Page 26 of The Courtship Trap
“It is stuck again!” Harriet’s voice emerged muffled from under the fabric. “I swear this dress despises me.”
“Lower your arms a little. No—slowly!”
With a final, ungraceful tug, the gown settled into place.
“I feel like a trussed goose.”
“A very fashionable goose,” Evaline said, adjusting the sleeves. “Now for the fastenings.”
Harriet balanced herself on the bench as Evaline worked the back closures.
“Honestly, Evaline. Why must gowns fasten in the back? It is as though fashion is deliberately cruel.”
“It is to ensure you need a maid,” Evaline replied. “Keeps the classes in order.”
“Ha! The classes. I would trade my title for one competent lady’s maid right now.”
“You say that, but you would not part with your jewelry collection.”
“You wound me, madam.”
Harriet had wanted to look her best for Sebastian, wanting him to think well of her. And, if she were honest, wanting to draw his admiring glances while she had the chance. No one had ever made her feel as important as he had done.
These past few months had been a reengagement of her intellect, which had been dormant for too long. It was easy to be glib. Practically a necessity to quiet a noisy conscience. Imbibing in wine and attending endless social events had dulled her dark thoughts until she had become a gleeful lackwit.
Spending the afternoon with Sebastian after these trying months of sobriety and moderation had reminded her of the girl she had been, the one who had been excited by art and culture, wishing to see the world with him at her side. Who had been buoyed by the possibilities.
Of course, she still had the pesky problem that she had lied to him about the painting upstairs.
Eventually, I will tell him the truth.
Despite the reassurance, she still felt guilty about deceiving him. But now that she planned to call on Belinda, she needed to avoid attracting any undue attention, which meant suffering the trials of changing her attire. She and Evaline did not even try to change into evening wear for dinner when it was just the two of them. With their inept skills, it would take all day to make that many wardrobe changes.
“Lift your skirts,” Evaline said.
“I cannot believe I am reduced to this.” Harriet complied with a theatrical sigh. “Just months ago, there were three maids for such tasks.”
“Yes, well, months ago you also had footmen. We have Finch, Jem, the belowstairs staff, and some questionable tea.”
“Hardly adequate for two respectable widows of theton! I must summon Mr. Benton. If I must dress myself again, I shall expire.”
Evaline smiled, smoothing Harriet’s skirts.
“You are still standing. A triumph, truly.”
Harriet laughed at the ridiculous situation, but as she pulled on her slippers and gloves, her smile faded.
“Belinda Cooper may not be aware, but she awaits me,” she said quietly. “I owe her something. I do not yet know what, but I shall make it right.”
Evaline stepped forward, resting a hand on Harriet’s arm.
“You will do it. You always do. Beneath the theatrics, you are far more capable than you admit.”
“That may be the kindest lie ever told.”
“Not a lie,” Evaline replied. “Not from me.”
A final glance in the cracked mirror showed Harriet transformed—no longer a widow being courted by a handsome gentleman to the museum, but a woman with purpose, dressed in muted tones for a quiet mission.
