Hatton took her hand and kissed it. ‘Am I in your bad books, my dear? A bull in a china shop, perhaps?’
‘Most certainly! Would you take one of your famous thoroughbreds, and try to break it with cruelty?’
‘Was I cruel!’ Hatton looked disconcerted. ‘I didn’t mean to be. It’s just that...well...the lady hates me. I see no remedy for that.’
‘You might try using some of your charm.’
‘That would not serve,’ he told her shortly.
‘Well, at least refrain from these unfortunate comments. If the lady is recently widowed, as you say, she cannot be feeling herself again just yet.’
‘I stand corrected, Madame. I’ll try to mend my ways. Am I forgiven?’
‘Always, you shocking creature! You will give my regards to your father?’ A look of infinite sadness passed fleetingly across her face.
Hatton took both her hands in his. ‘I promise,’ he said quietly.
Madame was quite herself again when Sophie came to join them, and she responded quickly to the girl’s unfeigned thanks. She was too well bred to betray unseemly curiosity about her customer, though she could only wonder at the connection between this young woman and Nicholas Hatton. The lady’s shabby clothing did not trouble her. Since the troubles in France, some of her dearest friends had been reduced to abject penury...among them, some of the highest in the land.
But Mistress Firle was an Englishwoman, and obviously gently bred. Perhaps the lady had fallen upon hard times, but how had Hatton become involved?
Was this some affair of the heart? She thought not. She was fond of Hatton and she owed his family much, but she had never ceased to wonder why he was still unmarried. He seemed impervious to female charms, and in all their dealings she had never seen him with a woman. Possibly there had been some unfortunate incident in his past.
She brushed the thought aside. It was none of her concern. She returned to the business in hand.
‘The garments will be ready in a day or so,’ she promised. ‘If you will give me your direction, madam, they shall be sent to you...’
Blushing, Sophie gave her the name of the inn.
‘And the account is to go to Mr Hatton?’ Madame realised that her question was indiscreet, but she was anxious to see the reaction of her customers.
‘Certainly not!’ Colour flooded Sophie’s face as she opened her reticule and took out the roll of notes. ‘Will you let me know the total, please?’ Her cheeks were burning. Did Madame Arouet imagine that she was Hatton’s light o’ love?
Anger made her careless. ‘I do not know this gentleman well,’ she said coolly. ‘I met him only yesterday.’ She stopped in some confusion. Hatton had warned her to watch her tongue. Had she said too much?
Madame was quick to set her customer at ease. Her hearing was acute, but she assumed a sudden deafness.
Hatton was swift to cover Sophie’s gaffe. ‘The ladies of my family suggested that I recommend you to Mistress Firle,’ he announced. ‘I must hope that she is pleased with her purchases...’
Sophie was ashamed of the sudden spurt of anger which had led to her indiscretion.
‘Madame has been most helpful.’ Sophie smiled then and Madame Arouet was startled into silence. That smile lit up the room as the girl’s face was transformed.
She revised her thoughts at once as to the strange connection between Hatton and her latest customer. The young man would be well advised to watch his step. Shabbily dressed though she was at present, this slender girl had a certain quality about her which was totally disarming. When dressed as Madame intended her to be, not only Hatton would be in danger of losing his heart.
Then she chuckled to herself. Match-making? She could be as guilty of it as many another lady of advancing years. Hatton was so eligible. Years ago she’d hoped of a match for her daughter, Eugenie, but her quarry had insisted on treating the girl as if she were a younger sister.
Hatton picked up his gloves and cane. ‘We must go,’ he said. ‘We have much to do today.’ Then a thought struck him and he turned to Sophie. ‘You remembered to buy a cloak, I hope?’
Sophie nodded, annoyed once more by his arrogant manner. ‘It was my first purchase,’ she told him shortly.
‘And an excellent choice, if I may say so.’ Madame picked up the finely woven garment and settled it about Sophie’s shoulders. ‘Mr Hatton, I’m sure you will agree that the colour is becoming?’
