‘Of course not! Those cellars will stay locked. He won’t find the hidden entrances however much he pokes about.’
‘He has been searching?’
‘I can’t say. He was down there earlier this evening, choosing his wine, or so he said…’ Matthew hesitated. ‘Don’t it seem strange to you…this notion that the mistress should open up again?’
‘Perhaps. I shall never understand the gentry. Maybe the mistress has told him that it’s too soon for her to wed again.’
‘Perhaps!’ Matthew grew thoughtful. ‘He doesn’t intend to waste much time. I’m to send to the village at first light tomorrow with an offer of work for those as wants it.’
‘And who’s to pay them? The mistress has no money.’
Matthew patted his breast pocket. ‘We’ve had our wages, wife, and more beside. The gentleman is grateful for our care of Mistress Firle.’
‘But extra men? I doubt that we shall need them. There will be no trade along these roads at this time of year.’
‘Bess, it has naught to do with us. Let him waste his blunt if he should wish to do so. I doubt if it will trouble him. His carriage is plain enough, but his cattle are among the best I’ve seen.’
Bess sighed. ‘I wish that we were out of this. Many’s the time we’ve heard and seen too much…’
‘That’s foolish talk! Where would we go? We’d best stick it out and hope for the best. The mistress may yet sell this place, and she’s promised us a share. A chance like that don’t come along too often for the likes of us.’
‘But, Matt, she must have agreed to stay, else why should she be taking on more men?’
‘It may not be for long,’ he soothed. ‘Now stop your worrying, wife. We must be up betimes tomorrow.’
Bess sighed again. ‘I’m glad the gentleman is here, for all that. Mistress Firle will sleep sounder in her bed with someone to protect her.’
She was mistaken. Sleep was far from Sophie’s mind as she tossed upon her pillows. The day’s events had been extraordinary. She’d been startled by the unexpected arrival of her father, and deeply saddened to find him in the same inflexible state of mind. He’d spurned her son as if the child had been a bastard.
It was little wonder that when he’d gone she’d been blind to the danger of standing too close to the fire. She shuddered. Without Hatton’s intervention she might have burned to death, leaving her son an orphan. It was high time she pulled herself together.
Now, with the arrival of this mysterious stranger, it was essential that she did so. His mission might be worthy. That she could accept. But the man himself was ruthless. In any dealings with him she would need all her wits about her. He would use any means to achieve his object.
Her cheeks burned as she recalled his kiss, and she drew a hand across her lips as if to wipe away the memory of his mouth upon her own. The sensation had been disturbing, and her blush grew deeper as she remembered her own response.
What must he think of her? Would he see her as a lusty young widow, desperate to satisfy her physical needs? She hoped not, but the fact remained that she had melted in his arms.
Then she grew calmer, although it was with an effort. She had agreed to this elaborate charade, for that was all it was.
His own words gave her comfort. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that she held no charms for him. Her manner was too cold? It would remain so as far as he was concerned. It was just that…well, he had taken her by surprise. Next time she would have her own emotions well under control.
A faint smile touched her lips as she lay awake for hours, planning revenge not only upon the men who had killed Richard, but also upon the arrogant Mr Hatton.
Quite how this desirable state of affairs was to be achieved she couldn’t decide. There would be danger, but to her own surprise she found that she wasn’t afraid. After years of misery she felt alive again. Danger there might be, but beneath that awareness lay a strong current of excitement.
Still wondering at her own response, she fell asleep at last.
By the next day her mood had changed. She had planned to treat her unwelcome visitor with freezing dignity, but she quailed at the thought of meeting him again. The memory of his embrace still troubled her.
His brisk greeting set her mind at rest, though his casual manner piqued her. Clearly the events of the previous evening had not troubled him in the least. As he assured her, he had been merely acting.
Sophie did not care to examine too closely the reason why this should annoy her. Without a word she allowed him to hand her up into his carriage, and for the rest of the journey into Brighton she answered him in monosyllables.
