Chapter 7
That heart appealing word, “Obey,“
Drives half thy loveliness away;
Turns thy warm heart as cold as clay.
* * *
The carriage rattled over the cobbled streets of Mayfair, its interior warm and quiet, yet Harriet could not summon any sense of comfort.
She sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, her gloved fingers passing over the silk of her skirts, but her mind raced like a horse bolting toward a precipice.
Sebastian sat opposite, speaking with Evaline, and Harriet did her best to focus on their conversation, but her thoughts would not settle.
Every time she dared glance at him, at the strong lines of his face, the way his cravat sat slightly loosened, as if he had already tugged at it in exasperation, the memory of his kiss burned through her like a brand.
A kiss like that should not have happened.
Not after everything. Not after she had deceived him.
Her fingers tightened into her skirts, and she turned to look out the carriage window, the passing townhouses blurring together.
How had she let it come to this? She had told herself that she had only meant to indulge in nostalgia, to recapture a fragment of the past, and yet her heart beat like a drummer marching into battle.
Foolish. It was all so foolish.
She had spent the last few months trying to be someone else, trying to be stronger, wiser, and better than the witless girl who had let him go. And yet, the moment he had reached for her, she had felt undone, unmoored, as though no time had passed at all.
And the worst of it? Her fresh falsehood stood between them.
If it had only been the past to contend with, she might have dared to hope. But she had done something so inexcusable that there could never be anything real between them. Not now.
The painting.
Her throat constricted. He trusted her, even now. Despite everything, he trusted her enough to enter this strange courtship with her. And she—wretched fool that she was—had looked him in the eyes and told him a lie. An untruth she could not undo.
She forced herself to listen to the conversation between Sebastian and Evaline, desperate for a distraction.
“Your husband passed away?” Sebastian was asking.
“He did,” Evaline answered, her voice even as she looped another stitch into her needlework. “Shot in a drunken brawl with his own pistol.”
“My condolences, Lady Wood. Your husband was …” Sebastian stopped as if he were struggling to find something pleasant to say about the brutish Lord Wood, notorious for solving his arguments with his very large fists. “Excellent at pugilism.”
Evaline let out a small breath, her lips curving. “A diplomatic phrasing.”
Harriet finally turned her head, grateful for something else to focus on.
Presumably, he had heard something of the matter, considering his family connections, but he had been in Florence at the time.
Perhaps he did not know the full story. That Evaline mentioned the scandal at all meant that she had decided to extend the proprieties to Harriet’s tall suitor, a high compliment from such a proper woman.
“Sebastian has only heard whispers, I imagine. He does not know the full tale.”
Evaline hesitated, then set aside her embroidery and met Sebastian’s gaze with something wry. “Well, my husband, rest his soul, was a proud man, but not a wise one. He had a rather spectacular gift for making enemies.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “I gathered as much.”
“One evening, he found himself in a dispute over a game of cards,” Evaline continued. “A dispute which, in his drunkenness, he decided to settle with a pistol.”
Sebastian’s expression did not change, but Harriet saw the flicker of something in his eyes as if he recalled whatever story had reached him on the Continent. “Ah.”
“Yes. He marched into the home of another lord, pistol in hand, and demanded retribution for his supposed slight.”
“I assume the other lord was not particularly receptive to such demands?”
Evaline let out a dry chuckle. “No, he was not. They struggled over the pistol, and it went off.”
Harriet sighed, shaking her head. “The gossip was tremendous.”
Evaline gave a small shrug, as though it were nothing more than an amusing anecdote rather than the defining moment that had left her dependent on the charity of others.
“It was a relief, in some ways. I was finally free of him. He was not a pleasant man, nor was his family with whom I had to stay after his death.”
Sebastian looked between them both before murmuring, “So you came to live with Harriet.”
Evaline inclined her head. “A few months ago, she was kind enough to offer me refuge, and I was wise enough to accept.”
Harriet smiled at her friend, some of the guilt that had been gnawing at her chest easing. At least she had done some good things to make up for her ugly past. At least she had provided Evaline with a safe haven when she needed it most. Sebastian’s gaze moved to Harriet, as if weighing her.
“And you? Did you find it easy to take in a houseguest?”
