Page 4

That was a comfort, of a kind. She would not be a pauper, at least. “You will keep me informed?”

“Yes.” His chair scraped as he rose. “Of course, Lady Colbourne. You have my word.”

“Good.” She held his eyes a moment longer than was strictly comfortable for either of them, and then rose herself. “I shall look forward to hearing from you very soon.”

“Allow me to see you to your carriage.” He hurried around the desk to open the door, then stepped back for her. “I thank you for your patience and your understanding. It is very much appreciated.”

Harriet inclined her head, and did not let her confusion, or her frustration, reach her face. “You work with diligence and care, Mr. Braithwaite. There can be nothing wrong in that.”

With a nod, she stepped out into the warm afternoon.

She had taken no more than a step toward the carriage when a small movement at the edge of her sight stopped her.

A man stood near the corner of the street. He was half within the narrow shadow of a shop front, his hands clasped behind his back, his face turned toward the road as though he were only waiting for the day to pass him by. There was nothing remarkable in him. A dark coat, a plain hat. And yet Harriet did not move, for his gaze had come to rest on her — not swept across her, as a stranger’s might, but settled.

It was only for a moment. His eyes touched her face, her figure, the door she had just come through, and then moved off her again. But in that single moment something cold slid down the length of her spine, and she found she had stopped breathing altogether.

The man turned, unhurried, and began to walk away down the street — away from her, away from the carriage and the solicitor’s door — and she stood on the pavement and watched him go, her heart beating higher in her throat than the moment could account for.

I am being foolish.

“Lady Colbourne?”

Her head came round. The driver held the carriage door for her, waiting. She told herself that a great many men and women passed through this quarter of London every hour of the day, and that a single stranger glancing her way meant nothing at all. She lifted her chin, made herself walk to the carriage, and got in.

“Home, if you please.”

The door shut. The carriage moved off, and Harriet made herself unclasp her hands and let her thoughts drift back over the conversation, if only to have somewhere to put them that was not the corner of the street.

Edward had never once spoken to her of any complication in her situation should he die before her. But then, he had not expected to die at all — not thrown from a horse he had ridden a hundred times, on a morning like any other, his neck broken before he reached the ground.

He had rarely troubled her with anything to do with money, and now she wished with all her heart that he had. He had possessed such an orderly mind. He had believed that troubles ought to be solved quietly, out of sight, so that no one else need carry the weight of them — and that had included her.

She could almost hear what he would say now, if he could see her here, driving alone from a solicitor’s office with her thoughts in disarray. He would not have allowed her to trouble herself over any of it. He would have insisted upon carrying it all himself, and brought her a resolution just as soon as he had found one, and she would never have known there had been anything to resolve.

But now I am alone, she thought, and felt the sting of tears upon her lashes, and there is no one who will carry any of it for me. There is only me.

The carriage slowed as it came into a busier street, waiting to turn among the press of traffic. Harriet looked out of the window again, for want of anywhere better to rest her attention.

Her breath caught.

The same man stood upon a corner a little way ahead — she was certain it was the same, the same dark coat, the same set of the shoulders — and as her carriage came abreast of him, his gaze lifted to it. A second man crossed to him, and the two put their heads close together and spoke, the newcomer’s eyes moving all about him as though he feared to be overheard. Harriet sat very still, her stomach lurching, as the carriage carried her on and drew her away from them both.

“Absurd,” she said aloud, and pressed a hand flat to her forehead. A man who happened to stand outside a solicitor’s office and then happened to stand upon a nearby corner was no mystery and no threat. And yet the word did not settle the small, cold weight that had lodged itself beneath her ribs, however firmly she said it. By the time the carriage reached her townhouse she had very nearly persuaded herself she had imagined all of it — or that it had not been the same man after all, only one who resembled him.

Very nearly.

A footman opened the door and handed her down. Harriet stepped out and looked about her at the house, at the tall windows, the pale stone, the familiar door she had passed through so seldom.

She had not spent much time here with Edward, and even this visit was a grudging boon from her brother-in-law, who had made it plain she was not to linger. He meant to come to London himself for the Season, once the estate would let him, and he did not intend to find her in residence when he did. Harriet had no wish to linger either. The moment her endowment was settled, she would go back to her small house and make what life she could there.

“My lady.” The butler bowed, and put out his hands for her hat and gloves. “It is my pleasure to welcome you back to this house.”

Harriet managed a small smile, though the tears threatened again at the simple kindness of it. “I thank you.”

“Might I bring you some refreshment, my lady? The house and the staff are entirely at your disposal.”

“The drawing room, I think. And tea.”