Page 29 of The Courtship Trap
Harriet gave a subtle nod of appreciation before turning back toward the staircase that led to the rooms above the shop. With Jonas Fletcher 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 creaked 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 accentuated 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 someone—Lord Lowe, no doubt—had struckher. 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. That Lowe had lost his temper and manhandled her in the presence of others.
“You should not be here, Lady Slight,” Belinda said, her tone anxious. “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 studied 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 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 an 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 curled 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 such a bastard!”
There was no response. When she turned back, she found Belinda dabbing at her damp lashes with a lace handkerchief, and her heart broke all over again.
“Not to me. Not until … now.”
“You cared for him?”
Belinda’s face contorted 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 seduced by a viscount. So foolish as to believe it was love until I grew too old for his tastes.”
Harriet stared at her back—how on earth had Belinda done up the buttons on the back of the bodice alone?—and 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 shocked.
“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 seduced so many years ago, perhaps it made him aware of his mortality. Perhaps that is why he felt the need for … a younger paramour. So he could pretend he was younger, too.”
Belinda tilted her head, musing this notion with a flutter of eyelashes.
