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Evaline gave a small shrug, as though it were nothing more than an amusing anecdote rather than the defining moment that had left her dependent on the charity of others. “It was a relief, in some ways. I was finally free of him. He was not a pleasant man, nor was his family with whom I had to stay after his death.”

Sebastian looked between them both before murmuring, “So you came to live with Harriet.”

Evaline inclined her head. “A few months ago, she was kind enough to offer me refuge, and I was wise enough to accept.”

Harriet smiled at her friend, some of the guilt that had been gnawing at her chest easing. At least she had done some good things to make up for her ugly past. At least she had provided Evaline with a safe haven when she needed it most. Sebastian’s gaze moved to Harriet, as if weighing her.

“And you? Did you find it easy to take in a houseguest?”

She met his eyes, summoning a semblance of lightness.

“Would you believe it was rather an easy transition? Evaline has excellent taste and took charge of my household in a way that I never had patience for.”

Sebastian gave a low sound of acknowledgment, clearly unconvinced, but before he could say more, the carriage rolled to a stop. Harriet exhaled, grateful. The coachman opened the door, and Sebastian descended first, offering his hand to help Evaline and Harriet down. The moment her feet touched the ground, she squared her shoulders.

Home. Safe ground.

She stepped forward, only for the door to swing open before she reached it. Mrs. Finch stood at the threshold, her usual look of stern competence fixed firmly in place.

“Tea, if you please, Finch,” Harriet said as she removed her gloves. “I could use something warm after all that shopping.”

Finch did not move. “Ye’ve got a visitor, m’lady.”

Harriet’s fingers froze. Something about the way Finch said it, the clipped tone and lack of elaboration, sent a chill of unease down her spine. She swallowed. “Who?”

Finch did not answer. She merely stepped aside with a grim expression that told Harriet all she needed to know. Harriet turned to Sebastian and Evaline. “Well, come in, then. No use lingering in the cold.”

She swept past Finch into the painted room, her heart quickening, and the moment she entered, she saw him.

Bertram Hargreaves stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his stiff posture broadcasting his cold displeasure.

Harriet stopped just inside the doorway. How? How had he found out so soon?

She barely held her expression composed as Sebastian and Evaline entered behind her. Sebastian’s presence gave her strength. She lifted her chin, ignored her father entirely, and turned to her guests.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing toward the elegant chairs near the lit fireplace.

Sebastian hesitated only a fraction of a second before moving to take his place, his gray gaze moving between Harriet and her father as he lowered himself into the chair opposite her. Evaline, less affected by the tension, followed suit.

Harriet turned to Finch. “You may bring the tea now.”

Finch hesitated, as if she, too, expected some sort of explosion to occur at any moment, but when Harriet arched a brow in silent command, the housekeeper gave a short nod and disappeared down the hall. Harriet finally turned to her father.

“You need not loom like a shadow, Father,” she said smoothly. “Do take a seat.”

Bertram did not move. He merely turned his head, his sharp gaze cutting through her.

“I am comfortable where I am,” he said, his voice deceptively mild.

Harriet tilted her head, meeting his stare without yielding. “Suit yourself.”

She crossed the room and lowered herself onto the settee, arranging her skirts with deliberate elegance. Sebastian’s gaze never left her. Her father had come here in anger. That much was clear. But Harriet had learned long ago that anger was a tool, one that men wielded to make others flinch.

She would not flinch.

And besides, she had Sebastian sitting just across from her, watching everything, assessing everything. The girl she had been, the one who had once believed Sebastian could be her escape, wanted to turn to him and say, See? See what I endured? See what I was raised beneath?

But she said nothing. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap, arranged a pleasant smile upon her face, and waited. Her father wanted something. She would find out what it was soon enough.