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In silence, I adore your grace,

Afraid to speak or show my face;

Yet through this verse, my heart’s revealed,

A love that’s deep and long concealed.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

DECEMBER 18, 1821

“ T his is a terrible idea.”

Harriet sat rigid before the dressing table, watching her reflection as Belinda twisted her hair into an elegant coil. The candlelight flickered against the mirror’s surface, but no amount of flattering glow could soften the worry etched between her brows.

The last few days in Sebastian’s company had been blissful, their courtship progressing to the natural next stage—dinner with his family!

“Nonsense,” Evaline said from the nearby settee, where she lounged with a cup of chocolate in hand. “It is an inevitable idea.”

“I prefer terrible.”

“Then terrible it shall be,” Evaline said dryly. “Yet we are still attending.”

Harriet groaned, gripping the arms of the chair. “It has been years since I have dined at Markham House. Years , Evaline. And now I am to eat my supper, all smiles and good cheer, as if they have not all spent half a decade despising me?”

“Not all of them,” Evaline countered. “Sebastian does not despise you.”

No, he did not. But his brother, the Duke of Halmesbury, certainly did. And she did not know what to expect from the others—Lord and Lady Saunton were likely to be the peacemakers, but Brendan Ridley would be there. And Lily Ridley.

It was Lily’s curse that had set this current quest for redemption in motion.

Harriet let out a slow breath, the name alone making her chest tighten when she recalled that moment when Lily had uttered those damnable words and shattered Harriet’s glib shell that had protected her from confronting the consequences of her selfish behavior.

“I should feign illness,” she mused aloud.

Belinda snorted. “And have Lord Sebastian fetch a physician? I daresay he would see through that ruse.”

Harriet caught Belinda’s smirk in the mirror. “You are enjoying this too much.”

“A little,” Belinda admitted, securing a pin before stepping back to admire her work. “There. Now you look like a woman perfectly suited for the Duke of Halmesbury’s dinner table.”

Harriet studied herself. The intricate ivory gown of velvet complemented her complexion, and the sapphires at her throat were understated but elegant. A picture of composed grace.

A lie.

Belinda’s expression softened as she rested a hand on Harriet’s shoulder. “It is not just the duke that worries you.”

Harriet hesitated. It was not often that someone saw past her outward bravado, but Belinda was no fool.

“I hear you had an affair with Lord Saunton’s brother,” Belinda prompted.

Harriet let out a short laugh. “Oh yes. We were … acquainted … last year, briefly.”

Belinda’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Acquainted?”

“For a matter of weeks,” Harriet admitted. “Until he met Miss Emma Davis of Somerset and married her. It was a fortunate escape, truly.”

Belinda arched a brow. “And Lord Brendan Ridley?”

Harriet’s stomach knotted. She looked down, fingers tracing the embroidery on her gown.

“That was … different.”

“Different how?”

Harriet swallowed, meeting Belinda’s gaze in the mirror. “Because I betrayed him.”

Belinda studied her intently, but Harriet had no desire to explain further. She turned her attention back to her gloves, slipping them on with deliberate precision. The silence deepened, until Evaline finally spoke from across the room.

“I can explain it, if you wish?”

Harriet gave a curt nod, a blush of shame washing across her skin as she fiddled with her evening gloves. Belinda and she had become fast friends in the few days since joining their household, the older woman being both elegant and pragmatic about the ways of high society.

“Brendan Ridley was accused of patricide. At the time of the murder, he was here at Harriet’s, but she would not provide him an alibi, so a young debutante provided it in her place.”

Belinda gasped. “Miss Lily Abbott! That makes much more sense than those bizarre rumors that an innocent young miss had an affair with him!”

Harriet flinched. Rescuing Belinda from her father’s faithlessness was meant to help make up for that repugnant misstep. Which it had, but having dinner with both Brendan and Lily Ridley was not a hill she was ready to climb quite yet.

“It does not matter now,” Harriet said. “This dinner will be a disaster regardless of past sins. His Grace despises me. I … have given him cause.”

