“Lila, for God’s sake,” Beck said, and groaned. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said?”
“I heard every word. But what if I’m right? What if I can manage it?” She smiled.
Beck sighed and shook his head. He didn’t give her an answer, but Lila was certain an invitation would be sent. If there was one thing about Beckett Hawke that everyone in London knew—he could not say no to a female.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MATEOHADBEENin something of a strange fog since he’d kissed Hattie in the kitchen. He couldn’t work out what all, exactly, had possessed him. He brooded on it to the extent that by the time he arrived at the Iddesleigh garden tea party, he was fully morose.
On the surface, there was no mystery. Hattie was a woman, and he was a man. And she wasn’t any woman, she was Hattie of the sunny disposition and like interests. But he might as well have kissed Yolanda. This wasn’t very different—both women were in his employ.
He had his own personal code of honor, beliefs about what was right and what was wrong, and he’d ignored them all. It was so unlike him—he was so circumspect, so careful to say or do nothing that could draw rebuke. How strange and distressing it was that even as a grown man, he could still hear his father’s voice, belittling him for being so stupid, so rash.
And yet, he could not ignore or avoid the fight against the wave of desire that had flooded him and had not left him yet. Hattie Woodchurch was so unlike the women he’d been around most of his life.
He didn’t want to lose her as his scribe, although he understood she’d be well within her rights to leave his employ. Imagine, after all the opinions he’d voiced regarding Mr. Rochester’s behavior in the novelJane Eyre, after complaining that the man had taken advantage of his governess, had treated his mad wife unfairly, had given another woman every reason to believe he loved her, to turn around and do what he’d done in the kitchen? Preposterous.
Now his imagination was running wild. He imagined that Hattie despised him. Or worse, believed his kiss to be some sort of promise. No, no, she was too smart, too shrewd to think that. As she said, she understood the rules of engagement.
Whatever she thought of him now, he hoped to find out at the Iddesleigh soiree this afternoon. He would find a moment to speak to her. To explain himself.
As if he had a suitable explanation.
Beck was on hand to greet him when he arrived. “Welcome, my friend, my lord! We are positively bursting with excitement. Come with me,” he said, already moving ahead before Mateo could discard his hat.
He followed Beck through the large house to the back terrace. Luck was shining on Iddesleigh and his family, as the day was a glorious blue, with white puffy clouds skittering across the sky. The garden, which was a small park in size, had been done up in spectacular fashion. On the terrace, there were six tables set with fine china. Two giant-sized topiary teapots had a cascade of fresh flowers pouring from their spouts to the ground. The lawn had been set with croquet pickets and lawn bowling, and there was even a small petting zoo for the children. It was the most opulent garden tea Mateo had ever seen.
Beck was eager to drag him around to his many guests, introducing him as his “very good friend,” even though they’d only met a handful of times. As usual, Mateo was met with “welcome to England” and “how do you find London” and “how long will you be with us.” He answered the questions by rote, like a schoolboy reciting his facts. The women—all of them pleasing—made no real impression on him, but then again, his thoughts were elsewhere today.
Lady Aleksander arrived in a sky blue frock, waving a fan at her face. “So good to see you, my lord!” she said cheerfully. “I’ve someone I should very much like you to meet.” She spirited him away from the couple who were explaining to him how they rarely came to town but had come to see the London Zoo’s elephant. She introduced him to their daughter, Lady Mabel Stanhope.
Lady Mabel had dark hair and eyes and an easy smile, but she was hardly bigger than a child. Mateo liked her at once—she pointed out a pair of puppies on the lawn, romping among the children. They were two fat balls of fur tumbling over each other and the feet of the guests, colliding with more than one pair of legs. And as he and Lady Mabel watched, one of them stopped running to lie on its belly and nap.
“I think all garden teas should have puppies, don’t you?” she asked.
“It should be the law of the land. And there should be more than two. A dozen is a good number, is it not?”
Lady Mabel laughed, and Mateo escorted her down the stairs to the lawn. He squatted and attempted to entice one of the puppies to come to them.“Ven, cachorro, ven,”he called, his hand outstretched, luring the puppy their way. The fattest of the two eventually waddled over. Lady Mabel cooed over it until it tried wiggling its way out of Mateo’s arms.
Mateo bent down to set it free, and when he did, he heard a familiar laugh. He straightened and looked around for Hattie, but his gaze fell on Miss Raney. She smiled at him and lifted her hand in greeting before dipping under a parasol. She was speaking to a tall gentleman.
“I have monopolized your time,” Lady Mabel said, following the direction of his gaze.
“Not at all,” he insisted.
“I should say hello to Mrs. Barron,” she said, and excused herself. He watched her make her way up the terrace steps. Mateo tried to think of something to say to call her back—but he could think of nothing, as he really had no desire to call her back. Lady Mabel was lovely. But she was not the one.
He turned away from her departure and started—Lady Raney was standing before him. “Good afternoon, my lord!” she said with great enthusiasm, and her gaze trailed over his shoulder to where Lady Mabel was still climbing the second set of steps to the main terrace level. “My Flora is looking forward to greeting you again. She very much enjoyed your company.”
“As I enjoyed hers.”
The lady held out her hand. “Would you mind terribly? I’m so clumsy with so many steps.”
He suppressed a sigh. She would put herself on his arm to claim him, thereby ensuring he wasn’t waylaid on their way to speak to her daughter. He offered his arm, and the two of them ascended the steps to her daughter, who had yet to lower her parasol or acknowledge their approach.
“Darling, look who has come!” her mother trilled loudly.
Miss Raney dropped her parasol and whirled around, her eyes wide. “My lord,” she said, and dipped into a curtsy. “A great pleasure to see you again. I hope the day finds you well?”
