Page 2 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“Good day.” Dipping her head in a curtsy, she turned toward the bureau against the wall where Mrs. Dawson typically displayed new handkerchiefs. The bonnet would have to wait for another day. She could likely not reach it on her own, and she had the strongest desire not to ask for any help with the stranger nearby.

Hattie selected two clean, white squares of linen, putting away her idea of purchasing extras for the dogs—they could have Papa’s old ones—and checked her reticule to ensure that she’d brought enough coins to cover the cost. Well, she hadn’t. She’d have to put it on Papa’s account.

“Mrs. Dawson, good day,” she said, sending the older woman a bright smile as she laid her things on the counter.

“Are these for you or your father, dear? Because I did happen to get a set of delicate, silk gloves in my recent shipment, and I know you mentioned that one of your pair got a nasty stain on the elbow.” Mrs. Dawson pushed her spectacles up on her nose, her curly gray hair falling low in its knot at her nape.

“Oh, they did. I forgot I mentioned that. It hasn’t been on my mind with no assemblies in the near future. But I suppose it would be good to be prepared.” She glanced over her shoulder to the rack of gloves and caught the dark strangers’ eye before dropping her gaze to the glove table again.

Why was he watching her? Apparently, he was inquisitive as well. Could he not mind his own business? Another point against him.

Crossing the shop, she selected an ivory set of satin gloves and ran them over her fingers. She wasn’t sure when she’d next wear them, and in truth, Agnes had done a remarkable job of getting the chocolate stain from her last pair. But she knew Mrs. Dawson’s store had struggled since the new millinery shop had opened in Melbury a few months ago, taking the Melbury portion of her clientele.

What good was pin money if it wasn’t going to help her neighbors? Hattie hardly had need of it otherwise.

“Will you add these to Papa’s account?” she asked, laying the gloves over her handkerchiefs on the counter. “I am certain he will settle it with you before the end of the week.”

Mrs. Dawson beamed. “Certainly, dear.”

Or perhaps she could settle it herself if her sister-in-law Lucy wished to shop in Graton while she was visiting. She was certain to want to do something alone with just Hattie, for she always made an attempt to do so when she and Jeffrey came to visit. Hattie may as well help Lucy to spend some of their money in Mrs. Dawson’s shop while she was here. Followed by a visit to Madame Chastain for new gowns, of course.

Lucy had a terrible habit of complaining about Graton’s shops and their lack of elegance but always found something she simply couldn’t live without. It was a game of Hattie’s to guess just how many things from Graton’s countrified stores Lucy would simply need.

Mrs. Dawson wrapped her bundle in brown paper and tied it with string before pushing it across the counter. “I will send a note round to your father, dear. Did I see Agnes just outside? Give her my love.”

“Of course. Oh, Agnes!” Hattie looked to the window and found her maid standing where she’d left her just on the other side. The poor thing was likely wondering what had gotten into Hattie. She took the bundle and hurried toward the door, careful to give the dark stranger and his curious eyes a very wide berth. Whatever was he doing in the millinery anyway? All he’d done so far was browse gloves and watch her as he did now, his heavy gaze following her as she let herself outside.

Whatever she’d done to bother him, she hadn’t the faintest idea. She’d never seen him before in her life, and she was glad she never would again.

“Agnes!” she said, clutching her maid’s arm and entreating her to forgiveness with her eyes. “I do apologize for leaving you out here. I only wanted to escape Lucy and Jeffrey. You should have joined me inside.”

“I know that, miss.” Agnes’s green eyes twinkled, and she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I stayed out here to make certain your brother’s carriage continued straight down the road. I thought you’d like the warning if they were to circle back around.”

Hattie squeezed her maid’s forearm. “You brilliant creature. Whatever did I do to deserve a friend such as you?”

“You left this inside,” a male voice said behind her, and Hattie startled. The stranger held up her pale yellow reticule; it hung from his gloved finger by its corded drawstrings and looking entirely out of place beside his clean, black coat sleeve. She had not realized how bright his gray eyes were, nor how fine a coat he wore in the store, but the sunlight highlighted just how well-made his clothing was. His bronze waistcoat was tasteful under a snowy white cravat, and he certainly did not dress like any school teacher Hattie had had the pleasure of knowing.

Hmm. Perhaps he was a headmaster instead.

“Thank you again, sir.” She took the reticule and slipped it over her wrist. “You saved us the trouble of needing to return to town after I got home and found it missing.”

He gave her a measured look before nodding once. Opening his mouth to speak, he seemed to think better of it and dipped in a quick bow before spinning on his heel. Even his walk was refined, and Hattie was struck by his contradicting behavior.

“Goodness, who was that?” Agnes asked, pulling Hattie’s attention.

Hattie shook her head, drawing her arm through her maid’s and beginning down the walkway toward their waiting horses in the innyard. “I haven’t a clue. He didn’t say one word to your aunt while I was in her store—she gives her love, by the way—so we must hope he was merely passing through town on his way to anywhere else.”

“You didn’t like him much, then?”

Shrugging, Hattie cast a glance over her shoulder and spotted him walking away. “That’s the trouble. He was rather enigmatic, and I can’t tell if I like him or not. It’s dreadfully uncomfortable. I’d much rather know I hate the man than be left feeling so uncertain about his character.”

Agnes took their horses from Tim Tucker in the stableyard of the inn and held their heads while Hattie stored her purchases in her saddle bag. “If it’s any consolation,” Agnes said, “I do think he’s handsome enough to like.”

It wasn’t. Hattie didn’t much care if he was handsome or not. She couldn’t make out his character, and that was what bothered her. Climbing up the mounting block, she pulled herself onto her saddle and adjusted her position in the seat until she was comfortable. “I’ve always had the ability to tell right away if a person possesses a goodly soul or not, wouldn’t you agree?”

Agnes looked as though she was giving the question some thought as she mounted her horse. “Yes, I would say I agree.”

“Then why can I not do so now?”

Agnes shrugged. “Perhaps he has no soul.”

Hattie laughed. “Perhaps. I suppose I’ll never know.”

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