She met his eyes, summoning a semblance of lightness.
“Would you believe it was rather an easy transition? Evaline has excellent taste and took charge of my household in a way that I never had patience for.”
Sebastian gave a low sound of acknowledgment, clearly unconvinced, but before he could say more, the carriage rolled to a stop.
Harriet exhaled, grateful. The coachman opened the door, and Sebastian descended first, offering his hand to help Evaline and Harriet down.
The moment her feet touched the ground, she squared her shoulders.
Home. Safe ground.
She stepped forward, only for the door to swing open before she reached it. Mrs. Finch stood at the threshold, her usual look of stern competence fixed firmly in place.
“Tea, if you please, Finch,” Harriet said as she removed her gloves. “I could use something warm after all that shopping.”
Finch did not move. “Ye’ve got a visitor, m’lady.”
Harriet’s fingers froze. Something about the way Finch said it, the clipped tone and lack of elaboration, sent a chill of unease down her spine. She swallowed. “Who?”
Finch did not answer. She merely stepped aside with a grim expression that told Harriet all she needed to know. Harriet turned to Sebastian and Evaline. “Well, come in, then. No use lingering in the cold.”
She swept past Finch into the painted room, her heart quickening, and the moment she entered, she saw him.
Bertram Hargreaves stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his stiff posture broadcasting his cold displeasure.
Harriet stopped just inside the doorway. How? How had he found out so soon?
She barely held her expression composed as Sebastian and Evaline entered behind her. Sebastian’s presence gave her strength. She lifted her chin, ignored her father entirely, and turned to her guests.
“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing toward the elegant chairs near the lit fireplace.
Sebastian hesitated only a fraction of a second before moving to take his place, his gray gaze moving between Harriet and her father as he lowered himself into the chair opposite her. Evaline, less affected by the tension, followed suit.
Harriet turned to Finch. “You may bring the tea now.”
Finch hesitated, as if she, too, expected some sort of explosion to occur at any moment, but when Harriet arched a brow in silent command, the housekeeper gave a short nod and disappeared down the hall. Harriet finally turned to her father.
“You need not loom like a shadow, Father,” she said smoothly. “Do take a seat.”
Bertram did not move. He merely turned his head, his sharp gaze cutting through her.
“I am comfortable where I am,” he said, his voice deceptively mild.
Harriet tilted her head, meeting his stare without yielding. “Suit yourself.”
She crossed the room and lowered herself onto the settee, arranging her skirts with deliberate elegance. Sebastian’s gaze never left her. Her father had come here in anger. That much was clear. But Harriet had learned long ago that anger was a tool, one that men wielded to make others flinch.
She would not flinch.
And besides, she had Sebastian sitting just across from her, watching everything, assessing everything. The girl she had been, the one who had once believed Sebastian could be her escape, wanted to turn to him and say, See? See what I endured? See what I was raised beneath?
But she said nothing. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap, arranged a pleasant smile upon her face, and waited. Her father wanted something. She would find out what it was soon enough.
* * *
Bertram Hargreaves stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the street with a rigid air, as if he disapproved of everything he saw. He turned only when Harriet stepped inside, his cold blue eyes passing over her before cutting to Sebastian.
“Well,” Hargreaves eventually declared after staring at Sebastian for several icy seconds, his voice as smooth as silk, the menacing tone all the more dangerous for its quietness. “Lady Slight, I see you are still keeping questionable company.”
The viscount ignored Lady Wood completely, presumably a lowly widow being too far below his station to acknowledge even with a sneering insult.
Sebastian smiled, unruffled. “A pleasure as always, Lord Hargreaves.”
The older man’s lips curled with disdain. Hargreaves considered a spare to a duke beneath his notice. To make matters worse, Sebastian was no longer even the spare. His brother had sired his heir.
Harriet did not acknowledge any of it. “You must have something urgent to say if you have taken the trouble to visit,” she said lightly.
Hargreaves gave a faint smile and turned fully toward them. “I was merely paying a visit to my only child. Is that so unusual?”
“It is,” Harriet returned. “Unless you are here to harass my staff again. But let us not waste time pretending. What is it you really want?”
Sebastian observed with mild fascination as she held her father’s gaze without the slightest hesitation.
