Willing to do what? Sophie was tempted to fling the question at him, but she thought better of it.
‘I prefer to choose my own female servants,’ she replied in icy tones. ‘I’d have chosen a girl from the local village—’
‘You would have found it difficult, ma’am. I have made enquiries. We are close enough to Brighton for the local girls to find well-paid employment and easier conditions there.’
‘Then why has this…this Nancy chosen to come here? To martyr herself, perhaps?’
It was a gibe unworthy of her, and she expected to be punished for it, but Hatton had been studying her stubborn expression. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
‘Are you being quite honest, Mistress Firle? I think not. You object to the girl because she is well favoured. Tell me, would some ancient crone attract more custom to this inn?’
‘She’ll cause trouble. Respectable, you say? With that face and figure I take leave to doubt it.’
‘Jealous, my dear?’
Sophie jumped to her feet. Anger had driven all thoughts of caution from her mind. She lifted a hand to slap his face, but he caught her wrist in an iron grip.
‘Don’t try it!’ he said grimly. ‘Sit down, you little fool! Dear God, you must have had wenches working for you in the past. Were they all ill favoured?’
‘No! They were not! That is why…why…’ Her voice broke and she could not go on. Appalled, she realised that she was close to tears. It would be the ultimate humiliation to break down in front of this detestable man. She turned her face away.
‘Look at me!’ he said more gently. ‘I can only guess at what has happened in the past. Am I to believe that your husband was unfaithful to you?’
A large hand covered her own and to her horror she saw that a tear had fallen upon his skin. She tried to brush it away, but a second fell and then another.
‘It wasn’t Richard’s fault,’ she whispered. ‘He was so handsome. They threw themselves at his head…’
‘He could have refused them, my dear.’ Hatton thrust his handkerchief into her hand. ‘And now, I suppose, you have no faith in any man?’ He was tempted to slide a comforting arm about her slim shoulders, but he thought better of it. It would only confirm her poor opinion of his sex.
‘Not all men are the same,’ he assured her. ‘But now I understand. You believed that Nancy was my mistress, did you not?’
Sophie nodded. She was still incapable of speech.
‘I should be angry with you, Mistress Firle. She is not, but had she been a connection of mine I should not have insulted you by bringing her here. I know that your opinion of me is not high, but that you must believe, at least.’
‘I’m sorry!’ she said in muffled tones. She could no longer doubt his word. ‘I’ll speak to her if you will call her in.’
‘One moment, then!’ He took the handkerchief from her and dried her eyes. ‘We mustn’t allow her to think that I’ve been beating you, or she may flee back to Brighton.’
Sophie managed a watery smile.
‘That’s better!’ Hatton lifted her face to his and looked into her eyes. ‘I wish that you could learn to trust me,’ he said in an altered tone. ‘We could deal well together, you and I.’
Chapter Five
That night it wasn’t only Hatton’s words which robbed Sophie of her rest. After lying awake for hours, she’d fallen into an uneasy sleep only to be awakened by a fearful clap of thunder, so loud that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the inn.
Then a livid flash of lightning lit her room, to be followed within seconds by another thunderclap. She realised that the storm must be immediately overhead.
Jumping out of bed, she threw on her robe and hurried into Kit’s room, fearing that the child would be terrified. Her worries were needless. Kit was fast asleep. As usual, he’d cast off his coverlet and lay with his arms above his head, oblivious to the raging elements which tore so fiercely at the countryside.
Sophie listened to his steady breathing as she covered him again. She dropped a kiss upon his cheek. Then she checked the oil-lamp which burned far out of his reach on top of a high chest. As an extra precaution she’d installed a metal cage about it, holding it firmly in place in case a sudden draught should blow it over.
The lamp had been a source of some contention between herself and Richard. Her late husband had accused her of mollycoddling their son, insisting that Kit must learn to sleep in the dark.
‘You’ll turn him into a coward,’ he’d sneered.
