CHAPTER FIVE #3
He was younger than she had anticipated, perhaps three and thirty, with the sort of golden good looks that belonged on a Greek statue.
Blond hair artfully disheveled, blue eyes sparkling with amusement, a smile that suggested he found everything and everyone thoroughly entertaining.
He was dressed impeccably, his coat cut to emphasize broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and he moved with the easy confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life.
"Lady Harriet!" He bounded down the steps with the enthusiasm of a retriever greeting its owner. "I am positively delighted, that you've accepted my invitation. I've heard so much about you."
"Have you, my lord?" Harriet offered her hand, which Davies took and held rather longer than strictly necessary. "Good things, I hope."
"Fascinating things. They say you're the sharpest tongue in London. That you've sent at least three suitors fleeing in tears. That you once reduced Lord Hathaway to stammering incoherence with a single raised eyebrow." Davies's eyes danced with delight. "I simply had to meet you for myself."
"I'm afraid the rumors are exaggerated. Lord Hathaway was already stammering when I arrived. I merely provided an excuse."
Davies laughed a warm, rich sound that invited the listener to join in. "Oh, you are everything I was promised. Please, come inside. You must be exhausted from your journey."
He offered his arm, which Harriet took with a polite smile. Behind her, she was aware of Sebastian falling into step with the footmen, his expression unreadable.
The interior of Davies Hall was as impressive as its exterior, all marble floors and soaring ceilings and artwork that probably cost more than Fordshire Park's annual income.
Davies led her through a succession of increasingly opulent rooms, pointing out treasures and telling stories about their acquisition with the casual pride of a collector showing off his prizes.
"And this," he said, pausing before a portrait of a stern-faced man in antiquated dress, "is my grandfather. He made the family fortune in shipping, though we don't like to talk about that. Trade, you know. So vulgar."
"Yet so profitable."
"Precisely." Davies grinned. "I've always admired practicality in a woman. How rare it is to find a young lady who will confess that wealth is the very axis upon which the world turns.”
"I've learned that lesson rather thoroughly, of late."
"Yes, so I gathered from your letter." Davies's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "We shall discuss business later, over dinner. For now, let me show you to your rooms. I've put you in the east wing, the views are quite spectacular at sunset."
He led her up a sweeping staircase and down a long corridor, finally stopping before a set of double doors.
"Your suite, my lady. Your maid has already been installed in the adjoining chamber. And Lord Vane…" Davies glanced back at Sebastian, who had been following at a careful distance. "I've put you in the west wing. I hope that's acceptable?"
"Quite acceptable," Sebastian said. His voice was perfectly polite, but Harriet could hear the tension beneath it.
"Excellent. Dinner is at eight. I'll send someone to fetch you." Davies bowed over Harriet's hand once more, his lips brushing her knuckles. "Until then, Lady Harriet."
He departed with a final, dazzling smile, leaving Harriet standing in the corridor with Sebastian and a growing sense of unease.
"He's very... charming," she said, when Davies's footsteps had faded.
"Yes." Sebastian's voice was flat. "He is."
"You don't like him."
"My likes and dislikes are irrelevant. What matters is whether he'll negotiate in good faith."
"And will he?"
Sebastian was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the direction Davies had gone. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled.
"Be careful tonight, Harriet. That's all I ask."
"I'm always careful."
“I must beg to differ. You're reckless and stubborn and entirely too willing to throw yourself into danger if you think it will help your family." Sebastian's eyes met hers, and something in their grey depths made her breath catch. "Just... be careful. Please."
"I will."
Sebastian nodded once, then turned and walked away toward the west wing. Harriet watched him go, her heart doing something complicated in her chest, before finally retreating into her suite to prepare for dinner.
***
The gown she had brought was her finest, a deep blue silk that brought out the color of her eyes and skimmed her figure in a way that was elegant without being improper.
Mary helped her dress and arranged her hair in an elaborate upsweep, securing it with the pearl pins that had been her grandmother's.
"You look beautiful, my lady," Mary said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Lord Davies won't know what hit him."
