Page 46 of The Courtship Trap
That thought made her hunch her shoulders in abashed despair. Then she felt Evaline’s hand on her shoulder.
“I will be there to support you. You are not alone.”
Tears sprang into her eyes, and Harriet raised a hand to cover that of her friend in relieved gratitude. Thank heavens Evaline was attending as her companion.
Sebastian stoodin the grand foyer of Markham House, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as he listened to the measured tick of the tall case clock against the far wall. The scent of fresh pine lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roasted meats drifting from the dining room beyond.
Despite the festive garlands draped along the banister and the holly-adorned chandeliers, the atmosphere was anything but warm.
The butler, Clinton, had barely concealed his disapproval when he had announced Lady Slight’s arrival, and Sebastian had been quick to come meet her in the entrance hall, unwilling to leave her at the mercy of disapproving stares.
Curiously, she had not yet entered the house, so he awaited her with some concern. He did not, however, expect her hesitation as she finally stepped inside, nor the way she briefly squeezed his offered arm before schooling her features into polite serenity.
Harriet was not a woman who hesitated.
The murmur of voices in the drawing room hushed at their entrance, resuming only in stilted bursts as the assembled guests took in the sight of her.
His cousin, Richard, and his wife, Sophia, were the first to recover. The earl inclined his head with his customary easy charm, while the countess stepped forward with a warm, if slightly cautious, smile.
It was still startling to witness the earl settled in marriage. His cousin had been a charming but notorious rake, chasing skirts across the length and breadth of England, and Sebastian was unaccustomed to Richard taking the time to attend family dinners. He had always expected the earl would wed some mouse of a girl and leave her to rusticate in the country while he continued his hedonistic pursuits, much like Bertram Hargreaves had eventually done with Harriet’s mother.
“Lady Slight,” Sophia said. “How lovely to see you.”
Harriet matched her smile, though Sebastian could feel the faint tension in her arm beneath his touch. “Lady Saunton, the pleasure is mine.”
Across the room, Brendan Ridley toyed with the stem of his wineglass, barely looking at Harriet. His wife, Lily, however, was not nearly so composed.
“Oh, what a surprise!” Lily’s voice was too bright, too forced, as she adjusted the lace of her sleeve with nervous fingers. “How unexpected to see you here, Lady Slight.”
“It is not unexpected,” the duke said flatly. “Lord Sebastian was invited.”
The words were cool, aloof. His brother had not moved from his place near the hearth, his stormy gaze assessing Harriet with quiet scrutiny. Beside him, the duchess—resplendent in deep burgundy—rested a gloved hand over the curve of her very rounded belly, and she smiled politely.
Sebastian’s jaw tensed. He had known Philip would be displeased, but there was a severity to his brother’s somber regard that set him on edge. Harriet, however, remained composed. If the duke’s coldness bothered her, she did not show it.
“The weather has turned bitter,” the earl said into the silence, as though determined to stir warmth back into theroom. Sebastian appreciated Richard’s efforts. “Did you have a comfortable drive?”
“Yes,” Harriet said simply, offering no further elaboration.
The countess smiled tightly before shifting to Lady Wood, who had entered just behind them. “And you, Lady Wood?”
Lady Wood, ever unflappable, inclined her head. “Quite comfortable, thank you. Markham House is as lovely as I remember.”
Philip said nothing but smiled tightly at the widow.
“Shall we go in to dinner?” the duchess suggested after a beat, her voice soft.
The butler appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. “Your Grace, dinner is served.”
The guests filed into the dining room, where a long, elegantly set table gleamed beneath a cascade of candlelight. The silver shone, polished to perfection, and a towering arrangement of evergreen and red berries stretched the length of the center. The footmen, dressed in rich navy livery with gold-trimmed epaulets, moved with silent efficiency as they pulled out chairs and poured wine.
Harriet took her seat beside Sebastian, across from Lily and Brendan. At the far end, the duchess presided, serene and elegant, while the duke sat at the opposite head of the table. Richard and his countess were seated in places of honor nearest their host.
Sebastian did not miss the way Harriet’s fingers curled against the edge of her napkin, nor the slight tension in her shoulders as the first course was served—oysters on the half shell, their briny scent mingling with the fragrant warmth of fresh-baked bread.
“A fine selection,” Richard remarked, breaking a piece of bread and spreading it with butter. “Nothing heralds the Christmas season quite like a proper feast.”
“Indeed,” his countess agreed. “Though I find I am most looking forward to the plum pudding. My cook has been soaking ours in brandy for weeks.”
