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Chapter Three
He was embarrassed by her admission, she could tell, and Hattie hated that she had managed to turn a perfectly pleasant conversation into stilted awkwardness when that had certainly not been her intention. Especially as it was the first proper conversation she and Jasper had ever had.
Growing up, she had always been intimidated by her brother’s handsome and charming friend. As well as more than a little enamoured by him too. Enough that she hadn’t been able to hide her girlish crush from her more confident but intuitive twin, who had teased her mercilessly about her attraction for years. Consequently, whenever their paths had collided, she had been a tongue-tied, stuttering, blushing mess. Not helped by the baffled looks of sheer bewilderment he had always regarded her with whenever she had tripped over her own words on the rare occasions he’d attempted to converse with her.
She wasn’t that bumbling girl any longer. After everything she had been through, those cringing interactions with him now seemed like a lifetime away. Two lifetimes in fact. That things were back to being awkward was more the fault of her own misplaced vanity than his thoughtlessness, and all because she had wanted him to see the confident and feisty incarnation of herself she had always been—with everyone except him.
Such awkwardness was pointless now, especially as she no longer regarded Lord Beaufort as if the sun rose and set with him. She was long over that silly crush and even if she was still a little enamoured of his chiselled good looks and likeable nature, she knew too much about him to want to know him any better than as an entertaining acquaintance. Especially as Jasper was the most gossiped about person of her acquaintance. The swirling rumours of his exploits, affairs and scandals were legendary, casting her brother’s questionable past into the shade, and he was unapologetic and open about all of it.
Even if Hattie was on the lookout for a husband, which she very much wasn’t for obvious reasons, only an idiot would set her cap at such a scoundrel and she had never been daft. She needed a man who adored her for what she was and considered looks unimportant, not one with a famously wandering eye. Not that Jasper’s discerning eye was likely to wander her way lustfully anyway. As he had rightly just pointed out, he always snagged the most perfect partners wherever he went, and with the minimum effort too, as they threw themselves at him—and she wasn’t perfect any more. Therefore, it was ridiculous to try to maintain the vain façade that she was.
‘I am so sorry Hattie...that was thoughtless of me... I...um...should have realised before I...well...put my big, fat foot in it.’
‘Please do not feel sorry for me, Jasper Beaufort, don’t you dare!’ She stared towards where they were headed rather than witness the pity in his unusual green eyes. ‘For I can assure you that I am at peace with it.’ Which she was—up to a point. There were some aspects, like the hideous state of her leg, which she would likely never come to terms with, but she had accepted what was and had worked hard to carve out a new existence which made her happy.
Hattie loathed all the pity more than she loathed the jagged scars on her shin.
So much had been sent her way since the family had returned to town for the Season, she was suffocated by it. Offended by it. The assumptions, the judgements, the well-meant condolences as if her life were over and all she could expect between now and meeting her maker was to march empty time on the outskirts. Poor, limping Lady Harriet. All her dreams crushed, and her prospects shrivelled. For who would want her now if she wasn’t the daughter of a duke? At least she still had that, thank goodness, so perhaps something would turn up.
Although to his credit, Jasper had just talked to her as if she were normal, and that had seduced her into wanting to appear normal in return. That she wasn’t, was hardly his fault. ‘Earlier, you asked how I was doing...’ As much as she hated thinking about her dratted leg, let alone talking about it, she owed him an honest answer. ‘As you can see, thanks to Dr Cribb’s timely and miraculous intervention, I can now walk well enough, albeit at a snail’s pace. But because the bone initially healed badly that has left its mark, so I fear dancing will always be beyond me.’ She risked glancing at him and hated the way his dark brows furrowed in sympathy.
‘I am so sorry, Hattie.’
‘I am not.’ She straightened her shoulders as she stuck out her chin, quickening her pace to prove she wasn’t the least bit broken by her situation. ‘For it turns out having one leg several inches shorter is decidedly more preferable than pushing up the daisies, and that was my alternative. I would choose being a wonky wallflower over a corpse any day.’
He was silent as they turned on to King Street, searching for the right words when there weren’t any, but she appreciated that he tried to find them to make her feel better. In the absence of any herself, Hattie decided to deflect in the only way she knew how.
With humour.
