Page 11

Two brilliant sapphires are your eyes,

Reflecting light from azure skies;

No gem on earth can e’er outshine

The radiant glow that in them lies.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

DECEMBER 11, 1821

T he cold air bit at Sebastian’s face as he stepped down, the sleek black carriage bearing the Scott family’s crest gleaming in the pale winter sun as he came to a stop in front of Harriet’s door.

Her townhouse stood dignified and immaculate, though he wondered if its facade masked deeper unrest. Her cryptic remarks about changes she had wrought remained unexplained, but he did not know how to ask her about them.

He adjusted his gloves, pausing to steel his expression, uncertain what the day would bring.

A couple of weeks in her company.

Then the painting.

Then closure.

The door swung open before he could knock. Mrs. Finch, the housekeeper, barely spared him a glance.

“Lord Sebastian.”

“Mrs. Finch.” He inclined his head.

The painted room remained as he remembered—elegant, curated, designed to highlight Harriet’s beauty.

His fingers brushed the back of a gilt chair that made him think of a similar one at Avonmead she had liked to pose on—laughing, confident, always the center of attention.

Yet when she entered the room at last, Sebastian’s breath caught.

Harriet entered with regal poise, draped in a deep blue pelisse trimmed with white fur, a matching bonnet framing her silky auburn hair.

Her gloved hand rested lightly on the doorframe as she beamed with restrained joy.

Harriet was a woman in her prime, possessing the confidence of a viscountess who had ascended the ranks of the noble classes to carve out her niche as a well-admired beauty, and Sebastian had never seen her more ravishing than this.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

“You look well.”

The words escaped before he could stop them, and his cheeks spread in a grin wider than was proper, but he was not of the stilted upper classes any longer.

He was struck by how fetching she was in the colors that accentuated her curvaceous form.

Even in her youth, she had an impressive bosom that had caused many a sweat-soaked dream for Sebastian in his youth.

But Sebastian fixed on her face, quelling any urge to caress her with his passionate gaze.

The throbbing wounds of the past receded in the presence of such feminine perfection to leave him wondering …

if he had not been a spare all those years ago—but a man in his own right as he was now, a man who had made his own fortune—how different would their circumstances be?

Would she have had the courage to walk away from society’s expectations? From her father’s expectations?

“Do I?” Her brow arched. Playful, but cautious.

Before the tension could thicken further, Lady Evaline Wood appeared, swathed in dove-gray wool. “I believe we are ready?”

Sebastian escorted them to the vehicle, handing Harriet into the carriage with practiced ease, with Lady Wood following close behind.

Taking his place across from Harriet, he found his gaze resting on her as she peered out the window at the world passing by.

As the wheels rolled toward the museum, he could not help but wonder—was this truly just a courtship of convenience, or had fate offered them a final chance at something far more dangerous?

He could feel the risk even now, the urge to forget everything that had happened and discover if they were still as compatible as they had been back then.

Be careful, Sebastian. You have been misled before.

It was a much-needed reminder as the carriage wheels rumbled over stone-paved streets.

Harriet’s gaze remained on the window. “It feels an age since I last visited the British Museum.”

Sebastian observed her profile. “You enjoyed it once. I recollect an enthusiastic dissertation when you regaled me about your visit.”

A faint smile. “I enjoyed many things once.”

A pause. The atmosphere thickened with unspoken memories—walks at Avonmead, shared dreams of travel, whispers in candlelit libraries.

“Perhaps you will enjoy it again,” he said softly.

Her gaze met his, sharp and searching. “Perhaps.”

Soon the British Museum loomed, a temple of knowledge, its imposing facade softened by the low winter sun. Sebastian experienced a stirring of his first visit, how exciting it had been to enter its doors.

Inside, the air smelled of old parchment, polished wood, and the faint chill of stone floors. The soft murmur of scholars and curious visitors echoed through the halls, and Harriet’s face brightened with genuine interest, Sebastian noticed, when they came to a stop within its hallowed halls.

“Shall we begin with the Egyptian Room?” he suggested.

“Naturally,” Harriet replied. “Mysteries awaiting discovery … how appropriate.”

