Chapter 5 #2
Glancing back at her coachman, one of the few men still on her staff, she was relieved to see he had stepped down and taken up the position of a sentry, his stout figure stationed beside the carriage with an air of quiet authority.
Jonas Fletcher had been with Harriet’s household for several years, long enough to have seen her at both the pinnacle of her social triumphs and through her most recent trials.
A man of perhaps five and forty, he bore the rugged features of someone who had spent his life exposed to the elements.
His weathered skin hinted at years on the box, driving through misty countryside mornings and crowded London streets.
His dark hair, streaked with silver at the temples, was tied neatly at the nape of his neck in the fashion of an earlier era, a quiet rebellion against more modern styles.
A faint scar curved along his left cheekbone, though he never spoke of how he came by it.
His blue eyes were sharp, ever watchful, and Harriet took comfort in the steady gaze that missed nothing.
Jonas wore his livery with unassuming confidence. The deep navy coat, though a few years old, was immaculately kept, brass buttons gleaming in the fading light. The faint scent of leather and horses clung to him, along with a quiet competence that set him apart.
Like many coachmen of his age, Jonas had grown stout from his sedentary position, but he had yet an air of discipline.
He carried himself with the posture of a soldier, which some whispered he might have once been.
Harriet had never pressed him on the matter.
His loyalty had been proven when most of her household had scattered, and that was all that mattered.
For all his quiet reserve, Jonas had a way of putting the grooms in their place with a single look, and the horses responded to his steady hands like obedient children.
He rarely spoke unless spoken to, but when he did, his voice was low and steady, with the faintest trace of a rural accent, Devonshire, perhaps.
Now, as he stood watch, arms folded behind his back, his eyes swept the street with a narrowed focus. No gambler, hawker, or street urchin would dare approach the carriage under his watchful gaze. Fletcher might not speak much, but his presence said everything.
I am here. I am watching. And I will protect what is mine.
And knowing Fletcher kept a pistol in the box beneath the seat certainly relieved her concerns. St. James’s Market could be a dangerous place, and despite the early hour, darkness had fallen to usher in a chilly evening.
Harriet gave a subtle nod of appreciation before turning back toward the staircase that led to the rooms above the shop.
With Jonas standing guard below, she could face whatever waited for her within.
She took a steadying breath and climbed the narrow steps.
The faded door at the top rattled as she rapped sharply.
For a moment, there was only silence. Harriet raised her hand again, but the door opened abruptly.
Belinda Cooper stood framed in the doorway, dressed immaculately in a deep plum gown that suited her average height and slender frame.
Her hazel eyes, sharp and intelligent, widened slightly at the sight of Harriet, though she masked her surprise with admirable speed.
Her dark brown hair was styled flawlessly, and despite her surroundings, she looked as elegant as ever.
But Harriet noticed it immediately. The redness on Belinda’s right cheek. As if Lord Lowe had struck her. What a despicable toad he was, frequently soused and always inappropriate.
“Miss Cooper,” Harriet said softly, stepping forward. “May I come in?”
Belinda hesitated, her shoulders stiffening. “Of course, my lady.”
The room was small but tidy, with two armchairs positioned around a threadbare rug covering the floor, and the scent of lavender soap lingered in the air.
Belinda had arranged the limited furnishings with care, though Harriet’s gaze kept returning to the flush of red on her cheek, recalling the rumor that had helped her find Belinda.
Lowe had lost his temper and manhandled her in the presence of others.
“You should not be here, Lady Slight,” Belinda said, her tone uneasy. “This is hardly a neighborhood for someone of your standing.”
“And yet here I am,” Harriet replied, removing her gloves. “Because you should not be here either.”
Belinda’s lips tightened. “Not all of us have a choice.”
Harriet’s gaze sharpened. “Lowe? He did that?” She gestured subtly to Belinda’s cheek.
Belinda turned away. “It is nothing.”
“Nothing?” Harriet’s voice rose. “A man lays his hands on you and you call it nothing? You, of all people, Miss Cooper. You are too proud to suffer fools like Lowe.”
