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She peered down at the prison of her pelisse.

Life had been much simpler with a full complement of staff.

But back in August, when she had begun to make changes to her life, it had quickly become clear that her father had corrupted too many of her servants into reporting back to him.

Fearing his interference, Harriet had been forced to release them all—with references.

All except Cook, who was trustworthy, or at least she hoped so. Cook was her last remaining luxury until she finished rebuilding her household, and Harriet was not letting the old woman go. Cook was all that stood between her and a digestive complaint.

“I swear, I shall never wear this blasted pelisse again. It has a thousand tiny, cloth-covered buttons.”

Evaline removed her gloves with practiced ease before setting them aside on a washstand. “It did not look so troublesome when you put it on.”

“Because I had the illusion of purpose then,” Harriet groaned, tugging at the fitted pelisse that clung to her shoulders. “Now, it is a cage. Help me out of it before I lose what little patience I have left.”

“Arms up.”

“They are up,” Harriet snapped. “The pelisse is simply refusing to yield.”

Evaline tugged. The garment, snug-fitting and stubborn, refused to budge.

“You must relax your shoulders.”

“I am relaxed. You are pulling like you intend to detach my arms entirely!”

“It is caught on the back seams. Hold still.”

With a sharp yank, the pelisse gave way, sending Evaline stumbling backward and Harriet spinning to grip the bench for balance.

“Victory,” Evaline declared, holding the garment aloft like a prize.

“Victory?” Harriet gasped. “I nearly perished in the attempt!”

Sitting down, she began to tug on the next resistive item.

“These cursed boots,” Harriet muttered, propping one leg onto the bench. “Evaline, you must pull.”

“I should never have agreed to this.”

“And yet you did. Now pull!”

With a great heave, the boot came free, sending Evaline toppling backward into the copper tub with a resounding clang.

“Oh, heavens!” Harriet cried, covering her mouth. “Evaline, are you well?”

Evaline sat in the tub, hair askew, an expression of calm resignation on her face. “Remind me again why we have no lady’s maid to do for us?”

Harriet sank onto the bench, laughing until tears welled.

“Because I am a fool. A complete and utter fool.” Then she sobered, rising to go stand beside the tub. “But mostly, because I must make sure it is a woman whom Bertram Hargreaves cannot persuade to spy on me. My father is a snake, but he can be most seductive when he wishes to be.”

“Then we shall struggle on, doing for each other,” Evaline replied as she climbed back out of the tub with Harriet’s assistance.

“I, of course, am in no position to make demands when you have done so much for me, but I hate to see you frustrated with my novice skills.” Evaline lifted the dark blue walking gown from the rack—simple but elegant, with a high bodice, long sleeves, and modest embroidery at the cuffs.

Harriet turned around to contemplate her friend. “You are a valued friend, Evaline. Having you as a guest helps me just as much as it helps you. You need not feel timid about making demands.”

Evaline smiled, returning to her side. “Thank you … for everything.”

Harriet reached out, wrapping her arms around her guest’s delicate frame.

“You are most welcome. I am pleased to offer you my address on a prestigious street and access to my motley crew of servants, for what they are worth. It is not right that your late husband’s family is withholding your stipend. ”

“My solicitors assure me it will be resolved soon, but you bought me much-needed time to sort it out.”

“Not at all … I hope you will remain in residence even then. I need the company, and this house is far too large for one lonely widow. Your funds will stretch further without the cost of high rent and a staff.”

Evaline dropped her head in affection against Harriet’s shoulder, being inches shorter. “Thank you.”

Her voice was suspiciously thick, and Harriet had to discreetly lift a hand to swipe at her own moistened lashes.

Stepping back, Harriet turned around again to finish the torture of changing.

Next came the petticoats, two lighter layers more suited for the walking gown, and then it was time for the gown itself.

“Arms up,” Evaline instructed.

“We shall see if I survive this round.”

The gown proved uncooperative, catching first on Harriet’s elbows, then refusing to slide over the structured stays.

“It is stuck again!” Harriet’s voice emerged muffled from under the fabric. “I swear this dress despises me.”

“Lower your arms a little. No—slowly!”

With a final, ungraceful tug, the gown settled into place.

“I feel like a trussed goose.”

“A very fashionable goose,” Evaline said, adjusting the sleeves. “Now for the fastenings.”

Harriet balanced herself on the bench as Evaline worked the back closures.

“Honestly, Evaline. Why must gowns fasten in the back? It is as though fashion is deliberately cruel.”

“It is to ensure you need a maid,” Evaline replied. “Keeps the classes in order.”

“Ha! The classes. I would trade my title for one competent lady’s maid right now.”

“You say that, but you would not part with your jewelry collection.”

“You wound me, madam.”

Harriet had wanted to look her best for Sebastian, wanting him to think well of her. And, if she were honest, wanting to draw his admiring glances while she had the chance. No one had ever made her feel as important as he had done.

These past few months had been a reengagement of her intellect, which had been dormant for too long. It was easy to be glib. Practically a necessity to quiet a noisy conscience. Imbibing in wine and attending endless social events had dulled her dark thoughts until she had become a gleeful lackwit.

Spending the afternoon with Sebastian after these trying months of sobriety and moderation had reminded her of the girl she had been, the one who had been excited by art and culture, wishing to see the world with him at her side. Who had been buoyed by the possibilities.

Of course, she still had the pesky problem that she had lied to him about the painting upstairs.

Eventually, I will tell him the truth.

Despite the reassurance, she still felt guilty about deceiving him.

But now that she planned to call on Belinda, she needed to avoid attracting any undue attention, which meant suffering the trials of changing her attire.

She and Evaline did not even try to change into evening wear for dinner when it was just the two of them.

With their inept skills, it would take all day to make that many wardrobe changes.

“Lift your skirts,” Evaline said.

“I cannot believe I am reduced to this.” Harriet complied with a theatrical sigh. “Just months ago, there were three maids for such tasks.”

“Yes, well, months ago you also had footmen. We have Finch, Jem, the belowstairs staff, and some questionable tea.”

“Hardly adequate for two respectable widows of the ton ! I must summon Mr. Benton. If I must dress myself again, I shall expire.”

Evaline smiled, smoothing Harriet’s skirts.

“You are still standing. A triumph, truly.”

Harriet laughed at the ridiculous situation, but as she pulled on her slippers and gloves, her smile faded.

“Belinda Cooper may not be aware, but she awaits me,” she said quietly. “I owe her something. I do not yet know what, but I shall make it right.”

Evaline stepped forward, resting a hand on Harriet’s arm.

“You will do it. You always do. Beneath the theatrics, you are far more capable than you admit.”

“That may be the kindest lie ever told.”

“Not a lie,” Evaline replied. “Not from me.”

A final glance in the cracked mirror showed Harriet transformed—no longer a widow being courted by a handsome gentleman to the museum, but a woman with purpose, dressed in muted tones for a quiet mission.

“Well,” Harriet said, standing tall. “Let us see what the day brings.”

“With luck,” Evaline replied, “it will not bring any more stays.”

They shared a laugh, stepping out of the dim basement room, ready for the afternoon ahead.