Her eyes held his, daring him to disagree with her.
Hatton laughed, but he could not resist the chance to tease. ‘Turn round,’ he ordered.
Mute with resentment, Sophie did as she was bidden.
Then, to her astonishment, he bowed and kissed her hand. ‘A delightful choice,’ he agreed. ‘That glowing shade of blue is quite your colour, Mistress Firle.’
Nonplussed by the compliment, Sophie could only stare at him. Then she remembered her manners. ‘Thank you!’ she said in some confusion.
Madame accompanied her customers to the door, shivering as a blast of icy wind swept in from the street.
‘’Tis a bitter day,’ she complained. ‘But then you English are a hardy race. For myself, I long for the south of France. Perhaps, one day...?’
Hatton threw a comforting arm about her shoulders. ‘Claudine, your day will come,’ he promised.
Settled once more in the carriage, with a rug about her knees, Sophie gave him a curious look.
‘You know Madame well?’ she asked.
‘She is an old friend of my father...my family,’ he amended hastily. ‘What did you think of her?’
‘I liked her very much,’ Sophie told him frankly. ‘She was so kind. I was at a loss to choose from all those wonderful fabrics, but she understood exactly what I needed.’
Hatton chuckled. ‘Is anything left of your nest-egg?’ he enquired.
‘Of course. I told you. I need some things for Kit.’ She hesitated. ‘Mr Hatton, I know you said that I should spend the money, but I don’t feel comfortable doing so.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Matthew and his family have not been paid for weeks,’ she blurted out. ‘Their wages must come first...’
‘That matter is settled, Mistress Firle. I took care of it last night.’
‘Oh, I see!’ Sophie faltered out her thanks, wondering as she did so if this masterful stranger intended to take over her entire life. She returned to a less controversial subject.
‘How came Madame Arouet to Brighton?’ she asked. ‘To me she seemed a most unlikely mantua-maker, although, of course, she has great expertise.’
‘Need you ask? Like many another, she is an aristocrat driven from her home in France by the revolution.’
‘And her husband?’
‘Arouet was beaten to death before her eyes. She and her daughter were lodged in a French prison for some months.’
Sophie gasped. ‘How brave she is! One would never imagine that such a tragedy had happened to her.’
‘She is a courageous woman,’ he agreed. ‘There are many such, forced to use what skills they have simply to survive.’
Sophie fell silent.
‘Something troubles you?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly, but I was thinking. It is very strange. When tragedy strikes...I mean, when Richard was killed it was a fearful shock. I was so overcome with what it would mean for me and Kit that I thought of no one else. I should have remembered that I was not the only woman in the world to suffer such a loss.’
She stole a look at her companion and was surprised to see an expression of compassion on his face.
‘You are growing up, my dear,’ he told her gently. ‘Believe me, I was sorry to hear of your husband’s death.’
‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I do believe you. That’s why I’ll help you catch his killers.’
He handed her down as the coach drew up before Hannington’s in North Street.
‘You have an hour to make your purchases,’ he announced. ‘Don’t
keep me waiting, Mistress Firle.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she told him stiffly. She turned away and hurried into the store. Now that she was sure that Matthew’s wages had been paid, she could use that comforting roll of bills to buy flannel for Kit’s shirts and woollen cloth to make him a coat. Sophie had learned to grow clever with her needle. Without those skills she and her son would have been reduced to rags in this last year or so.
It was a sobering thought. Her fingers closed about the roll of ‘soft’ as Richard had called it. She hadn’t seen so much money since that dreadful day when she’d opened Richard’s desk in search of paper for Kit’s painting.
She’d gazed at the bills in disbelief. Richard was always pleading poverty, but there was enough here to keep them in comfort for a year. When she’d questioned him he’d flown into a rage, accusing her of spying on him and a lack of trust.
Well, it was true. From that day on, she’d never trusted him completely. They had become estranged, though it had grieved her deeply.
