Page 9 of The Courtship Trap
No chance, but destiny, had brought you near,
To be my own, my dearest, ever dear
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
DECEMBER 9, 1821
Harriet had not slept a wink.
Evaline’s news that Sebastian Markham had returned to England had sent her reeling, memories flying in every direction as she realized she would be forced to confront her first major misstep. She was not ready to face him.
If only she had more time—time to make amends for the many mistakes she had made since that fateful St. Valentine’sDay—then perhaps she might find it easier to confront him. But she had only just begun her crusade to set things right.
Had she already succeeded in finding and assisting Belinda Cooper with her predicament, Harriet might have summoned the extra courage required for this unexpected meeting. The older woman needed her, and Harriet felt the situation was personal. A chance to stand up to her father after too many years of cowardice.
“He gave no indication of what he wanted?”
It was the eleventh time she had asked since coming downstairs to break her fast, yet Evaline, to her credit, showed not a whit of impatience. Then again, she had long mastered the art of forbearance in the presence of irascible companions. Her late husband had been a brute of a man, from what Harriet had heard.
“Merely that he had a question to pose to you,” Evaline responded, setting down her fork to converse properly. “Something about your youth.”
Harriet shook her head in agitation.
The only question about their youth that came to mind was the one she dared not think about. The one that had haunted her for years. Her faithless behavior as a young lady had shadowed her every step since. But surely, he was not coming to ask her … that.
Pushing her eggs around her plate with the tines of her fork, she finally abandoned the pretense of eating.
“I will be having tea in the painted room,” she declared, pushing her chair back.
Jem appeared at her elbow, her big, expressive eyes peering out from beneath a mop of thick hair. The sight softened Harriet’s pounding heart, for the girl looked up at her with such profound admiration to which Harriet was still growing accustomed.
“Oi’ll get the tea, m’lady.”
Harriet smiled to show her appreciation. The young foundling had turned out to be a hard worker, and Mrs. Finch was well pleased with her addition to their rather unusual household of characters.
“Thank you, Jem.”
Soon, Harriet was seated in the painted room, breathing deeply and sipping her tea as she did her best not to anticipate Sebastian’s arrival.
Should she ask Evaline to join them?
No. That would only make their discussion all the more stilted.
While she waited, Harriet discovered—to her dismay—that her mind had begun to play tricks on her.
Optimistic thoughts toyed with her composure. Perhaps Sebastian did wish to resurrect the past. Perhaps, now that she was a widow, he intended to pursue what they had once shared.
She shook her head and leapt to her feet, pacing the room. But the space was small, and after only a few strides, she was forced to stop. Turning to the window, she gazed out toward the street.
Perhaps she should leave for the day, avoid this meeting altogether.
But her treacherous heart yearned to glimpse the man who had once loved her so thoroughly.
And then, her thoughts turned to their last day together.
“Come with me, Harriet! Leave with me in the morning, and we will wed in Calais. I have an allowance to maintain us, and we shall take my Grand Tour together.”
She had been carried away, speaking of plans as if she truly intended to meet him.
