnt about him, she refused to be attracted to him. She was not going to suffer any more lusting after someone who could never be the person she deserved. From now on, she took charge of her life. ‘You should be on your way to London, Sir Christopher. You said you were going.’
‘I am no apparition, Mrs Wilkinson. I am here and not on the road to London.’
‘How? Why?’
Mrs Reynaud gave a little squeak and the colour drained from her face.
‘Your maid let me in, Mother. I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Kit held out his hands. ‘I am here as you requested.’
Tears flowed down Susan’s face. ‘You called me mother.’
‘You did give birth to me.’ Kit moved into the room, filling it. ‘Until Mrs Wilkinson gave me the jumping-jack, I had no idea you were dying. You should have informed me. You knew where I was.’
‘Would you have read the letter?’
Kit shrugged. ‘As you didn’t write it, it is a moot question. But I like to think I would have without prompting. But why did you involve Mrs Wilkinson in your scheme? That was unforgivable.’
Hattie pressed her fingers together, trying to take it in. Kit remained in Northumberland, rather than departing immediately for London. And he was calling Mrs Reynaud ‘Mother’ as if he had been saying such a thing every day of his life. She pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. ‘I volunteered.’
Mrs Reynaud struggled to sit and a series of violent coughs racked her.
‘Are you