“Perhaps,” Evaline murmured. “Or perhaps this dinner will be a chance to mend what has been broken.”

Harriet forced a smile. “Optimism is exhausting.”

Evaline set down her cup with a soft clink. “Then let us simply endure. You are not alone in this, Harriet.”

No, she was not.

But as she rose and took a final look at her reflection, Harriet could not shake the feeling that she was walking into a den of wolves.

Or rather, a den of her past mistakes with important peers to witness the reckoning.

Each one of them had an axe to grind, and surely her and Sebastian’s fledgling courtship would not survive such revelations if they should come to pass.

Or did he already know what she had done to members of his circle?

That thought made her hunch her shoulders in abashed despair. Then she felt Evaline’s hand on her shoulder.

“I will be there to support you. You are not alone.”

Tears sprang into her eyes, and Harriet raised a hand to cover that of her friend in relieved gratitude. Thank heavens Evaline was attending as her companion.

Sebastian stood in the grand foyer of Markham House, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as he listened to the measured tick of the tall case clock against the far wall. The scent of fresh pine lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roasted meats drifting from the dining room beyond.

Despite the festive garlands draped along the banister and the holly-adorned chandeliers, the atmosphere was anything but warm.

The butler, Clinton, had barely concealed his disapproval when he had announced Lady Slight’s arrival, and Sebastian had been quick to come meet her in the entrance hall, unwilling to leave her at the mercy of disapproving stares.

Curiously, she had not yet entered the house, so he awaited her with some concern. He did not, however, expect her hesitation as she finally stepped inside, nor the way she briefly squeezed his offered arm before schooling her features into polite serenity.

Harriet was not a woman who hesitated.

The murmur of voices in the drawing room hushed at their entrance, resuming only in stilted bursts as the assembled guests took in the sight of her.

His cousin, Richard, and his wife, Sophia, were the first to recover. The earl inclined his head with his customary easy charm, while the countess stepped forward with a warm, if slightly cautious, smile.

It was still startling to witness the earl settled in marriage.

His cousin had been a charming but notorious rake, chasing skirts across the length and breadth of England, and Sebastian was unaccustomed to Richard taking the time to attend family dinners.

He had always expected the earl would wed some mouse of a girl and leave her to rusticate in the country while he continued his hedonistic pursuits, much like Bertram Hargreaves had eventually done with Harriet’s mother.

“Lady Slight,” Sophia said. “How lovely to see you.”

Harriet matched her smile, though Sebastian could feel the faint tension in her arm beneath his touch. “Lady Saunton, the pleasure is mine.”

Across the room, Brendan Ridley toyed with the stem of his wineglass, barely looking at Harriet. His wife, Lily, however, was not nearly so composed.

“Oh, what a surprise!” Lily’s voice was too bright, too forced, as she adjusted the lace of her sleeve with nervous fingers. “How unexpected to see you here, Lady Slight.”

“It is not unexpected,” the duke said flatly. “Lord Sebastian was invited.”

The words were cool, aloof. His brother had not moved from his place near the hearth, his stormy gaze assessing Harriet with quiet scrutiny. Beside him, the duchess—resplendent in deep burgundy—rested a gloved hand over the curve of her very rounded belly, and she smiled politely.

Sebastian’s jaw tensed. He had known Philip would be displeased, but there was a severity to his brother’s somber regard that set him on edge. Harriet, however, remained composed. If the duke’s coldness bothered her, she did not show it.

“The weather has turned bitter,” the earl said into the silence, as though determined to stir warmth back into the room. Sebastian appreciated Richard’s efforts. “Did you have a comfortable drive?”

“Yes,” Harriet said simply, offering no further elaboration.

The countess smiled tightly before shifting to Lady Wood, who had entered just behind them. “And you, Lady Wood?”

Lady Wood, ever unflappable, inclined her head. “Quite comfortable, thank you. Markham House is as lovely as I remember.”

Philip said nothing but smiled tightly at the widow.

“Shall we go in to dinner?” the duchess suggested after a beat, her voice soft.

The butler appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. “Your Grace, dinner is served.”

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 presided, 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.