"That's rather the point."
She descended to the dining room at precisely eight o'clock, determined to project confidence she didn't entirely feel.
The room was impressive with a long table set with silver and crystal, candles casting warm light across walls hung with silk damask, but it was the occupants who commanded Harriet's attention.
Lord Davies stood near the fireplace, resplendent in evening dress, his golden hair gleaming in the candlelight. And beside him, looking like a storm cloud that had wandered into a garden party, stood Sebastian.
He was watching her. She could feel his gaze like a physical weight, tracking her progress across the room. He had changed for dinner as well, his dark evening clothes a sharp contrast to Davies's lighter palette, and something about the severity of his appearance made her pulse quicken.
"Lady Harriet!" Davies came forward to greet her, his eyes sweeping over her figure with open appreciation. "You are a vision. That gown is magnificent."
"You're too kind, my lord."
"I am never kind. I am merely honest." He offered his arm. "Shall we dine?"
The meal that followed was, by any objective measure, excellent.
Course after course of exquisitely prepared food, accompanied by wines that probably cost more than Harriet's entire wardrobe.
Davies was an attentive host, keeping up a steady stream of conversation that ranged from society gossip to politics to art.
He was also, Harriet noticed, quite skilled at flirtation.
Every comment was layered with double meaning. Every glance held an invitation. He leaned close when he spoke to her, found excuses to touch her hand, laughed at her witticisms with the delighted appreciation of a man who had discovered a rare treasure.
It should have been flattering. Any woman would have been flattered by the attentions of such a handsome, wealthy, charming man.
But Harriet found herself glancing at Sebastian instead.
He sat across the table, eating little, drinking less, responding to direct questions with monosyllables.
His expression was shuttered, revealing nothing, but Harriet could see the tension in his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on his wine glass, the way his jaw tightened every time Davies leaned too close to her.
He's jealous, she realised with a start. Sebastian Vane is actually jealous.
The thought sent a thrill through her that she immediately tried to suppress. This was not the time for romantic revelations. She was here to negotiate, to save her family, not to analyse Sebastian's emotional responses.
But knowing didn't stop her from feeling a small, secret satisfaction every time Davies touched her hand and Sebastian's expression darkened.
"Tell me, Lady Harriet," Davies said, as the servants cleared the dessert course. "What do you do with yourself in the country? Surely Fordshire Park cannot offer the entertainments of London."
"I read. I walk. I manage the household accounts when my mother will allow it." Harriet shrugged. "Country life has its pleasures."
"And its limitations. A woman of your intelligence must find it stifling."
"I find it peaceful. London is exciting, but it can also be exhausting."
"And lonely?" Davies's voice dropped, becoming more intimate. "I imagine a woman in your situation must feel rather... isolated. Unattached, with all the pressures that entails. The expectations. The judgments."
"I manage well enough."
"But you shouldn't have to merely manage. You should thrive. Flourish." Davies leaned closer. "A woman like you deserves a situation that allows her to be everything she's capable of being."
Harriet was acutely aware of Sebastian's gaze on them, heavy with something she couldn't quite name.
"And what situation would that be, my lord?"
"That," Davies said, "is precisely what I'd like to discuss. In private, if you'd be so kind."
He rose and offered his hand. "There's a drawing room just through here. Much more comfortable for serious conversation."
Harriet glanced at Sebastian, who had gone very still.
"Lord Vane can join us, if you prefer," Davies added, his voice perfectly pleasant. "Though I suspect he might find the business talk rather tedious."
"I wouldn't dream of boring Lord Vane with our financial difficulties." Harriet took Davies's hand and rose. "I'm sure he can find some way to entertain himself."
Sebastian's expression flickered, hurt, maybe, or anger, quickly suppressed. "Of course. I'll be in the library, should you need me."
"I'm sure that won't be necessary." Davies smiled, all charm and confidence. "Lady Harriet is in excellent hands."
He led her from the dining room, leaving Sebastian alone with the remnants of dinner and whatever thoughts were churning behind his careful mask.