The Egyptian Room greeted them with rows of ancient statues, stone tablets adorned with symbols, and intricately carved amulets.

The air was tinged with dust and age. Harriet stopped before the Rosetta Stone, her gloved fingers hovering just above the glass case.

Sebastian himself was awestruck to behold it once more; arguably the most famous artifact in the entire building, it had drawn crowds for two decades.

“The key to an entire civilization.” Her voice softened. “One stone, unlocking so many secrets.”

She inspected it closely, and Sebastian was reminded of the discernment of her painted room.

Harriet had always been a connoisseur of art, it being one of the many interests they had in common.

If only he had such a key to decipher this woman of secrets who had entangled his thoughts these many years.

Sebastian stepped beside her. “Do you believe some mysteries should remain unsolved?”

Harriet turned to him, lips curving into a knowing smile. “No. Not anymore. Understanding the truth, even when uncomfortable, has value.”

Their gazes held.

Was she speaking of more than hieroglyphs?

Sebastian felt the familiar tug of longing. As he had feared, proximity to Harriet could lead to fresh wounds if he did not practice caution. He might have the experience of more years, but the truth was that Harriet seemed more compelling than ever.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, “we are not always prepared for what we discover.”

The Mummies Room was quieter. Heavy sarcophagi lay open, revealing linen-wrapped remains.

The scent of resins and faded incense lingered.

Harriet approached a glass case where a mummy’s delicate fingers peeked from its wrappings.

She leaned closer. Sebastian stepped beside her, barely inches away. Their shoulders brushed.

“Do you suppose they feared being forgotten?” Harriet asked.

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice low. “But they ensured they would be remembered. Even in death.”

Their closeness did not escape him. Propriety be damned, this moment felt intimate in a way no ballroom ever had.

One thing was certain—Harriet need never fear being forgotten.

Not by him. The scent of her fragranced hair spread upon his sheets haunted him to this day.

Those stolen moments on that fateful Valentine’s Day had been the sweetest he had ever grasped.

But followed by the worst, he reminded himself sternly, when she had failed to arrive the next morning at their designated point.

It took resolve to remind himself because it was difficult to think of anything but how heavenly the scent of her hair was even now, as he caught just a trace of it in the muted air when she turned away to smile at their chaperon.

Next, they visited the Greek and Roman collections where the Townley Venus stood tall in the Sculpture Room, marble pale and gleaming beneath the filtered daylight.

Harriet once again took the lead, approaching slowly.

Her gown hugged the sweet curves of her womanly form as she strolled ahead of him, stopping to tilt her head back and revealing the creamy column of her slender neck.

“Venus, the goddess of love. Yet, her face is inscrutable.”

Sebastian stood beside her, his focus on the statue. “Perhaps she trusts few with her secrets.”

Harriet turned to him, contemplating him for several seconds before she finally responded. “Do you believe trust is given or earned?”

Sebastian’s gaze did not waver. “I believe it is broken far too easily.”

The unspoken words—the past betrayal—hung between them.

Harriet looked away first, and Sebastian was unsure if he should be relieved or ashamed of the bitter reference to the day she had left him waiting like a fool.

It was disorienting to have his thoughts swivel back and forth between what could have been, what could be, and the proven hazards of allowing his guard to drop.

The sound of their footfalls echoed through mostly empty halls as they reached the fragments of the Elgin Marbles. Grand and stark, its horsemen, gods, and mortals were frozen in stone.

Sebastian gestured toward a frieze of horsemen. “The power captured here—it is almost alive.”

Harriet stood beside him, her gloved hand brushing the display’s edge. “The riders trust their horses completely. A partnership without words.”

Sebastian looked at her. “Do you still believe such bonds are possible?”

Her lashes fluttered. “I want to.”

The simplicity of her words shook him more than any argument.

It made him think again of her cryptic remarks.

What changes had she made these past few months?

Was she being honest when she said she no longer entertained men, or had she said what she thought he wanted to hear?

The problem in dealing with Harriet, even in their youth, had been the Hargreaves’s malleable sense of truth that made it difficult to assess any member of the illustrious but warped family.

It was one of the reasons he could not convince Philip to wield his power as duke so that Sebastian might have courted her.