“Of course you can, Miss Woodchurch. My sister is as grateful to you as I am for creating this opportunity for me. And she’s thrilled that her gowns could be worn to something as fancy as the Abbott ball. Come, let’s try them on. Estella!” She called for another one of her daughters. “Estella is quick with a needle and thread.”
Hattie could hardly see because of the tears in her eyes. How could she be so fortunate?
“Now, you send your favorable reply for the ball, love,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “And listen carefully to what is said of my bonbons.”
Hattie laughed. “I can never repay your kindness.”
“Darling, you already have.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THETRIPTOEssex and Harrington Hall had left Mateo feeling out of sorts. For one, the estate was so large he couldn’t imagine what he would do with it. For two—and this one shocked him, as he did not consider himself a sentimental man—he had gone the day without seeing Hattie.
He could feel the tides shifting in him. He’d begun to feel a gnawing sense of time slipping away. It wouldn’t be long before he would bid farewell to his friend and leave England.
Hisfriend. The word, both in English and Spanish, felt inadequate to describe how he felt about Hattie Woodchurch.
He watched the clock on his study mantel slowly tick, counting the minutes until she appeared with her bag and her pen, ready to write. And when at last she did arrive, she was wearing a deep blue gown that shone in her eyes—they seemed to leap from her face.
He stood up. “Good afternoon. You look lovely.”
She smiled with delight. “Thank you.”
“I went to Harrington Hall yesterday, in Essex,” he said. He felt an urgent need to tell her why he’d been absent.
She brightened. “How did you find it? Was it terribly grand? I’ve heard it’s as big as Buckingham Palace.”
“It’s unconscionably big,” he agreed. “I couldn’t help but wonder what my grandfather thought the point of it was for one man.”
“For his heirs,” Hattie said. “It’s always for the heirs, isn’t it?” She walked across the room and held out her hand. He realized he’d been holding some work for her. He reluctantly handed it to her. He watched her go to her desk. He watched her sit and arrange paper and pen and the small vase of flowers someone had placed on her desk. He sat at his desk, too, and tried to concentrate, but he found all he could do was watch her. There were so many emotions stirring in his chest and his head. He had terribly mixed emotions. He was ready to leave England—he missed Santiava—but obviously not ready to leave some things behind.
He didn’t realize just how unsettled he was until his mother swept in with the list of replies to the ball. He looked at the list of attendees. His mother had taken it upon herself to underline the names of those women that were unmarried and suitable for a match. He ignored those; he was looking for another name. And it wasn’t there.
He glanced up at Hattie, hard at work at her desk. She had not replied.
“Thank you,” he said to his mother, and handed her back the list. “If you will excuse me, I’ve a matter to attend to.”
“Where are you going?” his mother demanded, and followed him out of the study, the list in her hand.
“Out,” he said curtly. In the foyer, he took his hat and struck out, his destination unknown.
Mateo walked to think. He walked to Hyde Park, and through it. Then on to Green Park. He walked up and down Piccadilly, trying to make sense of his life.
When at last he’d had enough walking, he returned to Grosvenor Square. His mother had flitted off to somewhere, and Hattie was just finishing up for the day. She’d wrapped her long shawl around her shoulders and was rummaging through her bag when he walked in.
“Hattie,” he said. “You’re for home?”
“I am.” She hoisted the bag onto her shoulder.
“I, ah... I don’t mean to impose, but I...”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. He was unnervingly anxious. “I have some work to do on the accounts from Harrington Hall, and I thought, perhaps...you might stay past tea and help me? I...I would compensate you, of course.”
She stared at him for a long moment, and he thought she meant to decline, and he thought if she did, he would excuse himself, walk out to the garden, and scream into the hedge.
“I should be delighted to help, of course. But I don’t want compensation for it.” She smiled.
He felt ridiculous for having offered it. “Thank you. I... If you don’t mind, I’ll ask Yolanda for a light supper. But only if you...want.” He knew he was blathering.