‘I could never do that! Kit has plenty of courage, but he also has a vivid imagination…’
‘Monsters under his bed? I never heard such nonsense! Perhaps you’d prefer that he burns to death? If that lamp goes over…’
‘I’ll make sure that it doesn’t!’ Sophie had replied with spirit. She would not give way on this matter, but it was then that she’d asked Matthew to construct the metal guard.
‘Is he all right?’
She heard a low voice in the doorway and turned to find Hatton watching her. Clad in a patterned dressing-gown of silk brocade, he looked larger than ever.
‘He hasn’t wakened, thank goodness!’ Sophie jumped as yet another violent clap of thunder crashed overhead. Then she managed a wavering smile. ‘Oh, dear! I am not usually so foolish. In the ordinary way I do not mind a storm, but this is exceptional, is it not?’
‘It is, and it will last for some time yet, I fear. Sleep will be out of the question. Do you care to join me in a glass of wine?’
As another flash of lightning lit the room, Sophie saw that he was smiling. Then, as her eyes followed the direction of his own, she gasped. Not expecting to find anyone about at that hour of the night, she hadn’t troubled to fasten her robe securely. Now she saw in dismay that it was open to the waist, revealing a thin nightgown which left little to the imagination.
Blushing, she buttoned up her robe. ‘Thank you, but I intend to stay with Kit,’ she said with what dignity she could summon. ‘He may yet wake.’
‘Then I’ll make up the fire in here,’ he told her easily. ‘May I suggest that you fetch your slippers, Mistress Firle, otherwise your feet will freeze.’
Shocked, Sophie looked down at her bare feet. In her haste she hadn’t thought to wear her slippers.
‘I won’t be above a moment,’ she exclaimed. ‘Will you stay with him?’
‘Certainly!’ Preoccupied with coaxing the dying embers of the fire into life, he did not look at her.
Sophie ran back along the passageway, gained her room, and thrust her feet into her slippers. As an afterthought she picked up a heavy woollen shawl. Then, as she was leaving the room she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Dear heavens, she looked a positive fright! Déshabillé was not the word for it. She looked flushed and rumpled, and her hair was loose, lying in a tumbled mass about her shoulders. She snatched up a ribbon and tied it back.
When she reached Kit’s room again the fire was burning brightly. Hatton was installed in a battered nursery chair, perfectly at ease as he stretched long legs towards the warmth.
‘Thank you!’ Sophie said briskly. ‘The storm is moving away, I think. You may yet be able to sleep.’
‘I doubt it! Just listen to the rain!’
Sophie looked up in alarm as a torrential downpour hammered against the roof.
‘Don’t worry!’ he soothed. ‘This place is in good repair. I insisted on it.’ He rose and fetched another chair for her, setting it on the other side of the fireplace.
‘Fires in bedrooms are one of life’s pleasures, are they not?’ he observed. ‘As a child I used to lie and watch the flames and fancy that I could see faces in the embers. It was even better when the weather was inclement and it snowed.’
Sophie tried to hide her surprise. Somehow she had not thought of this sophisticated creature indulging in childish fancies.
Hatton read her expression correctly and his lips twitched. ‘Is it a shock to find that I
am human, ma’am?’
‘You have succeeded in hiding that fact up to now, Mr Hatton.’ Sophie smiled back at him. He was trying to be agreeable, and life would be much more comfortable if she met him halfway. ‘I must confess that it is an unexpected pleasure to be able to have fires in all the rooms again. I hate the cold. It seems to freeze my brain.’
‘Then we must keep you warm, ma’am. There is nothing of you, after all.’ He leaned forward and pulled the ribbon from her hair, allowing it to fall about her shoulders. ‘That’s better!’ he approved. ‘Don’t you value your crowning glory, my dear? Why must you try to hide it with a hideous cap, or scrape it back from your face behind a ribbon?’
‘Oh, please!’ Sophie’s hands flew up to the errant curls. ‘Mr Hatton, you must leave this room. We are both of us in—’
‘In a state of undress? So we are! But is it not comfortable to be sitting here in the warmth, listening to the storm outside?’
It was both comfortable and reassuring, but Sophie did not care to admit it, even to herself.
‘Bess or Abby could waken up at any time,’ she pointed out. ‘They might come to look at Kit.’
