Page 22 of Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

‘I have an adequate imagination.’ Mrs Hampstead reached for another ball of wool. ‘I told Dr Hornby that last year when he did his lecture on battles in the Bible. My imagination is more than adequate for the task required. What are you two waiting for? Go and enjoy yourselves.’

Kit exchanged an amused glance with Mrs Wilkinson. She gave a little shrug as if to say she knew about the stratagem.

‘Shall we leave Mrs Hampstead and Rupert to their discussion? I fear I don’t find newts as fascinating as Rupert currently does.’

‘I’m sure Moth would enjoy the exercise,’ Mrs Wilkinson said, snapping her fingers towards where Moth lounged in the sun.

‘I believe Moth would like to stay as well. The summer sun is a bit hot for her.’ Mrs Hampstead gave

Hattie a significant glance. ‘You can tell us all about the ruins when you return. Take your time, my dear. We will be here when you return.’

Hattie concentrated on smiling sweetly rather than screaming. The disease of matchmaking appeared to be highly contagious. First her sister, and now Mrs Hampstead felt she should be encouraging Kit with a view towards matrimony. She shook her head. The man had dodged more marriage traps than most. Besides, he was a person to be enjoyed, rather than to lose one’s heart to.

A walk alone with Kit—the very prospect was enough to set her nerves jangling like some young débutante’s.

There again, sitting in the blanket, gazing at his regular features and listening to his voice rumble over her had done nothing towards eliminating the attraction she felt for him. Familiarity was supposed to breed contempt...when in this case all it bred was the desire to be kissed. She clenched her fists.

She refused to start believing in romance again. It led straight to heartache.

Hattie picked up her parasol and hoped that Kit would not see her heightened colour and attribute it to the wrong reason. ‘A walk will be just the thing.’

* * *

‘You obviously haven’t informed your housekeeper about our arrangement,’ Kit observed when they reached the small pile of stones which marked the remains of Portgate.

Hattie stumbled over a stone. They had covered the ground between the picnic and the ruins in silence. She’d kept thinking up topics for conversation and rejecting them as unsuitable. She’d finally settled on the weather when, without warning, he mentioned the very topic she wished to avoid—the blatant attempts at matchmaking.

‘What sort of arrangement do you mean?’ she asked, attempting to stay upright.

‘Our friendship. Or is everyone chronically addicted to matchmaking in Northumberland?’

‘In my defence, I tried to warn you.’

‘Surely you confided in someone about this? Women always confide in their female friends.’

She glanced upwards to see how he felt about it, but the planes of his face gave no clue. Her heart sank. Of course, he could scent matchmaking wiles. Such men always could.

Her grip on the parasol tightened.

‘Mrs Hampstead used to be Stephanie’s nurse as well as mine. They remain close. If I want to fool my sister, I can hardly confess to Mrs Hampstead. You do understand my reasoning, don’t you?’

‘Perfectly.’

Hattie shook her head. Even the thought made her blood run cold—confiding in Mrs Hampstead. The fewer people who knew about her arrangement with Kit, the better.

‘All I can do is to apologise.’

His eyes widened. ‘Why apologise? None of it was your doing. And I do think I am old enough to see through a simple matchmaking stratagem. I’d have hardly remained single for this long if I didn’t. It amused me to see it happen. Do you think she will tell your sister?’

‘Yes, of course.’ The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Hattie pulled her bonnet forwards. She hadn’t asked for Livvy to list her shortcomings this morning—passable figure, too long of a nose and far too inclined towards sarcasm. And she failed to smile enough.

‘All we are doing is going for a walk, Hattie. Relax and enjoy the moment. Nothing untoward will happen. Nothing to cause adverse comment.’

Hattie hated the butterflies which had started beating in her stomach and the way her jaw hurt from trying to keep a smile. This going for a walk alone was a poor idea.

If anything it emphasised that she wanted to be with him as more than a friend. She liked thinking of herself as independent and not needing a man, but right now all she could think about was how alone she was and how his arms felt when they waltzed.

‘It was sweet of Livvy to ask Mrs Hampstead about newts,’ she said, attempting to keep the subject away from the matchmaking scheme.

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