"Post, my lady." The footman presented the silver tray with its single letter.
Harriet recognized her mother's handwriting immediately. She opened the letter while keeping one eye on Eleanor, who had discovered a particularly fascinating stick and was attempting to eat it.
My dearest Harriet,the letter began.
I have news that I wanted you to hear from me before the gossip reaches you through other channels. Lord Davies passed away last week. Apoplexy, apparently, he collapsed at his club and was gone within hours.
I know you have no reason to mourn him, and I would not expect you to. But I thought you should know, particularly given the circumstances of his widow and child.
Lady Davies, it seems, is not as well-provided-for as one might expect. Davies's debts were considerable, and the estateis entailed in a way that leaves her with very little. There is talk of her returning to her family, though I understand they are not eager to receive her.
I tell you this not to gloat, though I confess to a certain satisfaction but because it occurs to me that you might wish to take some action. The child, whatever his parentage, is innocent of his father's sins. And Lady Davies, for all her cruelties, is now a widow with few resources.
You have always been more generous than your enemies deserved. I leave the decision to you.
Your loving mother
Harriet read the letter twice, then folded it carefully and tucked it into her pocket.
"News?" Sebastian asked, still hovering over Eleanor, who had abandoned the stick in favor of pulling up grass by the handful.
"Lord Davies is dead."
Sebastian's expression flickered…surprise, then something harder to read. "I see."
"Apoplexy. Very sudden." Harriet watched Eleanor stuff a fistful of grass toward her mouth and intervened just in time. "No, darling, we don't eat the garden."
"Gahden," Eleanor repeated, then tried to eat the grass anyway.
"His widow is apparently destitute," Harriet continued, wrestling the grass from her daughter's grip. "The estate was encumbered with debt. She and the child have very little."
Sebastian was quiet for a moment. "And how do you feel about that?"
"I don't know." Harriet lifted Eleanor onto her hip, ignoring the grass stains now decorating her dress. "I should feel vindicated, I suppose. She was horrible to me. She made those years in London so much worse than they needed to be."
"But?"
"But I keep thinking about the child. He didn't choose his parents. He didn't choose to be born into that mess." Harriet looked at Eleanor, who was now attempting to remove her hairpin. "If something happened to us, I would want someone to help her. To see past whatever mistakes we had made and help our daughter."
Sebastian's expression softened. "You want to help them."
"I think I do. Not Lady Davies…I'm not that generous. But the child. Perhaps a trust, or an educational fund. Something that would give him opportunities regardless of his mother's circumstances."
"That's very noble of you."
"It's very practical. I don't want his suffering on my conscience." Harriet finally succeeded in rescuing her hairpin. "Besides, it would annoy Lady Davies tremendously to be indebted to me. I find that thought rather satisfying."
Sebastian laughed. "There's my wife. I was beginning to think you'd been replaced by a saint."
"Heaven forbid."
"Shall I have the solicitors draw something up?"
"Please. Something anonymous, if possible. I don't want her to know it's from us."
"She'll find a solution in due time.”
"Probably. But let her wonder for a while first." Harriet smiled, a sharp little smile that was pure mischief. "Consider it a final victory."