Hatton sighed. Then he rose to his feet with some reluctance. ‘And we must not forget the proprieties,’ he teased. ‘Very well, ma’am, I will leave you. You will call on me if anything untoward should occur?’
‘Such as what?’ Sophie was perplexed. Then she realised that whilst apparently attending to their conversation, Hatton had been listening closely to the storm. Or was it to the storm?
He saw her look of alarm. ‘Just a precaution,’ he assured her. ‘You’ll have no unwelcome visitors tonight, if I’m not much mistaken. This weather will deter the hardiest of men. They won’t be able to move their goods. This rain will have turned the clay to a morass. The lanes will be impassable.’
‘Then let us hope that it continues,’ Sophie said with feeling. ‘I don’t feel very brave tonight.’
He gave her a long look. ‘You’ll do well enough,’ he said. Then he bowed and left her.
For some time Sophie sat lost in thought. What had persuaded Hatton to look in on her son? Was it simple kindness, or had he been alerted by the sound as she opened Kit’s door? Then a more sinister reason crossed her mind. Perhaps he’d been expecting someone else to enter the inn at night.
She thrust the thought aside. Had he not assured her that on this, of all nights, no one would venture out into the storm? As she listened to the pattering of the rain it no longer seemed so threatening. She must think of it as protection for her little household, even as a few drops came down the chimney and hissed on the glowing embers of the fire. Lulled by its warmth, she fell asleep.
She awakened to find herself in her own bed. As small fingers attempted to prise her eyelids apart, she heard a whispered voice.
‘Are you awake, Mama?’
‘I am now!’ Sophie looked up sleepily at her son.
‘There, now! Didn’t I say that you should let your mother sleep?’ Abby tried to pull the boy away from Sophie’s bedside.
Kit wriggled out of her grasp. ‘I did as you told me,’ he said indignantly. ‘I counted up to nine when the clock was striking. I can count, you know.’
‘Heavens, is that the time? Abby, you should have wakened me—’
‘I guessed you couldn’t have had much sleep, what with the storm and all. I was frightened out of my wits. I hid beneath the bedclothes…’
‘It was very wild,’ Sophie admitted. She was not really attending to Abby’s words. Her eye had fallen upon her robe, draped neatly over the back of a chair, with her folded shawl beneath it and her slippers arranged precisely at the side.
She could not have put them there herself. Her slippers lay always beside her bed, with her robe placed within easy reach across her counterpane. Then, if Kit wakened in the night and called to her, they were readily to hand.
‘Will I fetch your breakfast, ma’am?’ Abby had to repeat the question twice before her mistress answered her.
‘Oh, yes…yes, thank you! Though I suppose I should get up at once…’
‘No hurry, ma’am. There ain’t much you can do, and blest if it ain’t still raining. It’s hard to tell night from day. Father is busy lighting all the lamps and finding extra candles.’ With that she hurried away.
Sophie plumped up her pillows and settled Kit in the crook of her arm. He loved to snuggle close to her first thing in the morning.
‘What will you do today?’ she asked. ‘I thought we’d go for a walk, but the weather is too wet. Perhaps we could have a reading lesson?’
‘Could we do that later?’ The eager little face looked up at her. ‘Reuben has promised to show me how to cast with my fishing rod.’
‘Oh, my darling, he doesn’t propose to go down to the river? The water was running high even before this storm and the banks were crumbling. It would be far too dangerous—’
‘Oh, no, Reuben says that it would be a waste of time. We are going to practise in the barn. He’s going to draw a line on the ground, and I’m to try and reach it.’
‘Mr Hatton may have need of Reuben,’ Sophie reminded him. ‘You mustn’t make a nuisance of yourself.’
‘Hatton doesn’t mind. I spoke to him this morning. He won’t be going out today. Did you know that Reuben can bend a poker in his bare hands?’
‘No, I didn’t. He must be very strong.’
‘Reuben says that it’s because of all the good food he ate when he was as old as me. We had ham and eggs and kidneys for breakfast this morning…though I didn’t like the kidneys much, but I did eat them up.’
