Page 31 of The Courtship Trap
Harriet gave a little shrug of nonchalance. “A touch dramatic? Perhaps. But French names are all the rage, and high society is far more forgiving when scandal hides behind a fashionable accent. Besides, it suits you.”
Belinda gazed around the small room. The faint redness on her cheek, though partially concealed with careful powder,remained a silent testament to Lord Lowe’s temper. She drew her shoulders back with practiced poise, though Harriet noted how tightly her fingers clasped together.
“And what of Bertram?” Belinda asked at last, voice even, but Harriet could detect the worried undertone.
Harriet smiled—cool, confident. “Knowing his only daughter has hired his former mistress will keep him silent. It would be far too embarrassing for him to point it out. No, it is likely he will stifle any whispers, lest his own credibility suffer. He would not want his peers to think he cannot control his own kin.” Harriet stepped forward, lowering her voice. “Belinda, take this chance. Let us both turn the page.”
Silence stretched between them. The sounds of the street below—vendors calling out wares, the distant clatter of carriage wheels—filtered through the windows that faced a busy street. At Harriet’s home, Belinda would have her own room in a prestigious house. Peace. Quiet. Prospects. Perhaps even squeeze her settlement from Bertram’s icy fingers.
Harriet resisted the urge to press her case further, knowing the nature of human desires well enough to let her sit with the offer. Finally, Belinda’s lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile, and Harriet perceived the woman relax as if she had put down a great burden.
“Very well, Lady Slight. Let us see if society will believe in Miss Bélise Coupier.”
Harriet exhaled, the tightness in her chest easing. For the first time in a long while, she felt as though she had done something right. This was another secret, yes, but one that might lead to redemption rather than regret.
She smiled, genuine this time. “Excellent. How long will it take to pack your trunks?”
Belinda gave a short, dry laugh.
“Trunks? You flatter me. What little your father allowed me to keep fits in two modest valises. It is mostly just my clothes.”
Harriet paused. She had wondered at how perfectly put together Belinda appeared despite her circumstances—her hair styled elegantly, her gown simple but perfectly fitted. It appeared she had found an eminently competent addition to their eclectic household. Now all Harriet needed was a couple of footmen so she could take a proper bath.
And, perhaps if she kept this do-gooding up, she herself would one day be worthy of love. And find a gentleman like Sebastian to give it to her. While she was still young enough to consider having children.
Her own hopes for the future notwithstanding, it certainly eased her mind in the present to know Belinda would be taken care of.
CHAPTER 6
With gentle words and glances sweet,
Our lips in tender union meet;
A kiss bestowed with love’s pure art,
A silent vow from heart to heart.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
DECEMBER 12, 1821
Harriet sat at the breakfast table, stirring her tea with slow, thoughtful movements. The house felt different this morning—subtly, but undeniably so. Belinda was in residence. As a result, some of Harriet’s conscience had eased as she had hoped it would.
The older woman had returned with her the night before, slipping into the townhouse under the cover of darkness. Nogrand announcements, no fuss, just a woman reclaiming a measure of dignity after weeks of precarious survival.
Harriet had instructed Mrs. Finch to prepare a small room for her on the upper floor. Finch, ever the model of discretion, had made no remark about the late-hour arrival, though her sharp eyes had taken in Belinda’s elegant appearance with a wary glance.
Now, in the light of morning, Harriet could not help but feel a quiet sense of satisfaction. She had done good—twice over, in fact.
Because the letter had already been sent.
A simple request to a veterans’ charity, inquiring about honorable men seeking respectable work. The idea had come to her the moment she had looked at Fletcher, standing sentry outside Belinda’s lodgings, ever watchful and steady. She needed footmen—strong men, but moderate ones. And who better than those who had served their country?
She had felt strangely light after writing the letter, as if she had taken one step further away from the selfish girl she had once been. Fletcher was to help her interview the prospects, being experienced at hiring men for the stables. A reliable man of vast experience, he would know how to read the character of those who applied.
“You look quite pleased with yourself,” Evaline remarked from across the table, cutting into a warm roll with practiced precision.
“I am.” Harriet sipped her tea, then set the cup down with a decisive nod. “Two problems solved in one day. A rather productive stretch, if I do say so myself.”