She glanced at the clock across the street. She had an hour. Swiftly she moved from one department to another, ignoring the tempting fripperies on display. Then, hurrying past the gaily coloured ribbons, she bethought herself of Bess and Abby. Stuff for gowns would be more welcome, she decided. She added two lengths to her purchases of wool and flannel, and gained the entrance to the street before the appointed hour.
Hatton raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘A punctual woman? I can scarce believe it!’
Sophie ignored the gibe.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked in a jovial tone.
‘No, Mr Hatton. I don’t eat luncheon.’
‘Well, I do!’ he replied. ‘And you’d be better for it. With more flesh on your bones you wouldn’t feel the cold so much.’
‘Thank you for your concern!’
‘Think nothing of it,’ he answered in airy tones.
‘I don’t think anything of it, sir, knowing as I do that your concern is merely for your own ends.’
She heard a maddening chuckle. ‘Still furious? Blest if you ain’t the prickliest creature I ever met in my life.’
‘But did you not say yourself that your experience is not vast?’
‘Touché!’ Hatton laughed aloud. ‘I led with my chin on that one, did I not?’
‘Fencing and boxing, my dear sir? What a marvel you are, to be sure!’
‘Compliments, ma’am? I did not expect them, I’ll confess... How do you come to know so much about these manly sports?’
‘You forget...I have a son,’ she told him coldly.
‘I don’t forget. He is a fortunate lad, though I must hope that you don’t frown at him as you do at me. That slight furrow on your brow may become permanent, you know. It will do nothing for your looks.’ A long finger reached out to trace the almost imperceptible line.
Sophie thrust his hand away and stared out of the window.
Then, as the carriage stopped at the Castle Hotel, she attempted to assert her independence.
‘Sir, I explained to you that I was not hungry, but pray don’t let that stop you from dining. I will take a turn about the Promenade for an hour or so.’
Hatton looked at her in disbelief. ‘Are you mad?’ he exclaimed. ‘Look at that sea. A single wave could knock you off your feet and suck you under.’
Sophie followed his pointing finger. The leaden waters of the English Channel did indeed look threatening. Whipped up by the wind, great sheets of water crashed inland, submerging the Promenade.
‘Very well! I will wait here in the carriage for you. You must know that I cannot dine alone with you in public.’
‘Of course you can’t!’ His lips twitched. ‘That is why I took the liberty of bespeaking a private parlour!’ He clamped an arm about her waist and half-lifted her from her seat.
To struggle would have been both useless and undignified. Sophie suffered herself to be led indoors.
She wasn’t surprised to find that the food which was set before her was excellent, and in spite of her protestations she found that she was very hungry.
Hatton helped her liberally to the oyster patties and the roast beef, making no comment as she began to eat with evident enjoyment.
He confined his conversation to the question of staffing at the inn.
‘I suggest that you interview my men at the same time as any others who may apply for work. I’ll give you their names beforehand. That way, they will not arouse suspicion.’
‘I am to interview these men?’
‘Of course! After all, you are to be their employer.’
‘But what am I to ask them?’
‘All the usual questions,’ he said carelessly. ‘You will ask for previous experience, reasons for leaving their last position, honesty, sobriety and so on...’ His eyes were twinkling. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of many more.’
‘They may not tell me the truth,’ she objected.
‘Of course they won’t, but you must use your judgement. See them in the room where we first met. It’s dark enough for me to sit quietly in the corner—’
‘Spying on me again?’ she said bitterly.
‘Purely out of interest.’ His voice was smooth. ‘Now, ma’am, there is something else.’ He took a small package from his pocket and gave it to her.
‘What is this?’ she cried.
‘Why not open it and see?’
Sophie tore aside the wrapping to reveal a small square shagreen box. She opened the lid and gasped. Inside lay the most beautiful brooch she’d ever seen. The large and glittering jewel at its centre was exactly the same colour as her cloak.
Sophie was no expert, but she knew at once that this was no trumpery piece of paste. The sapphire alone must be worth a fortune.