‘Are you always so silent in a morning?’ he asked at last. ‘You can’t have a sore head, you didn’t drink enough.’
‘I see no need to chatter,’ Sophie told him coldly. ‘If you wish for entertainment, you must not look to me.’
‘But I do!’ He turned to her and grinned. ‘I find you vastly entertaining, ma’am, even when you do not speak. There is something in your eyes which is a challenge, or could it be that charming curl of your lips? It must have reduced many a man to despair.’
‘You are talking nonsense, Mr Hatton. I don’t find it amusing—’
‘No? You would have me think of something else?’ His leer made her recoil.
‘Keep your distance!’ she cried sharply. ‘We are unobserved. There is no need to pretend. You are…you are…’
‘An affront to maidenly modesty?’ he suggested smoothly. ‘Will you tell me that no fire lies beneath that cool exterior? I won’t believe you.’
At that moment Sophie could have struck him. He was taunting her, reminding her of their embrace and the way she had responded. She glared at him, disliking him more each time she was forced to endure his company.
He had claimed to be lacking in experience of women. She turned away in disgust. She had little experience herself, but enough to realise that Hatton was a skilful lover. His kiss, demanding and insistent, was something beyond her wildest imaginings. It had brought her to life again.
That unwelcome knowledge enraged her further.
‘Sir, you are no gentleman!’ she cried. ‘If I were a man you would not insult me so.’
‘If you were a man you’d be of no use to me,’ he replied carelessly. ‘I doubt if we’d have met.’
Sophie tried for a firm grip on her temper, and when she spoke again her voice was calm.
‘Are you not forgetting our purpose, Mr Hatton? You do yourself no service. At this present time my dislike of you is so intense that I find it difficult to hide. That was not your intention, I believe?’
‘Certainly not. You must forgive me, ma’am. I’m a plain man, and I fear that my manner is uncouth.’
Sophie gave him a dagger-look. He was laughing at her again and she found it maddening.
She maintained a haughty attitude until they reached the Steyne in Brighton. Then a lively interest overcame her feelings of resentment. She’d longed to visit the place, but Richard had never brought her here, although they lived so close.
Now she gazed out of the carriage window, hoping to see the parade of fashionable celebrities who frequented that famous thoroughfare. To her disappointment the place was almost empty.
Hatton saw her expression. ‘The keen wind from the sea has cleared the streets,’ he observed with a smile. ‘Those around the Prince prefer the comforts of a hot-house atmosphere, and then, you know, it is much too early for a promenade.’
‘And the Prince’s cottage? Is it close by?’
‘You shall see it later. Call it a cottage if you will. Inside it is a palace.’
‘You have been inside?’ Sophie’s curiosity outweighed her determination to betray no interest in anything he might have to say.
‘Upon occasion!’ The curt reply discouraged further questioning as they turned into North Street.
‘Now, ma’am, on your left is Hannington’s. The shop is newly opened and you will find
it useful for such purchases as reticules, gloves and scarves—’
‘You recommend it, sir, from personal experience?’ Sophie could not resist the opportunity to goad him.
Hatton refused to be drawn. ‘I propose to leave you here for a time when we have completed our business with the mantua-maker. I have another appointment.’
Sophie was careful to betray no interest in this statement. Doubtless he was about to make further plans for her discomfiture, but she would not give him the pleasure of snubbing her again.
Hatton rapped sharply upon the roof of the carriage.
‘Back into Kemp Town, Reuben,’ he ordered.
‘Oh!’ Sophie could not hide her disappointment. ‘I thought we were to stay in Brighton.’
‘Kemp Town is a part of Brighton…the oldest part, in fact. It is but a few hundred yards away.’ Hatton gave her a curious look. ‘You have not been here before? I had thought that since you lived so close…?’
