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She smiled, genuine this time. “Excellent. How long will it take to pack your trunks?”

Belinda gave a short, dry laugh.

“Trunks? You flatter me. What little your father allowed me to keep fits in two modest valises. It is mostly just my clothes.”

Harriet paused. She had wondered at how perfectly composed Belinda appeared despite her circumstances, her hair styled elegantly, her gown simple but perfectly fitted. It appeared she had found an eminently competent addition to their eclectic household. Now all Harriet needed was a couple of footmen so she could take a proper bath.

And perhaps, if she kept this do-gooding up, she herself would one day be worthy of love. And find a gentleman like Sebastian to give it to her. While she was still young enough to consider having children.

Her own hopes for the future notwithstanding, it certainly eased her mind in the present to know Belinda would be taken care of.

CHAPTER 6

With gentle words and glances sweet,

Our lips in tender union meet;

A kiss bestowed with love's pure art,

A silent vow from heart to heart.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

* * *

December 12, 1821

Harriet sat at the breakfast table, stirring her tea with slow, measured movements. The house felt subtly different this morning. Belinda was in residence, and some of Harriet’s conscience had eased, just as she had hoped.

The older woman had returned with her the night before, slipping into the townhouse under the cover of darkness. No grand announcements, no fuss, just a woman reclaiming a measure of dignity after weeks of precarious survival.

Harriet had instructed Mrs. Finch to prepare a small room for her on the upper floor. Finch, ever the model of discretion, had made no comment on the late-hour arrival, though her sharp eyes had taken in Belinda’s elegant appearance with a guarded glance.

Now, in the light of morning, Harriet could not help but feel a quiet sense of satisfaction. She had done something good. Twice over, in fact.

Because the letter had already been sent.

A simple request to a veterans’ charity, inquiring about honorable men seeking respectable work. The idea had come to her the moment she looked at Fletcher, standing sentry outside Belinda’s lodgings, ever watchful and steady. She needed footmen, strong men, but gentle ones. And who better than those who had served their country?

She had felt oddly light after writing the letter, as if she had taken one step further away from the selfish girl she had once been. Fletcher was to help her interview the candidates, being experienced at hiring men for the stables. He should be able to discern the character of their applicants.

“You look quite pleased with yourself,” Evaline remarked from across the table, cutting into a warm roll.

“I am.” Harriet sipped her tea, then set the cup down with a decisive nod. “Two problems solved in one day. A rather productive effort, if I do say so myself.”

Evaline dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I assume one of those problems was Miss Cooper?”

“Miss Bélise Coupier now. We have a French lady’s maid to do for us,” Harriet corrected with a playful smirk.

Evaline blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh. “You are serious?”

Harriet spread her hands. “It is the done thing, is it not? If one must assume a new position in society, one must have a suitably mysterious name.”

Evaline shook her head in fond disbelief. “I can only imagine what she thought of that particular notion.”

“She found it ridiculous,” Harriet admitted, “but I think she rather likes it.”

“Then I suppose that is one matter handled. And the other?”