Daughter of the God-King(11)
With Bing trailing discreetly behind and out of earshot, Hattie decided she would no longer allow him to avoid the subject—after all, someone had once told her she was forthright—and she observed, “How lucky that you can be spared long enough to be married, then. Will your parents attend?”
After a moment he replied, “It is rather short notice, unfortunately.”
The equivocal answer made her wonder if perhaps he wanted to present his poor parents with a fait accompli for fear they would disapprove of his bride; it seemed a valid concern, the bride being a bit long in the tooth. “Is it…” She paused delicately. “Is it the same situation as the Postmaster and Miss Harding?” Even Cornwall had its share of scandal, human nature being what it was.
Shocked, Robbie chastised her in a low voice, “Hattie, for God’s sake—”
“You won’t speak of it,” she defended herself. “You should be happy, and you’re not.”
“No—it is not a marriage of necessity and you should not be speaking of such things,” he retorted, annoyed. “Honestly, Hattie.”
“I am trying to help,” she insisted stubbornly. “How did it happen, then?”
He offered a bit stiffly, “I met her when I was in Egypt, last month—”
“You were in Egypt, too?” Now it was Hattie’s turn to be shocked; apparently everyone was visiting Egypt, willy-nilly, whilst she was sequestered away back home with as little to do with herself as the stupid princess in her stupid tomb—it was beyond all bearing and she resisted an urge to stamp her foot, knowing it would only cement everyone’s bad opinion of her.
“—and we decided to marry on the spur of the moment.”
She eyed him, waiting, but he volunteered nothing further and refused to meet her eye. “Well then; I see,” she offered in a tone that conveyed the exact opposite.
He flashed her a conscious glance but would not elaborate. “Look, it’s complicated and I don’t want to quarrel with you—not today.”
Contrite, Hattie took his arm, recognizing the unspoken message that he was upset and she shouldn’t press him. “No—of course not, Robbie; I shouldn’t be teasing you. Tell me instead about Vienna, and how important you are.”
Willing to change the subject, he began to describe the diplomatic maneuvering at the Congress and Hattie listened, asking an occasional question and allowing her attention to wander. She glanced around at her surroundings, appreciating the sense of purpose that emanated from all the people around her. I do much better when I have a purpose, she realized; I think that was the problem at home—I had no purpose to my life, so I created an artificial one, which really didn’t suit me at all. As she looked up at Robbie’s profile, she congratulated herself on this self-discovery. Growing up, his generous parents had included the solitary child on the neighboring estate in all their family doings—it was they who had given her the nickname never used by her parents—and so it was only to be expected that the affection she felt for Robbie was sisterly, and not at all lover-like. She nodded as her escort continued to speak—she truly wasn’t paying much attention—and couldn’t help but think that it was just as well her campaign to attach him had failed miserably. It was not meant to be, she thought with little regret, and couldn’t help but remember the feel of another man’s hands lingering at her waist, and the sensations engendered thereby. Distracted, she realized that Robbie was awaiting a response from her. “I’m sorry, Robbie. What did you say?”
“There is a gentleman here who would like to speak with you for a few minutes, Hattie. I’m afraid it’s rather important.”
Such was the state of her thoughts that Hattie’s heart leapt for a moment, thinking she was no sooner to think of Monsieur Berry then he was to magically appear. However, instead she entered a small office that contained a rather serious grey-eyed man who rose to take her hand. “Miss Blackhouse.”
She noted that he gave no name, and she also noted with a shock of recognition that the attaché who closed the door behind her was the erstwhile cutpurse from the night before—she had only a glimpse of his face as he turned to leave, but Hattie had a very good memory, which had always been one of her strengths. Suddenly wary, she sat with Robbie across the table from the grey-eyed man as Bing was asked to wait outside. I cannot like this turn of events, she thought as she clasped her hands in her lap; but at least I will finally learn what is going on, although I imagine the explanation will not include the reason why the British embassy wanted to steal my reticule.