Page 27 of The Courtship Trap
“Well,” Harriet said, standing tall. “Let us see what the day brings.”
“With luck,” Evaline replied, “it will not bring any more stays.”
They shared a laugh, stepping out of the dim basement room, ready for the afternoon ahead.
CHAPTER 5
Your vows, like gold, so pure and true,
Inspire my heart with faith anew;
No doubt shall dim the love we share,
For in your words, I place my care.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
Sebastian sat motionless in the dim interior of his borrowed carriage, the leather seat cool beneath him despite the faint warmth of the afternoon sun that filtered through the drawn curtains. His gloved fingers drummed a slow rhythm on his thigh, betraying the tumult within him.
The visit to the British Museum with Harriet had unsettled him far more than he had anticipated. He had expected polite conversation, perhaps some lingering awkwardness after all these years. Instead, he had found himself treading perilousground, where glances held too much meaning and silences whispered of unspoken truths.
He shifted, glancing out the slit of the carriage window toward Harriet’s townhouse. The street was quiet, the distant clatter of hooves and wheels a reminder of life continuing elsewhere. Yet he remained, his carriage parked discreetly down the street, as if he were some lovesick youth loitering in hopes of a glimpse.
Ridiculous.
He ran a hand through his unruly hair and exhaled slowly. He should have left by now. The rational part of him, carefully cultivated over years abroad, urged him to return to the Scotts’ townhouse. To forget the afternoon entirely. But his heart—damn it—his heart was refusing to obey.
The museum visit had started simply enough. Conversation about the exhibits, light recollections of shared memories. Yet with each step, each quiet room, he had felt the old pull, the dangerous familiarity that Harriet still possessed in abundance. The gleam in her eye when she had spoken of the Rosetta Stone, the subtle curve of her smile when discussing ancient secrets—it had all reminded him of the girl he had once loved.
But was that still who she was now?
Sebastian leaned back, recalling the years he had spent hearing whispers of Lady Slight’s exploits. The rumors had been plentiful and pernicious. Tales of lovers taken and discarded, of reckless wagers and scandalous behavior. Harriet had become known for her beauty and her disregard for society’s expectations while upholding just enough respectability to maintain her status in polite society.
Had any of it been true?
This afternoon, he had caught glimpses of the Harriet he remembered—intelligent, curious, with a quick wit that could disarm even the most rigid members of society. Yet the rumorsgnawed at him. They clashed violently with the woman who had gazed at ancient statues with such appreciation. Was she simply playing a role for his benefit?
Sebastian cursed softly under his breath. He hated uncertainty. And Harriet Hargreaves—no, Lady Harriet Slight—was an enigma he could no longer ignore.
The rational course would be to walk away. To leave England as soon as Lorenzo’s business was concluded and return to Florence, where life was simpler, where art was the enigma to be solved rather than the clutter of actual people. Yet here he sat, unable to bring himself to order his coachman onward.
His gaze drifted once more to Harriet’s townhouse. A home of luxury that he could not have provided her with when he had left for Florence. Fortunately, these days, his circumstances were vastly different from that time. The door remained firmly closed as he considered their day together. Was she inside, reflecting on their day as he did now? Or had she already dismissed him from her mind, her attention captured by another?
The thought twisted unpleasantly in his chest.
He had almost convinced himself to depart when movement caught his eye. His posture straightened instantly, every sense sharpened.
An unmarked carriage—a sleek black one without any identifiable crest—rolled to a stop before Harriet’s residence. The door opened smoothly, and his breath caught when Harriet stepped out the front door.
But she had just returned not an hour past. Where could she be going now?
Sebastian leaned forward, narrowing his gaze.
Harriet’s appearance had changed. Gone was the elegant pelisse and bonnet she had worn to the museum. Now, she was dressed in a demure dark blue walking gown with a matchingcloak draped over her slender shoulders. Her distinctive hair was pinned up higher, concealed by a large but unassuming bonnet. She was dressed for a private visit, not a public outing, and Sebastian got the sense she was hiding her identity. That notwithstanding, he would recognize those lush curves even if he were drunk to the point of blindness—as he had been when he first reached Florence and made a laudable attempt to drown his memories of the female now stepping into the discreet vehicle.
He stretched his neck in frustration as he considered the reasons that she would own a carriage that was impossible to identify, and the answers he found made his nerves ferment with jealousy. He felt like a cad for being suspicious, but his instincts stirred. He rapped twice on the roof of his carriage, signaling his coachman.
“Follow that carriage,” he ordered as his own vehicle pulled into a slow roll behind Harriet’s.
