Page 25 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

They made it to the site hut without incident, and Hetty gave a sharp rap on the door.

“Come,” called a deep voice from inside.

Hetty hesitated, uncertain if it was Mr Bramwell’s voice, for it was muffled by the door and the noise of building work going on around them. She did not wish to enter the little hut and discover herself in company with a man she did not know.

“Is that you, Mr Bramwell?” she called.

A moment later and the door was snatched open.

Mr Bramwell filled the entrance, and Hetty’s breath caught. Somehow, she had forgotten how very imposing he was since the last time she’d seen him.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded, his expression incredulous.

Hetty, undaunted by this less than enthusiastic greeting, returned a bright smile. “I have it on good authority that you are burning the candle at both ends, Mr Bramwell, therefore, I have brought you something to eat and drink before you make a spectacle of yourself and swoon before your men.”

His eyes flicked from her to Jenkins, to the basket, and though it hardly seemed possible, grew several degrees frostier.

“Bloody little fool. Do you want the entire town talking about us?”

“Oh, don’t make such a fuss,” Hetty replied crossly. “I’m not staying. I am only bringing you this basket along with an invitation to take tea with me.”

“I am not—” he growled.

“Or I could bring tea to you,” she added, sending him a smile of such insincerity he’d have needed to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to have read the threat it contained.

There was a short, taut silence. Hetty swore she could hear his teeth grinding. “I’ll be there at four thirty.”

“Excellent. I shall see you then. Good day, Mr Bramwell,” she said cheerfully as Jenkins passed him the basket. Hetty left the site with her head held high.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 27th July 1816

Gideon shook his head as he walked down the long driveway that led to the imposing doors of Hatherley Hall. He could not believe he was here because of a headstrong, little chit of a girl, but she had outmanoeuvred him and there was no getting out of it.

He did not doubt that she would have brought tea to the blasted site hut if he’d refused her, complete with a china teapot and Ratafia biscuits. She was a menace to society, certainly to his peace of mind, and he needed to put her in place and ensure she stayed there.

Though he had refused to go home and wash and dress appropriately to call upon a lady, he had unbent enough to ensure his cravat was tied properly—or at least a tad neater than usual—and his hair brushed. It was the only concession he would make for her, though. He was here under duress, and he was going to make it abundantly clear he was a grown man and not to be trifled with by a spoiled society miss with too much time on her hands.

She would get on famously with Damian, he thought bitterly, who lived for such games of one-upmanship, where the goal was to manipulate their prey into doing exactly what one wished them to do, and nevermind the consequences.

The butler opened the door to him and took his hat and gloves. “Good day, Mr Bramwell. Lady Henrietta is on the south terrace. If you would follow me, please.”

Gideon nodded, following the man through the impressive building. It reminded him somewhat of Rivington House, and he experienced an odd pang of nostalgia, though for what he could not say. Certainly, the place held no fond memories for him, nor for Damian. Perhaps for what might have been, if things had been different.

He shook the odd sensation off, feeling as though slumbering ghosts had woken and were following close behind him. Unnerved, he looked over his shoulder and then laughed inwardly at his own idiocy. But his stomach clenched all the same.

Howard led him out onto a shaded terrace that overlooked the garden, with a splendid view of the sea on the horizon between two stands of pine trees. For a moment he just stood and stared, transfixed by the symmetry and elegance before him.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Gideon turned then, belatedly realising Lady Henrietta was sitting on a little wrought iron settee, comfortably padded with colourful cushions. She smiled at him, lifting her hand for him to take.

She was dressed in cobalt blue, the soft fabric of the gown the same shade as the sea glinting on the vista laid before them. Gideon shook himself and took her slender fingers in his, bowing over them with little grace and dropping them inelegantly. He must remember why he was here and not get sidetracked by either the beauty of the view or that of the manipulative little minx smiling so guilelessly at him.

Hetty made a choked sound that might have been a laugh as he sat himself down.

“You may bring the drinks, Howard,” she told the butler with a smile.

Gideon frowned as the fellow took himself off. “Drinks? I thought I’d come for tea.”