It was becoming all too clear that Reuben was the oracle. His word was law as far as Kit was concerned. Sophie resigned herself to the fact that what Reuben said was likely to be her son’s main topic of conversation in the coming weeks.
Sophie looked up as Abby entered the room, bearing a laden tray. In the usual way she would nibble at a roll as she sipped her chocolate. Today the covered dishes held a hearty breakfast. She was about to send it back when she saw Kit’s solemn look. Apparently Reuben’s dictum was to apply to her as well.
She did her best with the ham and eggs, and found to her surprise that she enjoyed it.
‘I must go now,’ her son remarked. ‘Reuben says that it is rude to be late when one has made an appointment.’
Sophie chuckled to herself. Reuben was clearly a man of strong opinions, but to date she could not fault his observations of her son. Kit had been a poor eater. If Reuben could persuade him into enjoying his meals, she could only be grateful to the ugly little coachman.
She slipped out of bed, feeling for her slippers. Then she remembered. They were on the far side of the room.
Sophie frowned. She had no recollection of returning to her bedchamber on the previous night, but she must have got there somehow. A dreadful suspicion crossed her mind. Had Hatton returned when she was unaware of him? Who else had the strength to carry her sleeping form? Neither Bess, nor Abby, nor Nancy were capable of such a feat, and Matthew, she felt, would have considered it an impertinence to take her in his arms. Hatton would have had no such scruples.
She went downstairs to find him deep in conversation with Fraddon, the new cellarman.
Sophie’s tone was brusque as she interrupted them.
‘Mr Hatton, I’d like a private word with you,’ she announced.
‘Certainly, Mistress Firle. Shall we go into the snug?’
Once again, he’d taken the initiative, but Sophie would not be deterred. Her face was set as she looked at him.
‘Did you return to Kit’s room in the early hours?’ she asked in icy tones.
‘I did!’ Hatton’s eyes never left her face. ‘You have some problem with that?’
‘Merely that I found myself in my own room this morning. I have no recollection of returning there.’
‘No, you would not!’ he said agreeably. ‘You were fast asleep.’
Sophie flushed t
o the roots of her hair. ‘You admit, then, that you took me there yourself?’
‘Why should I deny it? It seemed the sensible thing to do. You would have awakened cold and stiff, I can assure you.’
‘That is none of your concern, though I accept that you meant well.’
Hatton bowed.
‘Even so, I don’t seem to be able to make you understand. My reputation means as much to me as it does to any other woman. Suppose you had been seen carrying me to my chamber? Only one conclusion would be drawn—’
‘I think it unlikely. At a glance you were an unlikely subject for seduction. Not only were you unconscious of your surroundings, but your mouth was open and you were snoring.’
Sophie gave a shriek of dismay. ‘You are lying! I don’t snore, you hateful creature!’
Hatton grinned at her. ‘How do you know?’ Then he relented. ‘I was teasing,’ he admitted. ‘No, ma’am, you do not snore. In truth, you looked quite charming as you lay there in my arms.’
‘Spare me your compliments, sir. I am not joking when I tell you that you go too far. Is it your intention to destroy me? If you don’t mend your behaviour, my servants will lose all respect for me.’
‘They won’t do that,’ Hatton told her lightly. ‘They think highly of you, Mistress Firle, as you must know.’
She looked at him. ‘Then will you tell me that you did not…I mean…well, my robe and my slippers were not in their usual place?’
Hatton sighed. ‘I did remove them, ma’am. I thought it unlikely that you were accustomed to sleeping in your shoes. Then I drew your coverlet over you. Believe me, I took no liberties with your person.’
Sophie wanted to believe him, but she had no recollection whatever as to what might have happened in her room.
He read her mind correctly, and his expression hardened.
‘I am not in the habit of forcing my attentions upon helpless females, whatever else you may think of me. Had I made love to you, my dear, you would certainly have known about it. In view of your condition it seemed pointless. You are no virgin, Mistress Firle. Surely you must know that the participation of both partners is needed to obtain the fullest pleasure.’
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