“Sí?”he asked when she didn’t speak.
Hattie was generally a confident woman and, in most cases, unafraid to be heard. But the viscount was looking at her as if he was annoyed, and she didn’t want to lose this position. In her hesitation, he turned, as if dismissing her. She suddenly remembered her promise to herself—to never again be demure and do what she thought someone wanted her to do. A man in this position would simply ask the question. So she stood. “If I may?”
He paused and slowly turned around. He gestured for her to continue.
“When you say to ‘decline as one would in English.’ Do you mean such as...sincerely? Or regrettably?”
“Pardon?”
“I suppose it depends on your feelings about the invitation.”
“Myfeelings?”
“Do you regret that you can’t attend? Or are you simply responding?”
To his credit, he looked away for a moment, seeming to contemplate it. “I don’t regret it. But I am quite sincere.” He waved a hand in the direction of her paper. “Write what you think is best.”
Hattie preened on the inside—she’d done it, she’d spoken up like a man. She imagined their relationship blossoming into something entirely indispensable for him. Her, asking questions to clarify his thoughts; him, realizing how invaluable she was. As long as she was here...
“And the first one, my lord? Should I not mention what he offered to purchase?”
His lordship didn’t even pause to think about it. “A carriage.” He returned to the sofa, picked up the leather folder, and went back to his reading.
Hattie sat at the writing desk. There was thick cream paper embossed with the viscount’s seal. She began to write.
To Mr. Carmichael,
Sir:
Having recently acceded to the title of viscount, I have had opportunity to review the purchase offer of a carriage you had previously made to my late grandfather, and for which you received a favorable reply from him. I regretfully inform you that I find the offer to be too low and cannot honor the terms.
Yours, Viscount Abbott
She laid the letter aside and carried on to the next.
Dear Mrs. Whitsun...
Who was Mrs. Whitsun? Hattie had never heard of her. Which hardly meant anything, but still, she wondered if Mrs. Whitsun had a daughter she was eager for the viscount to meet. Queenie said when gentlemen such as the viscount were on the marriage mart, women came out of the walls like rats. Hattie pictured Mrs. Whitsun with a rat face.
Anyway.
Please accept my kindest regards and thanks for the invitation to dine Thursday evening. Regrettably, I am otherwise engaged.
Sincerely, V. A.
Was V. A. the right way to sign the letter? After several moments of pondering and coming up with a different answer each time, she turned in her chair. He didn’t look up. She cleared her throat.
“Sí?”he drawled, without even raising his eyes.
“Would you care to read what I’ve written?”
He held out his hand.
Hattie picked up the two letters and crossed the room to put them in his hand. He added them to the stack of letters. What was he doing? Wasn’t he going to read them? Was she supposed to stand there? Was she supposed to return to the desk?
She stood.
And stood.
