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“For a nobleman known for his philanthropic works, you have always been most uncharitable toward Harriet, who cannot be blamed for her father’s failings.”
The duke exhaled sharply, an uncharacteristic display of ill humor for a man renowned for his composure.
“Failings? The man is evil incarnate. He exploits his tenants, discards his mistresses without recompense, not to mention his habitual coercion of those in his household who had no power to refuse him. If I had known what he was about, I would never have allowed his wife and daughter so much access to our home.”
Sebastian rose, unwilling to hear Philip censure Harriet yet again.
Truly, it was as if they had begun this argument only minutes earlier, rather than years earlier, when Sebastian had first approached him for help in courting Harriet.
“It is not like you to condemn an entire family by mere proximity! I could never understand why you held Harriet accountable for Hargreaves.”
“Because I saw the same weakness of character when you did not. The self-absorption. The disregard of servants. The naked ambition.”
“Harriet is no angel, I will grant you, but she was just a young woman under the influence of a foul parent. Her mother is weak, and Harriet had no true opportunity to walk away. She is intelligent and lively, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”
Sebastian wanted to fall to his knees and howl to the heavens, the despair of a man trapped in an infinite argument. Was he Sisyphus, the cunning king who repeatedly deceived the gods? As punishment, Zeus had condemned Sisyphus to push a massive boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down every time he neared the top, forcing him to begin again for all eternity.
What had Sebastian done to deserve such a fate? Caught between the woman he had once loved and the brother he had once looked up to. How could he, at thirty years of age, still be engaging in this same endless quarrel? Yet he was not attempting to court Harriet now, so this was a futile battle to revisit.
Philip scoffed in rejection.
“Not an angel? London has no shortage of tales about her exploits. That apple did not fall far from the tree.”
“And you never gave her the benefit of the doubt, so we will never know what might have happened if she had married me instead of that … that wrinkled old goat, Horace Slight!”
For the second time that day, Sebastian turned on his heel and departed without a farewell.
Smoldering, he stalked out the front door, ignoring the footman on duty, and exhaled in relief when he saw the Scott carriage at the end of the street, moving at a slow, deliberate pace, awaiting his departure, as they had anticipated this would be a short meeting.
He stormed toward it, eager to be free of his past.
What a wretched day this had been.
CHAPTER 3
“Within my heart, a flame doth glow,
Yet words unspoken leave it so;
Through glances soft, I seek to share,
The secret love I humbly bear.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
* * *
December 10, 1821
Harriet held the letter from her Mentor, her emotions a tangle of trepidation and excitement.
Covering her mouth with her fingers, she exhaled in relief.
From her seat near the fireplace, where cheerful flames warmed the painted room, Evaline looked up from her needlework.
“You have received good news?”
Harriet nodded. “Rumors of an altercation with Belinda Cooper at Lord Stewart’s card game. It would appear that her new benefactor is Lord Lowe. He was quite soused and handled her a bit roughly in front of the other men.”
