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His thoughts drifted briefly to the odd collection of servants he had encountered in her home. Could it be that she had lost favor with the ton ? Perhaps her servants had deserted her, eager to avoid being tarnished by the same brush of mysterious scandal that now plagued their mistress.

But no, Sebastian had maintained correspondence with numerous members of the beau monde , and no whispers of scandal had reached him.

Then what has changed?

The question gnawed at him as he collected his thoughts.

“You wish me to … what? Share the holidays with you until Christmas, and then you will tell me where the painting is?”

Harriet’s smile widened once more, and for a moment, Sebastian felt a quiver of relief at seeing her good spirits return.

“Precisely.”

Yet even as the word left her lips, Sebastian sensed something was off.

Beneath the sparkling facade, Harry was hiding something.

He recognized the signs—the same air of pretense she had worn the last time they had met.

That last time together when, she had pretended she would leave for Italy with him.

But after so many years apart, he no longer knew her well enough to discern what she was truly about. So, perhaps the best method of uncovering the truth was to spend time in her company in order to ferret out her secrets.

And retrieve the painting on Lorenzo’s behalf.

Yet another thought tickled the edges of his mind. Perhaps the best way to close the book on their past was to spend these weeks together before bidding her a proper farewell.

What was it Marco had said at the breakfast table? “We cannot give up on the future when it has so much more to offer than the past.”

Perhaps a couple of weeks in her company would be enough. Enough to lay the past to rest. Enough to finally let the memories go.

“All right. What does it entail?”

Sebastian left Harriet’s townhouse with plans arranged for the morning. Despite the bizarre nature of their agreement, he found—much to his surprise—that he felt lighter than he had since first reading Matteo’s letter to his sister so many months ago.

Progress.

Lorenzo would be pleased that progress had been made.

And Sebastian would observe Harriet—see her as she was now.

And he would come to understand that it had been preordained they remain apart.

Even grow relieved, perhaps, that he had never tied the knot with the young Harry who was now the Widow Slight.

When he witnessed her perfidious nature firsthand, not through the letters of friends, but from his own vantage, his heart would mend, and he would be free to build a new future of his own choosing.

Yet as he climbed into the waiting carriage, settling into the squabs, a thought came unbidden: What if she is not the woman they say she is? What if she never was?

When the carriage finally came to a stop in front of the Scotts’ small Town estate, Sebastian was no more settled on the bargain he had struck or Harriet’s true nature.

Despite her naysayers, Sebastian had always seen her potential.

Seen into the heart of her. But perhaps he had been a besotted youth, too blinded by passion to see clearly.

Or perhaps it was as he had told his brother—Harriet had never had the opportunity to prove she could reject her father’s influence to carve her own path.

Shaking his head to clear his conflicting thoughts, he entered the house and made for the library where Lorenzo was certain to be awaiting his arrival.

His friend was at a library table with a stack of history books about the Tudor period. Lorenzo had been combing through them for days in an attempt to understand the British world of three hundred years ago. He looked up, his lean face strained as he greeted Sebastian.

“Did the widow tell you where the painting is?”

A twinge of worry pestered Sebastian as he tried to calculate the best way to answer.

Lorenzo had grown ever more frantic regarding his quest to carve out a name for the unrecognized Matteo as a great Master of the Renaissance, and Sebastian was not sure how he would take the news that there was yet another delay.

“Lady Slight knows who has it, but she will not inform me until I fulfill a request.”

Lorenzo frowned, pushing back a lock of jet-black hair as he slumped back in his seat. “A request?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, feeling deuced uncomfortable as he tried to think how to explain his unusual bargain with Harriet.

“I am to spend time in her company until Christmas.”

Lorenzo’s face fell, unexpectedly sympathetic. The Italian was single-minded in his quest, not often taking the time to notice what troubles others were contending with.

“I am sorry, Sebastian. I know you are reluctant to revisit the past.”

Sebastian nearly burst out laughing. “You assume I agreed.”

Lorenzo straightened in alarm. “Did you not?”

“Of course I agreed.”

His friend exhaled in relief. “Just so. I knew you would not let me down.”

Sebastian crossed the room, taking a seat across the table to wave at the books.

“Did you find anything illuminating?”

“I found your British history is bloody and complicated,” Lorenzo replied in a frustrated tone. “Other than that, tell me about the painting again.”

Sebastian leaned back to think, as if they had not discussed this a thousand times. Lorenzo’s mission to uncover Matteo’s body of work was why they were in England.