She coloured. ‘I can’t take this!’ she said stiffly.
‘You must!’
‘Well, I won’t! You go beyond the terms of our agreement. When you said that you’d pretend to be my suitor I did not expect you to give the impression that...that... Well, Madame Arouet believes already that I am your—’
‘My light o’ love? That is certainly my intention, Mistress Firle.’
Sophie pushed the box across the table. ‘Keep it!’ she said. ‘You cannot force me to wear it!’
Hatton’s patience snapped at last. ‘You will wear it, madam, and you will wear it here, where it is in plain sight!’ He jabbed a finger at her bosom. ‘Now let us have no more of your nonsense. I am tired of it! Your ill temper is the outside of enough. Any more of it and I will turn you out, with your son and your baggage, before this day is out.’ His voice was silky with menace.
Sophie knew that she had gone too far, but she would not apologise. She sat in silence for the whole of the return journey to the inn.
With cool courtesy, Hatton handed her down from the carriage.
‘I shan’t dine here this evening,’ he informed her. Without another glance in her direction he stalked away.
Chapter Four
Sophie was shaken by the day’s events, and Hatton’s threats had terrified her. What a fool she was! She could not afford the risk of being turned out of her home, however much she disliked him. Above all, there was Kit to think about. What demon had persuaded her into behaving so badly?
She must keep a firm grip on her temper. Just let her gain her ends, and then she might enjoy the pleasure of telling the arrogant creature exactly what she thought of him. She doubted if it would make much difference. This man cared nothing for opinions other than his own. But I’ll do it, she vowed to herself. If nothing else, it would give her so much satisfaction.
Refusing Bess’s offer of a light supper, she went to find her son.
‘Shall I read you a story, Kit?’ She drew the boy on to her lap.
‘Yes, please, Mama! I’d like the one about the pirates.’
Sophie began the oft-repeated tale. She deplored the violence and skirted around the worst excesses of those tige
rs of the seas.
Kit stopped her halfway through the tale. ‘You’ve forgotten the blood on the deck,’ he accused.
‘Oh, dear, so I have!’ Sophie smiled to herself. Her son could not yet read, but he remembered every word of the tales she told him.
She finished the story and tucked him into bed. ‘Now I have a surprise for you,’ she said.
The eager little face looked up at her. ‘Is it something very nice, Mama?’
‘I hope you’ll think so. It’s a fishing rod.’
Kit’s look of rapture was reward enough for her. She’d stolen out of Hannington’s and into the shop next door to make her purchase. An extravagance, perhaps? But then, Kit had so little.
Now he lay down with the rod beside him, his fingers curled about it. Within minutes he was fast asleep.
Sophie looked down at the impossibly long lashes curling against his cheeks. Kit was such a little boy. Asleep, he seemed so vulnerable. She bent and kissed him, vowing as she did so that she would protect him at whatever cost to herself.
What had she suffered, after all? Merely a day spent in the company of an unpleasant creature who seemed to take a positive delight in goading her. And she had risen to the bait, she thought in disgust. She, who had always prided herself upon her calm and her even temper. Hatton, alas, seemed to bring out the worst in her.
In future she must not allow herself to be teased into fighting with him. A dignified silence appeared to be the answer to his gibes. He would soon grow tired of the game if she did not respond.
Then she heard the sound of carriage wheels. Hurrying to the window she was in time to see her tormentor driving away, handling the ribbons himself. He’ll never take the corner at that speed, she thought with some satisfaction.
She was mistaken. Driving to an inch, Hatton negotiated the bend in the lane in style.
Robbed of the pleasure of watching him overturn the coach, Sophie wandered down to the kitchen.
There she found a cosy scene. Matthew and his family were seated round the table, deep in conversation with Hatton’s coachman.
The man was on his feet at once, and Sophie acknowledged his salute with the briefest inclination of her head. Doubtless he, too, regarded her as his master’s latest bird of paradise.
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