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These past few months had been a reawakening of her intellect, which had been dormant for too long. It was easy to be glib. Practically a necessity to quiet a noisy conscience. Imbibing wine and attending endless social events had dulled her dark thoughts until she had become a gleeful lackwit.
Spending the afternoon with Sebastian after these trying months of sobriety and moderation had reminded her of the girl she had been, the one who had been excited by art and culture, wishing to see the world with him at her side. Who had been excited by the possibilities.
Of course, she still had the troublesome problem that she had lied to him about the painting upstairs.
Eventually, I will tell him the truth.
Despite the reassurance, she still felt guilty about deceiving him. But now that she planned to call on Belinda, she needed not to attract any undue attention, which meant suffering the trials of changing her attire. She and Evaline did not even try to change into evening wear for dinner when it was just the two of them. With their limited skills, it would take all day to make that many wardrobe changes.
“Lift your skirts,” Evaline said.
“I cannot believe I am reduced to this.” Harriet complied with a theatrical sigh. “Just months ago, there were three maids for such tasks.”
“Yes, well, months ago you also had footmen. We have Finch, Jem, the belowstairs staff, and some questionable tea.”
“Hardly adequate for two respectable widows of the ton! I must summon Mr. Benton. If I must dress myself again, I shall expire.”
Evaline smiled, smoothing Harriet’s skirts.
“You are still standing. A triumph, truly.”
Harriet laughed at the ridiculous situation, but as she pulled on her slippers and gloves, her smile dimmed.
“Belinda Cooper waits for me,” she said quietly. “I owe her something. I do not yet know what, but I shall make it right.”
Evaline stepped forward, resting a hand on Harriet’s arm.
“You will do it. You always do. Beneath the theatrics, you are far more capable than you admit.”
“That may be the kindest lie ever told.”
“Not a lie,” Evaline replied. “Not from me.”
A final glance in the cracked mirror showed Harriet transformed, no longer a widow being courted by a handsome gentleman to the museum, but a woman with purpose, dressed in muted tones for a discreet mission.
“Well,” Harriet said, standing tall. “Let us see what the night brings.”
“With luck,” Evaline replied, “it will not bring any more stays.”
They shared a laugh, stepping out of the dim basement room, ready for the afternoon ahead.
CHAPTER 5
Your vows, like gold, so pure and true,
Inspire my heart with faith anew;
No doubt shall dim the love we share,
For in your words, I place my care.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
* * *
Sebastian sat motionless in the dim interior of his borrowed carriage, the leather seat cool beneath him despite the faint warmth of afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. His gloved fingers drummed a slow rhythm on his thigh, betraying the tumult within him.
The visit to the British Museum with Harriet had unsettled him far more than he had anticipated. He had expected polite conversation, perhaps some lingering awkwardness after all these years. Instead, he had found himself treading treacherous ground, where glances held too much meaning and silences whispered of unspoken truths.
