Chapter 1 #2
Her father was venting his ire, she reminded herself as she steeled herself against his venomous cut.
He had hoped to use her as a pawn to make a second match that was advantageous—to him, not her—but Harriet was not participating in his schemes again.
Not now that she was a widow of independent means.
Feeling rather desperate, Harriet pressed forward in a bid to end the meeting. “I wish to have her address.”
Lord Hargreaves shrugged, his lean shoulders lifting with a deliberate nonchalance. “I could not say. I bade her depart the house I keep, and I know not where she went.”
“Then give me the gifts you took from her, along with the money per your arrangement, and I will find her.” Harriet could hear her voice was a little shrill. It would not do to reveal any emotion, but her composure was crumbling within his stifling presence.
“I would not concern myself if I were you.” It was worded as advice, but the menacing threat caused the last of her cool resolve to give way.
“I shall inform Mother if you do not honor your agreements!”
Her father arched an eyebrow before breaking into laughter, appearing genuinely amused at the thought.
“My dear, are you going to travel all the way to Wiltshire to upset your goose of a mother? I think not. From what I hear, she is too foxed these days to keep up her correspondence.”
Curses!
He was right. That had been a ridiculous threat to make. What he had done was appalling, but losing her temper would never work. Not with the Viscount of Hargreaves.
Casting about for the stratagem her Mentor had advised, she tried again.
“Belinda Cooper is a charming woman. She took care of your needs these many years. Surely, you want to do right by her as her former benefactor. She earned those gifts, and you promised her a settlement when the time came to end the arrangement.”
Lord Hargreaves stared at her, unmoved by this appeal to his better nature. Probably because it did not exist.
Harriet sought a different tactic, her mind working to find a more selfish reason for him to keep his commitments. “If word gets around, women will not be willing to enter similar arrangements with you.”
“It is none of your business, Harriet, but rest assured I have already secured far more agreeable company.” He paused, piercing her with those irises of frost as he examined her face in minute detail to deliver the killing blow to her self-esteem, his point as clear as crystal. “Agreeable and … young.”
He was masterful in his attack on her vanity.
Harriet forced her hands still in her lap lest she reach up to check the delicate skin around her eyes and ensure no lines were visible.
She might be a widow, but she was yet a young woman.
Young enough to bear children. Somehow her father’s razor-sharp barbs made her feel like an old hag.
It was his special gift to strip the confidence of any who dared confront him.
Blazes!
Harriet genuinely liked Belinda, having met her on several occasions at private events. The other woman often played cards with the Carlton Set while waiting for the viscount to return from discreet meetings in some quiet drawing room or tucked-away study within those aristocratic homes.
Harriet had truly hoped to remedy the situation after hearing the whispers of her father’s perfidy toward his loyal mistress of so many years, but appealing to his good nature was a laughable endeavor.
Perhaps assisting Belinda would finally assuage the gnawing shame of her past, but this appeal had been a wager against the odds, however much it represented an opportunity for Harriet’s redemption.
Despite the low odds of success, the disappointment still ran deep as she admitted failure.
If she were to effect a rescue of the wronged woman who was the current subject of high society’s whispers, she would need to find another way because the contemptuous viscount was not going to lift a finger in aid.
* * *
Sebastian walked up to the door. Raising the brass knocker, he brought it down with a hard tap before stepping back. He was a large man of six-foot-five, and most were intimidated by his stature, so he usually did his best not to startle them by hulking in the doorway.
After a minute or two, he stepped forward to knock again, with no sign of activity within. As he raised his hand, the door unexpectedly swung open to reveal … well … he was not certain what had just been revealed.
Instead of the customary footman or butler, he found his gaze dropping to find a short, stout woman with a frizzle of gray hair escaping a limp white mob cap.
An apron covered her gray-brown dress, and the dress sleeves were rolled up to reveal the scars of old burns on her strong arms, along with a faint scar curved around one of her eyebrows, which were arched in question.
She tutted, craning her head back to view him with impatient curiosity.
“Blimey, ye’re a big ’un, ain’t ye?”
Sebastian stepped back, realizing he was towering over the … servant? If he were not standing on the steps of a handsome townhouse just off Grosvenor Square, he would have sworn the older woman was a tavern maid.