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‘You did go into the card room.’
‘Mr Hook explained that it was not my best idea, but how else could I meet him?’ Livvy screwed up her nose. ‘Sir Christopher gave him a talking to. Being young is no reason to be ignorant of society’s pitfalls.’
Despite her earlier misgivings, Hattie was impressed. Mr Hook had obviously considered his position and decided that he wanted to court Livvy. She might not agree with everything, but the light romance would not put anyone in danger. ‘I agree with Sir Christopher.’
Livvy clapped her hands together. ‘Why did you have to fall out of civility with Sir Christopher? It makes everything much more difficult. Mama has taken against Mr Hook for some unknown reason. And now they say Sir Christopher has taken up with one of the Dent sisters. The elder one who has the annoying laugh. And the younger one probably will get her claws into Mr Hook.’
‘I heard that it was Maria Richley.’ Portia put her hand over Hattie’s. ‘We weren’t meant to tell. Mama made us promise.’
Hattie pasted a smile on her face. Stephanie obviously knew that Portia would be unable to keep a secret and had primed her. After the incident at the musicale with the seating arrangements, she should have guessed that Stephanie was not going to give up her matchmaking scheme easily. Still the gossip caused a slight jealous twinge and that surprised her.
All in all it was safer if no one knew about her renewed friendship with Kit. Hattie forcibly turned the subject away from Sir Christopher and back towards safer subjects like gloves, gingerbread and the possibility of exotic animals.
* * *
The odour of spice and citrus fruit mixed with animal and overlaid with sawdust took Kit back to his childhood. He could remember every step of the fair even though he had not been in twenty-five years. The stalls looked tantalisingly familiar—here one for London Spice and there another selling oranges. Still further on were the stalls devoted to all manner of pots and pans. It appeared as if a large tented city had sprung up overnight. Kit struggled to see the windswept field where he and Hattie had picnicked only a few days before.
The memory of waiting outside the ale tent and hoping that his uncle would not turn out like his father sliced through him. Your father has it all wrong, Kit. Bad blood doesn’t mean you have to be bad. Damn your mother to hell. Never wait on a woman.
Kit frowned and pushed the memory away. Over the years he’d perfected the art of not thinking about the past and only living in the present. And the present meant deciding what to do about Hattie. He wasn’t ready to face that...yet, and it was unlike him to be mealy-mouthed. He would end it after the fair. The gift he gave her would be special, but in keeping with their relationship. The weight on his shoulders eased. He was going to do the right thing.
‘Do keep up, Rupert,’ Kit said as Rupert endeavoured to linger at the gun stall and then at Moles Swords where the latest models were hung with precision and a crowd of ten deep stood. ‘You purchased a sword before we left London. Maybe now you will understand why I urged you to wait. Moles always brings out its new range for the Stagshaw fair.’
Rupert put down the rapier with a loud sigh. ‘You are right. Nothing, not even a sword, can give me pleasure when the sight of my beloved is denied.’
‘Petulance does you few favours,’ Kit murmured. ‘You were the one to get into this muddle. Women should be enjoyed, not mooned over.’
Rupert gave a glance behind him and his entire countenance lit up. ‘Miss Parteger is at the glove stall, right when she said she would be. You are wrong, Kit, some women you can count on.’
Kit tensed. Hattie stood next to Miss Parteger, seemingly absorbed in choosing a pair of butter-yellow gloves. Her straw bonnet trimmed with green ribbons made a pleasant contrast with her round gown. Not a London sophisticate, but refreshing, someone who was comfortable in their skin. Was it just the novelty of freshness that intrigued? Kit frowned. It didn’t matter. He would return to London soon and the flirtation would be over.
‘Shall we go and investigate the famous Hexham Tans?’ he said.
As he approached, Hattie looked up. Her straw bonnet framed her face, shadowing her features and making her look far more desirable than the majority of women of his acquaintance.
‘Are you buying gloves?’ he asked after they had exchanged pleasantries.
‘Livvy is. She desires a new pair and they always do specials on fair days. She is looking at the other stalls, but I always come back to Hedley’s. There is a certain something about the way they soften the leather.’ She stretched out her hand. ‘I can’t make up my mind about whether the butter yellow or light tan is best.’