“It references an Arthurian legend.”

“And your King Henry believed he was somehow linked to this King Arthur?”

“Yes, but the subject must be symbolic,” Sebastian began.

“Matteo worked in the workshops of Botticelli, so he would have had a rich understanding of metaphor. When Botticelli wished to depict the enlightenment of the Renaissance, he chose to paint Spring—a celebration of rebirth, knowledge, and beauty. At the center stands Venus, the goddess of love and harmony, but he was a religious man who did not believe in Roman gods, so she represented not mere romantic love, but the elevation of the soul through reason and beauty—hallmarks of Renaissance ideals.”

Pausing, Sebastian allowed a smile to curl at the edge of his mouth as he recalled the beauty of the piece.

“It is a scene rich in allegory. Botticelli did not simply paint springtime. He painted the awakening of man’s spirit, the harmonious blending of earthly pleasures with intellectual pursuits.

La Primavera is not only a tribute to nature’s renewal but to the rebirth of thought, art, and philosophy that defined the Renaissance.

Which to my mind means that Matteo’s choice of Arthurian mythology had little to do with his message, if there was any message at all and he was not just pursuing a whimsy. ”

Lorenzo straightened in protest, his face contorting in the stubborn lines he was infamous for.

“There is a message,” he insisted, his voice taut with conviction. “You always dismiss this too easily, Sebastian. But you forget, Matteo worked with da Vinci after Botticelli closed his workshop. And da Vinci was fanatical about secrets.”

Sebastian studied Lorenzo with a faint smile. “Ah, yes. The ever-elusive da Vinci. Genius, certainly, but prone to seeing mysteries where none were intended.”

“You underestimate him. He hid knowledge—scientific, political, personal—because he understood its power. You really think Matteo spent time in da Vinci’s workshop without learning how to bury meaning beneath the obvious?”

“He learned symbolism from Botticelli,” Sebastian replied evenly. “Take La Primavera , a painting steeped in allegory, representing enlightenment and humanist ideals. Matteo would have understood the art of metaphor well enough. But that does not mean that this painting hides some grand secret.”

Lorenzo gave a sharp laugh, without mirth.

“But this is not Florence, Sebastian. It is England. And Matteo painted it after his time with da Vinci—after he came here, of all places, with this British society as his patrons.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting with the familiar intensity that had dragged them both across half of Europe.

“England, under Henry the Eighth. A king obsessed with Arthurian legend. Henry believed he was Arthur reborn—the destined ruler to unite Britain and restore a golden age. The Winchester Round Table, repainted with Henry’s own face at its head.

Everything Henry did dripped with Arthurian symbolism. ”

“Coincidence,” Sebastian said, but his tone lacked its usual certainty.

“Coincidence?” Lorenzo scoffed. “Arthurian legend, secrecy, da Vinci’s influence—do you truly believe Matteo would paint such things without purpose?

He came to England for a reason. And that reason is tied to Henry’s obsession.

This painting references Arthur, which must mean the Regis Aeterni was linked to your monarch.

Perhaps they even instigated or encouraged his obsession so he would ascend to religious leader of England. You know it.”

Sebastian glanced back at the pile of books, his brow furrowed. “And you truly believe Matteo buried a clue?”

“I think he wrote to his sister and mentioned that painting as a signal. This secret society, Regis Aeterni , brought him to England, for whom he painted for decades, yet he left not a single known work of art until you found your painting in the attic of your ducal home. Matteo wrote of the painting and the duke to point the way to his body of work, and when we finally find that body of work, we will claim Matteo’s rightful place in history as one of the greatest artists to ever live! ”

Sebastian admired the tenacious nature of his friend. He did not know what they would find when they finally retrieved the painting, but he hoped that one way or the other, finding it would bring peace to Lorenzo and his family who had pursued this mystery for three centuries.

The painting in question had moved Sebastian, made him feel things that no other art had done until he had reached Florence and beheld the work of Botticelli, da Vinci, Michelangelo, and the other Masters.

If he had not witnessed the splendor of Matteo’s work firsthand, he might dissuade Lorenzo from his crusade with more persistence.

However, having seen the delicate brushstrokes himself, Sebastian knew it could be argued that Matteo was indeed fitting company for the most talented artists to have walked the earth.

He owed it to his friend to help solve the mystery of Matteo’s journey to England and his subsequent disappearance.