The other woman turned back, her expression hard. “Pride? Pride will not keep me fed, my lady. Or would you prefer I take a position in a bawdy house? Because that was the other option.”
Harriet flinched. “No. Of course not.”
The tension between them crackled. Harriet regarded Belinda carefully. The woman’s appearance remained flawless, despite her circumstances. Her hair gleamed, her gown was pressed, and her posture impeccable.
“You look as though you have not suffered a day in your life,” Harriet murmured. “Who is doing this for you? Did Lowe hire you a lady’s maid?”
Belinda laughed bitterly. “Lowe? Ha! The man is too cheap to provide more than a maid and old woman who comes in to cook. He only does that to keep my hands soft. I do for myself. Lowe has no interest in keeping me comfortable. Only convenient.”
Harriet’s fingers tightened around her gloves. “Belinda, you cannot live like this.”
Belinda’s expression softened, and for the first time, Harriet saw the exhaustion there. “Do you think I don’t know that? But what choice do I have? I am nearly forty years of age, my lady. Forty! My beauty fading, my reputation tarnished.”
Seething, Harriet clenched her fists and turned away. “My father is a vile man!”
There was no response. When she turned back, she found Belinda dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, and her heart broke all over again.
“Not to me. Not until … now.”
“You cared for him?”
Belinda’s face crumpled with grief, and she quickly turned away in a bid to salvage her dignity.
“Aren’t I ridiculous? The oldest story in the book.
A respectable woman in service ensnared by the false attentions of a viscount.
So stupid as to believe it was love until I grew too old for his tastes. ”
Harriet stared at her back.
How on earth did Belinda fasten the buttons on the back of her bodice?
She tried to think what to say. What would help. It was still a novel experience trying to find the words to lift the spirits of another person, not being a skill she had developed.
“Perhaps it was.”
The other woman turned back in surprise, her face carefully dabbed but astonished.
“Perhaps … he did once care. The thing is, some men do not take aging well. It is possible that as he saw you age, the young woman he had drawn to his side so many years ago, perhaps it made him aware of his mortality. Perhaps that was why he felt the need for … a younger paramour. So he could pretend he was younger, too.”
Belinda tilted her head, considering this notion with a flutter of eyelashes.
“That does sound like Bertram,” she eventually remarked.
Harriet nodded. “My father does not have well-matured morals. He is rather single-minded about maintaining his vanities. A more desirable paramour reflects better on him.”
“It is just that … taking back the gifts and refusing to pay the settlement …” Belinda lifted a trembling hand to fidget with her hair. “Never mind that. Can I offer you some tea?”
“I shall not stay that long.” Harriet tried to think what to do next. She had assured Evaline that when she met with Belinda, she would know what to say, but she found her mind a blank at this crucial time. “How is it? Here?”
Belinda sighed sadly. “Boring. I used to maintain a household for your father. He visited often, and we went frequently to social events together. Lowe mostly drinks and gambles, while I spend most of my time in these two rooms. Venturing out into the neighborhood is … daunting. I find myself regretting the choices that led me here.”
Harriet thought about how reassuring it had been to have Jonas waiting for her downstairs and nodded in understanding.
“You mentioned you were in service when Father," Harriet hesitated, trying to find a kinder word, "met you. What did you do?”
Belinda smiled. “I was a lady’s maid for two young ladies making their debut. I sometimes accompanied them as a second chaperone.”
“So that is how you met my father.” Then she experienced a flash of inspiration. Harriet was still awestruck at how perfectly the woman had dressed herself. Even with Evaline’s help, she dreaded dressing in the mornings or changing her clothes. It was … serendipitous!
“You should take a position as a lady’s maid. Your skills are exemplary.”
Belinda’s eyebrows flew up to meet her hairline in utter amazement at Harriet’s bold declaration. “That is a lovely idea. It would certainly solve my current predicament. The only thing is, who would hire me?”
Harriet lifted her chin, casting her fears aside to reach a decision. It would certainly send a message to her father. She was rejecting his corruption. She was standing on her own two feet. His reign of influence was over. “I would.”
Belinda blinked. “You?”
“Yes. You could be my lady’s maid.”