‘There was never time enough,’ she replied shortly. It was pointless to explain that when Richard was alive there was never money to spare for outings. ‘As you know, we did not keep a carriage.’
‘But before your marriage? Your father did not bring you for the Season? Young ladies have been known to make excellent matches here.’
‘My father had other plans for me.’
‘Ah, yes, the estimable William Curtis! How unfilial of you to spurn him!’
Sophie eyed him with contempt. ‘Must you remind me of your eavesdropping? It is nothing to be proud of, sir.’
‘No, I expect is isn’t.’ He was unrepentant. In fact, he was smiling as the coach drew to a halt in front of a modest terraced house.
‘What is this place?’ she asked as he stretched out an arm to help her down.
‘The mantua-maker, of course. Did you suppose that I had brought you to a den of vice?’ Hatton looked about him. ‘I’ll admit, however, that this is not the most salubrious of neighbourhoods.’
Sophie could only agree as she looked up at the dilapidated building with its peeling paintwork. She had never trusted Hatton. Was this suggested shopping expedition merely a ruse?
She hesitated on the doorstep, shivering as the icy wind tore at her shabby clothing.
Hatton hurried her indoors. ‘I suggest that you make a warm cloak your first purchase,’ he suggested not unkindly.
Sophie bridled. Was he sneering at her? She would not be patronised. Pride alone kept her head high as the maid showed them into a comfortable parlor.
Then her spirits sank as a tiny creature hurried towards them with hands outstretched. Her simple elegance put Sophie’s toilette to shame.
‘Welcome, my l…’ The words died upon her lips as Hatton gave an imperceptible shake of his head. He was quick to offer his own greeting.
‘I’m glad to see that you haven’t forgotten your old friend Nicholas Hatton, madame. May I present Mistress Firle to you? She has need of a new wardrobe.’
He turned to Sophie. ‘Madame Arouet will take care of you. She has much experience of fashion. Perhaps you will allow her to guide your choice…’
Startled by these uncompromising words, Madame looked from one face to the other. She was no fool, and she sensed the hostility in Sophie’s manner.
‘I expect that Mistress Firle will have her own ideas,’ she said agreeably. ‘Perhaps if I were to show her certain patterns and fabrics…?’ This suggestion was accompanied by a charming smile.
Sophie’s manner softened a little, sensing that she had found an ally. She nodded her agreement.
‘Then if madame would care to step into the work-room?’ Claudine Arouet shot a warning look at the man who called himself Nicholas Hatton. There was some mystery here, but clearly the girl had spirit. Bullying would not ensure her co-operation.
Hatton’s arrogant manner had surprised her. On previous occasions she had found him kind and courteous. Now she looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
Hatton smiled then. He knew her very well, and understood the unspoken question.
‘Mistress Firle has been widowed recently,’ he explained. ‘She has been too distressed to care for her appearance.’
Madame threw her eyes to heaven. Men would do well to hold their tongues on these subjects, she thought decidedly. Was he trying to rob the girl of all her confidence?
She smiled again at Sophie. ‘That is understandable,’ she agreed in her prettily accented English. ‘But Mistress Firle looks charmingly, in spite of all. It will be such a pleasure to dress a lady with the slender figure of a model, when so many of my customers show evidence of spending too much time at the dining-table.’
Even Sophie smiled at that.
‘She’ll pay for dressing,’ Hatton admitted grudgingly. ‘But you’ll agree that she’s too young for widow’s weeds?’
Madame resolved to speak to him as soon as the opportunity arose. Now she hid her feelings.
‘There is always a happy compromise,’ she said bluntly as she led Sophie into the other room.
Sophie’s purchases did not take long. She found that she and Madame were in complete agreement as to styles and colours. Madame summoned her head seamstress and, leaving Sophie to be measured, returned to the parlor to find Hatton gazing through her window. She attacked at once.
‘My dear sir, what are you about?’ she asked. ‘This is no way to bend a lady to your will.’
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 k
now 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.
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