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He started down the hill. Harriet’s hand touched his sleeve. Kit fought against the urge to cover it with his hand.
‘Do not think this means I have forgiven you, but thank you,’ she said in an undertone. ‘You appear to have saved the day.’
‘Only appear? I have saved the day and allowed two people to have a chance to get to know each other before they are leg-shackled.’
‘And, yes, I did want to go to London with Livvy before you ask.’ Her eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘I hope you are not going to be insufferably smug about the whole thing.’
‘You are speaking to me and that is a start,’ Kit answered. He inclined his head. His fight back had started. This time he intended to leave nothing to luck. He was going to do everything in his power to show Harriet that she should take a chance on him. ‘Do remember to save me a dance at the Summerfields’ ball. It is all the thanks I require.’
Chapter Fifteen
The ball to mark the end of summer hummed with activity when Hattie arrived at Summerfield three days later. She hated the bitter-sweetness of attending a ball here again. It shouldn’t matter that the last time she had been here, she had met Kit, but somehow it did. That evening had changed her life in more ways than she had considered possible.
Now she was committed to dancing with him again. Over the past few days as the excitement of Livvy’s engagement swirled around her, she had tried to think up an excuse, but none had come.
After he had engineered the engagement between Mr Hook and Livvy, her sister felt that Kit could do no wrong. And she kept going on about how Hattie had made a mistake in refusing him. Even now as they waited, Stephanie made several remarks about how useful Kit was. It was as if she had suddenly been re-infected with her matchmaking fever.
Hattie closed her ears.
A tingling went down her back. She glanced over her shoulder. A tall figure alighted from a carriage and then turned to help a woman down.
Kit.
As if she had spoken his name, he turned towards where she was standing, waiting to greet the hosts. A tiny smile briefly crossed his features. He nodded towards where she stood, waiting with Livvy, and then whispered something in his mother’s ear.
Once she would have blushed. Now she forced herself to coolly nod, only to be greeted by an enthusiastic wave and a gesture to come over from Mrs Reynaud. To Hattie’s astonishment, Mrs Reynaud was not veiled, but dressed in a sumptuous gown with a necklace of diamonds sparking at her throat.
Briefly she contemplated pretending she had not seen the wave, but she knew that would go against the fibre of her being. She did want to see her.
‘I will be back.’ Hattie pressed Stephanie’s hand. ‘This queue is taking ages. Mrs Reynaud is here. I hadn’t realised that she had recovered from her chill.’
Stephanie’s gaze narrowed, taking in Hattie’s reaction to the latest arrivals. ‘You haven’t been paying attention, Hattie. I called on Mrs Reynaud with Livvy two days ago when you were indisposed. Where is your head these days?’
‘I’m going to greet my friend,’ Hattie declared. ‘Please don’t read anything more into it.’
‘As if you would allow me to!’
Hattie pulled back her shoulders, suddenly glad that she had given in to temptation and had worn a new garnet-red ball gown with cream-coloured lace around the neckline. She loved the way the skirt moved about her ankles and how the garnet-studded hairnet completed the look. She was not some widow content to stay on the shelf, but a woman determined to make the most of life. She might have agreed to dance with Kit, but it didn’t mean he had to be the only man she danced with.
‘You look lovely, my dear,’ Mrs Reynaud said with a huge smile when she reached the pair. Close up, the family resemblance was so marked that Hattie wondered how she had missed it earlier. Whatever happened, the reconciliation had done wonders for Mrs Reynaud. ‘Doesn’t she look lovely, Christopher?’
Hattie forced herself not to move a muscle as Kit’s gaze roamed over her.
‘Mrs Wilkinson looks as she always does,’ Kit said, inclining his head.
Hattie dropped the barest of curtsies. As far as compliments, she could have hardly thought of one which tasted more of ash. She searched his eyes for warmth, but found his expression guarded. ‘I thank you for the compliment.’
‘It was sincerely given.’
‘I’m pleased you brought your mother here.’
