Page 44 of To Follow her Heart

Harriet got to her feet and brushed down her skirts, before bending to reach for her book. Kitty took hold of her wrist as she did so, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“I think he hurt you,” she said softly, ignoring the fact that Harriet had stiffened, ignoring the stony look behind the spectacles. “I think he hurt you badly, but I don’t think he has the slightest idea how or what he did. You owe him an explanation, Harriet. It’s not fair to keep punishing someone for years and years without giving them a chance to redeem themselves. You said yourself that boys are obnoxious—that they can’t help it—but he’s not a boy any longer, Harry, he’s a man, and I don’t think you realise how much you hurt him when you act so coldly.”

“Is that all?” Harriet asked, her voice dull. She’d turned her face away a little, but Kitty could see the colour high in her cheeks, feel her desire to tug her wrist free.

“No,” Kitty said. “You scolded me and much of what you said made a deal of sense, I accepted it, and now you must accept my words. Promise me you’ll think about it, at least. You are an intelligent woman, one ruled by logic—so you tell me—but your behaviour towards the earl is illogical. If you take a moment to think about it, instead of perpetuating this unkindness out of habit, you’ll see that.”

Harriet paused for a long moment before meeting Kitty’s eyes. There was something that might have been surprise there, and Kitty wondered if maybe she’d got through.

“Very well, I shall consider your words.”

“Promise,” Kitty urged.

She watched as Harriet took a deep breath and then let it out again, no doubt praying for patience. It was a reaction Kitty was familiar with and she took no offence.

“I promise.”

Kitty grinned and leapt to her feet, hugging Harriet tightly. Harriet was stiff and unyielding for a moment, before she relaxed a bit and patted Kitty’s back somewhat awkwardly.

“Come along,” she said, pushing her spectacles up her nose. “Or they’ll start without us.”

***

Matilda gave a huff of frustration as her arrow buried itself into the grass in front of the target.

“Never mind,” Mr Burton said, grinning at her, before carelessly letting off an arrow and watching it hit a bare inch above the bullseye.

“Easy for you to say,” Matilda observed. “We shall lose horribly, despite your talents, and I shall feel wretched.”

“Nonsense,” Mr Burton said, laughing as he moved away for the next competitor to take his place. “It is the taking part that counts. I couldn’t give a fig if we win or not.”

“You really don’t, do you?” Matilda said, smiling at him. “I thought all men to be dreadfully competitive.”

Mr Burton shrugged. “It depends what’s at stake. In business, I assure you, I am not to be thwarted, or… if there is something I truly desire. Then… I would fight to the death.” He made a theatrical flourishing gesture with the new arrow he’d taken as if it were a sword and then grinned at her, a boyish expression that was endearing when set upon his very masculine features.

She laughed, amused by his antics and the boyishness faded away, a different light in his eyes now.

“You’re so very beautiful, Miss Hunt,” he said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “I cannot stop thinking about you. I want you very badly, you know.”

Matilda felt her heart thud in her chest, a heavy and not especially pleasant sensation.

“I know,” she said, not wanting to torment the man by playing games. In her head, the voice that had disturbed her sleep and brought her to tears in the early hours began screaming at her—time is running out, time is running out. Old maid! Old maid!

“Have you thought any more—”

“Yes,” Matilda said quickly, feeling all at once hot and breathless and nauseous. The panicky sensation grew and grew, and she feared she might do something as ludicrous as swoon. “Yes, I have thought of it but… but I….”

She swayed a little, putting a hand to her chest to quell the thundering of her heart.

“My dear,” Mr Burton said at once, his expression alarmed at he took her arm. “Are you going to faint? All the colour has gone from your cheeks. Here, come out of the sun, it is growing fierce.” He led her to the seating area, casting her anxious glances as he went. “Forgive me, Miss Hunt. I ought not have plagued you. I’m a wretched fool, I know it….”

“Oh, no,” Matilda replied, knowing well enough that she was the fool, not Mr Burton. “That’s not the least bit true. You’ve been all kindness.”

“No,” he said, once he’d settled her in a chair and fetched her a glass of lemonade. “I’ve not been the least bit kind. I’ve been impatient. I am impatient, but if you will tell me one thing, I swear to you I’ll give you the time you desire. Is it hopeless, Miss Hunt or… do I have a chance?”

Matilda sipped her lemonade and tried to subdue her growing need to run away like a child. She wasn’t a child, she was a long way from being so. That was the problem. She couldn’t ignore the fact that time was passing her by and, with it, opportunities.

“It isn’t hopeless, Mr Burton,” she said, trying for a smile which felt stiff and unnatural.