The flinty viscount was not a man easily ignored, his presence formidable, the kind that made lesser men retreat.
Yet Harriet faced him with the same effortless poise she had always possessed, as though he were nothing more than an inconvenience she meant to endure.
Sebastian was impressed. Harriet had always wavered in her father’s presence, so this was a remarkable evolution to witness.
Hargreaves sighed, as if disappointed by her lack of pretense. “Very well. I came to inquire about a certain … absence.”
The viscount’s attention flickered to Lady Wood and Sebastian briefly, and Sebastian surmised the wintry lord was being vague with deliberation.
Perhaps he had not expected an audience for this discussion, but Harriet was obviously unwilling to make allowances for privacy.
It was an astute maneuver to gain the upper hand, and Sebastian was struck to see it.
As a girl, Harriet had always been terrified of disappointing her disapproving parent.
Harriet arched an auburn brow. “Whose absence?”
A thin smile. “Cooper.”
Sebastian sat straighter. The name lingered at the edge of his memory, but he could not immediately place it. Then again, it was a common name. Perhaps it was nothing. Harriet, for her part, did not react. At least, not visibly. “And why, pray, would I know anything about that?” she asked smoothly.
Her father’s glacial stare sharpened. “Because Cooper vanished last night, and we discussed this matter just days ago.”
Sebastian went still. Harriet had spent the evening at home, she had said. The reminder left a sour taste in his mouth. Had she met with this Cooper? But he said nothing. He merely sat, watchful and silent, as Harriet’s expression remained serene.
“I have no knowledge to share,” she stated mildly.
Hargreaves chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Cooper could not leave without a … benefactor.”
Sebastian watched Harriet closely, waiting for some sign of unease. But she only tilted her head. “Perhaps. Or perhaps Cooper simply decided to forge a new path.”
Her father’s gaze did not waver. “Such an endeavor will not last long without protection.”
Harriet’s smile was saccharine. “I shall be sure to keep that in mind should I ever have an opportunity to discuss it with … Cooper.”
It was clear father and daughter were being enigmatic on purpose.
Sebastian glanced toward the doorway then, drawn by the suggestion of movement beyond the threshold. The young waif stood just beyond the painted room, her wide, anxious eyes darting in before she slipped back out of sight like a frightened rabbit.
Jem.
Sebastian frowned, troubled by the unease in her posture, but then Mrs. Finch entered, carrying the tea tray, and the moment passed. Harriet poured the tea herself, her movements graceful and deliberate. “Will you take tea, Father?” she asked sweetly.
Hargreaves’ mouth thinned. “No.”
She handed a cup to Lady Wood before turning her attention back to him. “Then I suppose this discussion has run its course.”
Sebastian did not miss the flicker of irritation in the viscount’s expression. Harriet had dismissed him. Neatly, efficiently.
And Bertram Hargreaves knew it. He glanced toward Sebastian then, his lips twisting. “I am sure, Lord Sebastian, that you have no interest in such sordid matters of discarded affairs.”
Affairs? Was Hargreaves alluding to Harriet having an affair with this Cooper fellow? To what end would Hargreaves do so? To frighten Sebastian off as a suitor?
Sebastian lifted his cup. Uncertain of the game Hargreaves was playing, Sebastian decided to lay a safe card on the table, neither a gamble nor a concession.
Hargreaves had a terrible reputation as a landlord back in Wiltshire.
Several of his tenants had been received by the duke at Avonmead over the years after Hargreaves failed to resolve their complaints, so Sebastian chose to prod at this sore point rather than reveal he was in the dark about their cryptic quarrel.
“Indeed. Though I do find discussions of integrity in land stewardship quite fascinating.”
Harriet’s lips curved. Hargreaves’ gaze turned from ice to frost. And then, with a growl of discontent, Hargreaves turned toward the door.
“Good day, Harriet.”
She sipped her tea. “Good day, Father.”
The viscount left without another word.
Sebastian leaned back, studying Harriet over the rim of his cup. “You handled that well.”
She lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug, but did not meet his gaze. “I have had months of practice.”
His eyes narrowed. Again, the mention of these past few months. And Lady Wood had mentioned she had been staying with Harriet for the same period. What did it all mean?
Harriet was hiding something.
But what?