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‘You deserve it.’ Hattie did not pause as she walked through the door.
* * *
Kit sat with his mother quietly without saying anything. He had planned several speeches out on the moor, but no words were adequate to explain the depth of emotions which coursed through his body. This crumpled bit of humanity was his mother, the woman who had given birth to him. He tried to reconcile her with his memory of the beautiful, fascinating creature who had walked away from him all those years ago. But when he looked into her eyes, he knew and he saw something akin to love and regret.
‘Don’t leave me, Kit,’ she murmured. ‘Stay. I want you here.’
‘I’ve no intentions of going anywhere,’ Kit said, watching tears slide down her crumpled face. ‘I am determined to stay. You are my only living relative in the world. I wanted to know you wanted me. You are my mother.’
‘Good.’ She frowned slightly. ‘And your intentions towards Mrs Wilkinson?’
Kit crossed over to the door and shut it firmly. ‘That is my business.’
‘Do you love her?’
‘We are here to speak about you,’ Kit said, keeping his voice calm, but making sure that his mother knew that speaking about his relationship with Harriet was forbidden. He refused to discuss his feelings for her with anyone. ‘First things first.’
‘She is a good woman,’ his mother persisted.
‘I know that!’
‘You hurt her deeply. Behaving in that fashion. Everyone saw you cut her.’
Kit crossed his arms. ‘I warned her. Nothing happened that Harriet did not agree to.’
‘You’d be a fool to allow her to slip through your fingers. You—’
‘Are you going to keep telling me the obvious?’ Kit made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat.
Susan Reynaud might be his mother, but it gave her no right to interfere in his life. His feelings for Harriet were private and very new. All he knew was that he’d never felt like this about any woman before. Harriet was more than a mistress, she was his friend. He knew he wanted her in his life.
The worst thing about last night had been the thought that he might never hold Harriet in his arms again. She had told him to go and it was as if his heart had been torn from his chest—a feeling which had only intensified throughout the night and he knew that he had thrown away something very precious.
The first step to winning back Hattie was to make peace with his mother. To see if Hattie was right and his mother did want him in her life. Out on the fell, he discovered that it was something he hardly dared hope for.
His mother gave a little laugh. ‘I know that noise. It will work out. All you need to do is to go to her and explain. I believe she loves you despite your dreadful behaviour. You should marry her. I thought she might be right for you and I am never wrong in such matters.’
‘And my father—was he right for you?’
‘No, we should never have married,’ his mother said firmly. ‘My parents forced me into the marriage. I tried to run away, but they found me and dragged me to the altar. We fought worse than cats and dogs. You came along when the marriage was dead.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I regretted many things about that time, but I never regretted having you. I naïvely thought they’d allow me to have you. The court does not look kindly on fallen women. And then later John extracted the promise in exchange for a roof over my head. All I could hope for was that, some day, you’d come and I could tell you of my love and my longing for us to be together. Today is that day.’
‘You are a great believer in the power of love.’
‘Sometimes, it has been all I have had to believe in.’
‘I was waiting for you to come to me,’ Kit explained. ‘My uncle never left me any word. Until Harriet said your name at the Stagshaw fair, I had no idea what had happened to you. You vanished after my father died and that was all I knew. Then I was afraid that you’d see my father in me and would reject me.’
‘Oh, Christopher.’ A single tear ran down his mother’s cheek.
Kit hung his head. ‘I was rude to you last night. It was wrong of me. You gave me life and all I could do was to treat you badly.’
‘We both made mistakes. Me more than most.’ She raised her hand and stroked his cheek.
‘Am I like my father?’ The words slipped from his throat.
‘In looks, maybe, but in temperament, no. He could never admit that he was wrong.’ His mother held up her hand. ‘Before you protest that I can’t possibly know, John used to read me your letters and I have followed every scrap of news about you and your exploits.’
