to an answer.
Despite the incident with Kit at the beginning, the lecture had been a huge success. Stephanie beamed afterwards, loudly declaring that she knew Rupert Hook had not been lying when he proclaimed he was an expert on newts. Hattie had answered vaguely, made her excuses and left.
‘Don’t bother to light the lamp.’
She nearly dropped the match in surprise. Kit stood in the middle of the drawing room, lit from the back by the small fire. Tall and forbidding. Her mouth went dry. ‘Kit! What are you doing here?’
He indicated the French doors. ‘It is easy to get into a house when you want, and your guard dog is a friend of mine.’
Moth turned on her back and wriggled.
Hattie put a hand to her head. ‘Oh, Moth.’
‘I have one question for you and then I will leave you in peace.’ There was no mistaking the finality to his tone. ‘Why did you do it, Harriet?’
‘Why did I do what?’ she asked cautiously. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation.
‘When did you find out? How long have you known where my mother was? Why did you set me up like that?’
Hattie’s heart thudded in her ears. She knew precisely what he was speaking about. The day of reckoning had arrived, much sooner than she thought it would.
‘Earlier today.’ Hattie blew out the match before it burnt her fingers. She struck another one, moved over to the small table and lit a candle. ‘There wasn’t time to tell you.’
‘You convinced her to come to the lecture expressly to see me, without consulting my feelings on the subject. Don’t deny it. My mother had all summer to contact me if she desired.’ Kit gave a fierce scowl. ‘What did you think would happen—a joyful reunion of two people long separated? Did you even consider how I might feel about the matter? About seeing my mother suddenly after so many years?’
Hattie gave a tiny shrug as Kit’s scowl increased. When he put it like that, she could see there was no defence. She should have let him know, but if she had, the situation would have remained unresolved. She bit her lip. It wasn’t exactly resolved now.
‘Mrs Reynaud only wanted to see you.’ Hattie held out her hands, palms upwards, willing him to understand. ‘I didn’t plan you two meeting like that. It was supposed to be different.’
He lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Was she hard to convince?’
‘It only took the slightest bit of encouragement. She wanted to go. She wanted to see you, but feared something bad would happen.’ Hattie willed him to understand why she had done it. ‘She is unwell, Kit. It might have been her last chance to make amends. She has a stack of letters which she wrote for you. She wants you to read them. She made a promise to your uncle not to contact you.’
‘My uncle has been dead for over a year.’ He slammed his fist down on the table making the china ornaments jump. ‘Dead men don’t know the difference between a kept promise and a broken one.’
‘Like you, she believes a promise is a promise.’ Hattie carefully put the china dog back in the centre of the table. Losing her temper was not going to accomplish anything.
Pure fury leapt from his eyes. ‘And I was young, little more than a babe in arms. Do you think she thought about me when she turned her back on me? She never once sent me a letter. Ever.’
Hattie closed her eyes. It broke her heart. She wanted to gather him in her arms and tell him that it was not down to him that his mother had left, but she knew he’d refuse to believe it.
‘I know,’ she said miserably. ‘Mrs Reynaud wrote you letters, but never posted them. She told me.’
‘That woman … doesn’t deserve to be called a mother.’ His voice trembled.
‘That woman gave birth to you,’ Hattie said gently. She could never excuse what Mrs Reynaud had done, but she had heard Kit’s stories about his father. She suspected the truth was complicated and complex and that Mrs Reynaud knew precisely what she had lost. ‘Your mother wanted to see you. She wanted to gaze upon you and see the sort of man you’d become. She was not seeking any sort of grand reunion watched by all and sundry. I thought … It doesn’t matter what I thought.’
‘You never even considered me or what I might think. You were utterly thoughtless, Harriet Wilkinson. You abused my trust. You want the world to be the way you want it and life isn’t like that.’
Hattie put her hands into the small of her back. Her heart ached like the very devil. She refused to cry. She had known what could happen, where this was leading. Somehow a little piece of her had hoped that if he saw his mother, he might have a reason to stay. Instead he would use it as a reason to go. The last thing she wanted was to seem needy. She knew the bargain they had had—a summer romance, that was all.
‘Very well then. We have reached that point. Summer is ended. We knew it was coming. I wish you godspeed, Sir Christopher. Forgive me if I don’t bother to see you out, but you may go the same way that you came in. I do so hate confrontations.’
She died a little as she said the words.
His jaw dropped. ‘No hysterics. No pleas for forgiveness or more time?’
‘Should there be? We both knew what this was—a summer affair. Nothing more, nothing less.’ Hattie kept her chin up. She refused to give him the satisfaction of collapsing. What did he expect—that she’d grab his ankles and beg or plead for forgiveness? Not her. She’d acted with the purest of motives. He’d warned her what he was capable of and she’d chosen to forget it.
‘You are not going to complain about being used?’
‘Why should I?’ She crossed her arms. ‘I was never one of your women, Kit. We both knew what this little piece of play-acting was all about.’
His nostrils flared. ‘Play-acting?’
‘You can’t stand to have a woman leave you. You leave before your emotions are engaged because you are afraid that the woman might bolt like your mother. You set rules that dictate your actions. But you are wrong about me. I would have stayed the course. And you are wrong about your mother.’ She fumbled in her reticule and drew out the little jumping-jack. ‘Your mother asked me to give this to you. She lacked the courage at that long-ago fair. She has letters that she wants you to read. She is dying. To forgive is divine.’
She waited for Kit to relent and to show her that he was the man she’d fallen for. That the strong principled man was not some illusion her brain had conjured up.
‘Will you do it for me? This one last thing?’ she whispered. ‘Visit your mother? Let her know that you care about her. I know you do.’
The only sound she heard was the tick-tock of the mantelpiece clock, ticking away the precious illusions of her life. She had told herself so many lies—that she was immune from him, that their relationship was purely physical, that she was not going to get hurt. Silently she willed him to take it and prove himself. His fingers stretched out, but then his gaze hardened. His hand fell to his side.
‘I’m no longer a child, Mrs Wilkinson. I’ve grown beyond the need for toys.
