Page 47

The guests filed into the dining room, where a long, elegantly set table gleamed beneath a cascade of candlelight. The silver shone, polished to perfection, and a towering arrangement of evergreen and red berries stretched the length of the center. The footmen, dressed in rich navy livery with gold-trimmed epaulets, moved with silent efficiency as they pulled out chairs and poured wine.

Harriet took her seat beside Sebastian, across from Lily and Brendan. At the far end, the duchess sat serene and elegant, while the duke sat at the opposite head of the table. Richard and his countess were seated in places of honor nearest their host.

Sebastian did not miss the way Harriet’s fingers pressed against the edge of her napkin, nor the slight tension in her shoulders as the first course was served. Oysters on the half shell, their briny scent mingling with the fragrant warmth of freshly baked bread.

“A fine selection,” Richard remarked, breaking a piece of bread and spreading it with butter. “Nothing heralds the Christmas season quite like a proper feast.”

“Indeed,” his countess agreed. “Though I find I am most looking forward to the plum pudding. My cook has been soaking ours in brandy for weeks.”

“The best way,” Sebastian said, taking a sip of his wine. “It would not be Christmas without a proper pudding.”

“And the Yule log,” Lily added, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “Was that not a lark, Brendan? We made a dreadful mess of the kitchen trying to help with the sugared holly leaves.”

Brendan merely nodded, still avoiding Harriet’s gaze.

Sebastian glanced at Harriet, who had barely touched her oysters. Her expression was smooth, but there was something distant in her eyes.

“Have you any particular traditions, Lady Slight?” Richard’s wife prompted gently, clearly trying to draw Harriet into the conversation.

Harriet smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes. “Nothing so grand as a proper Yule log.”

Lily bit her lip, shifting in her chair. “I—I remember your mother hosted lovely Christmas gatherings,” she said quickly, as though the words had escaped before she could stop them. “When we were girls. Sophia … I mean, Lady Saunton … and I loved to dress in velvet for the holidays.”

There was a pause, barely a heartbeat long, but heavy with unspoken history.

Harriet’s fingers stilled on her napkin. “Yes,” she said softly. “She did. But these days my mother does not leave Wiltshire.”

For the first time all evening, Philip’s gaze moved with something unreadable. Sebastian set down his glass, glancing between his brother and Harriet. He did not understand the entirety of what had passed between them in the past, but he knew Harriet had once been welcome at this table, and he had believed she would join this family.

And yet here she sat, poised and lovely, but a stranger nonetheless.

The footmen cleared the first course and replaced it with roasted venison, fragrant with rosemary and juniper. Golden roast potatoes gleamed alongside it, with bowls of buttered parsnips and stewed apples set at intervals down the table.

The conversation continued. Of holiday gatherings, of the earl’s plans to host a Twelfth Night ball, of Brendan and Lily’s plans to spend Christmas in the countryside.

Harriet spoke when addressed but offered nothing more. Her silence was neither cold nor resentful, but it was deliberate.

Sebastian wondered if she, like him, was remembering what it had once been like, when her laughter had filled these halls, when she had belonged.

When she had been all but his.

Dinner continued in a similar vein, with Lily’s nervous chatter providing a distraction from the terse interactions with the duke. Richard and the countess made considerable efforts to keep the conversation alive, and Sebastian noted that Lady Wood frequently spoke up to cover for Harriet, who maintained her quiet composure, but he could see the strain wearing on her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring her to an intimate family dinner, but it was an inevitable step if their courtship were to proceed.

He did wonder why Brendan Ridley, the duchess’s brother, barely spoke the entire meal, but finally, it was over, and Harriet and Lady Wood made a quick escape, offering excuses about an early morning.

The scent of strong coffee drifted through the air as the four men gathered in the duke’s study, the fire casting flickering shadows across the dark-paneled walls. Sebastian cradled his cup, its warmth doing little to ease the tension tightening his shoulders.

Philip, seated behind his mahogany desk, was as composed as ever, his cold scrutiny resting briefly on Sebastian before he took a measured sip of his coffee. “I am surprised you brought her here,” he said at last.

Sebastian set his cup down with deliberate care. “You made it clear you disapproved.” He met his brother’s gaze, steady. “Yet she came. I thought it was rather brave considering she knew she was unwelcome.”

Brendan and Richard exchanged glances. The duke exhaled slowly, setting his own cup aside. “There are good reasons for her to have been wary of attending. You do not know everything.”

Sebastian’s jaw tensed. “I know enough.”

Philip’s expression remained unreadable. “She was⁠—”

From the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw Brendan straighten in alarm, as if eager to cut the duke off. Curious. What was Brendan worried about? Richard was fidgeting with his cravat, a tell that he was nervous about something, before speaking up in a hesitant tone.