‘If I were you, I would take a moment to appreciate the irony of my situation. Wrongdoers should always get their comeuppance and fate has dealt me, and by default you, the most beautiful hand as revenge for those five shillings.’
Confusion played across his perfectly proportioned features. Confusion and outrage that she thought he was that shallow. When those emotions went to war with his ingrained politeness, and he gaped like a fish scrambling for a suitable response, she had to laugh.
‘Don’t you see? Now I am the sitting duck. I might be a wonky wallflower, but I am still a wealthy duke’s daughter who cannot use the next dance as a valid excuse to escape the crush of fortune hunters and dead losses who will be swarming around me like flies. One who might well have to borrow your billiards cue tomorrow night to fight them all off because I have already been receiving bouquets from the most determined.’ She clutched her cheeks in mock horror. ‘And one of them was from Lord Boredom!’
‘Oh, dear.’ Cautious amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes at the mention of the single most tedious bachelor of the ton. ‘Poor you.’
‘Poor me indeed as I am not even fast enough to dart away if he spies me! I shall be trapped. Cornered. A captive audience. And likely the only woman in the room who has no choice but to talk to him while everyone else is being twirled on the dance floor. It is almost a fate worse than death.’ She gripped his arm, trying to ignore how solid it felt beneath her fingers and stared up at him pleading. ‘I know I have a cheek asking this, after I betrayed you for five measly shillings, but if you are inclined to feel some pity for me for all the trials and tribulations I have recently suffered...’ She batted her eyelashes far too rapidly to seduce a soul. ‘In lieu of that dance you asked for but I cannot grant you, I would very much appreciate being saved from him tomorrow at the ball, Jasper.’
‘I don’t know...’ His teasing tone was back, thank goodness, and the expression of pity gone as they paused in the middle of the road between the infirmary and his club. ‘After your hideous treachery, I am not sure that a Judas like you deserves such charity—’
‘Jasper? Lord Beaufort?’ A dour, grey-haired man in a tall hat seemed to appear out of nowhere at her escort’s elbow. When Jasper nodded the fellow inclined his head. ‘I am Mr Leonard Pitt from the law firm of Mayhew, Reynolds and Pitt of Cookham.’
‘It is nice to finally meet you Mr Pitt.’ Her companion held out his hand, smiling at the introduction as if he was aware of the company, at least. But when the smile wasn’t returned as the gentleman shook his with an expression of foreboding, it slipped from Jasper’s handsome face in instant concern.
‘I only wish it was under more pleasant circumstances, my lord. As you will know from my letter of last week...’
‘I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir, as I have been out of town for some weeks and have only just returned.’
‘Ah...well. That makes things more awkward.’ The solicitor pulled a thick envelope from his leather satchel and passed it to Jasper. ‘It is my grave but solemn duty to pass over to you these deeds and documents as instructed in the last will and testament of Cora Marlow—’ All the colour seemed to bleach out of Jasper’s face at this news.
‘Cora’s dead?’
‘I am afraid so, my lord.’ Suddenly even more uncomfortable, the solicitor’s complexion also paled as he shuffled from foot to foot. ‘And as instructed by the deceased, it is also my duty to ensure the safe delivery of an...um...’ his eyes flicked to Hattie and he winced ‘...of one of your belongings.’ He jerked his thumb towards the carriage parked outside the club. ‘But as this is a conversation of the most delicate nature, perhaps...’ The curtains in the carriage twitched then and a small, ashen face appeared between them.
Whoever the little girl was Jasper dashed towards her. The moment he pulled open the carriage door, she stretched out her hands and he took her, cuddling her close with the air of a man used to dealing with a child. ‘Oh, Izzy...’ He kissed the child’s dark curls with obvious affection. ‘My poor darling.’
‘Strangers keep telling me that Mama has gone to the angels.’ The little girl burrowed into his coat and Hattie’s heart broke for her. She couldn’t be more than four or five. Not that there was ever a right age to lose a mother, that was tragically young. ‘When is she coming back?’
‘She isn’t, poppet...’ He stroked her dark hair, almost the exact shade as his, his voice choked. ‘But you still have me.’ He cocooned her as she wept, and as if in a trance turned away from everyone without another word to carry the child into his club. Mr Pitt scurried to follow, and the heavy door closed with a decisive thud behind them.
