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Richard gave a small shrug. “It was necessary. And while she was there, she found someone who would shape the course of her decisions going forward.”

Sophia, who had been watching them both in quiet patience, finally spoke. “This was when she met her first rescue,” she said knowingly.

Richard nodded. “Aye. That was the day she met the battle-axe herself.” He leaned back against his chair, his lips twitching with amusement.

“Picture the scene—Lady Slight, dressed modestly, attempting to buy apples, when suddenly she hears a loud, no-nonsense voice berating a fishmonger for trying to pass off inferior haddock as fresh catch. And there stands a woman, built like a brigadier and twice as fierce, eyes sharp as bayonets, and utterly unimpressed by the poor man’s attempts to defend himself. ”

Sebastian almost smirked despite himself. “You are speaking of Finch?” He had seen Finch in action. The description was all too fitting.

Richard smiled in assent at the guess. “She approached her, intrigued, and struck up a conversation. That was when she learned Mrs. Finch’s story.

She had been the wife of a tavern keeper—a successful one at that.

It was she who had turned their business into a thriving establishment, managing the accounts, dealing with customers, ensuring the place remained respectable. ”

Sophia made a sound of disapproval. “And yet, despite all that, she lost it.”

“Because of her husband,” Richard confirmed. “A faithless, feckless bastard who, after years of living off her hard work, wagered the entire tavern away in a game of dice. And when the deed passed to another man, he abandoned her altogether, leaving her with nothing.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “And what became of her?”

“She was reduced to being a mere barmaid in the very tavern she had once run. Forced to serve the new owner, to watch him reap the benefits of what she had built.” Richard shook his head. “She had nothing left. No property. No security. Just her wits and her resolve.”

Sebastian leaned back against his chair, considering.

It made sense now, why Finch carried herself with such authority, why she seemed so ferociously loyal to Harriet.

She knew what it was to have everything taken from her, to be left at the mercy of others.

Harriet had restored something she had lost—dignity.

“So Harriet offered her the position of housekeeper?” Sebastian guessed.

Richard nodded. “And Finch, after a bit of skepticism, accepted. I do not think she trusted Lady Slight’s motives at first, but she saw something in her, just as Lady Slight saw something in her.” He gestured an open hand as if presenting an explanation. “That was when it started.”

Sebastian frowned. “What started?”

“This idea of hers—that she could not undo the past, but perhaps she could do some good going forward. If she could not atone for her own mistakes, then perhaps she could offer a place for others who had been wronged. Women who had been cast aside, abandoned, or left with little means to make an honest way forward.”

Sebastian exhaled slowly, his thoughts turning over. So Harriet had been trying to change, to build a better life. But why had she never told him? Why had she lied, deceived, and made such a mess of things?

And why, despite everything, did he still want to believe in her?

Finch sniffed, folding her arms over her stout chest, reminding Harriet once again of a general surveying an ill-disciplined army. “All men are naught but shite,” she declared with years of bitter experience behind her.

Belinda choked on a sip of tea, while Evaline politely hid a smile behind her teacup. Jem, wide-eyed, merely nibbled on a biscuit, absorbing the housekeeper’s words as if they were gospel.

Harriet, however, merely sighed and rubbed at her temples, knowing better than to engage Finch in a debate when she was on one of her tirades.

“Oi’m sure Lady Slight did nuffin’ wrong,” Finch went on, her voice rising with righteous fervor. “An’ if she did, it were only ’cause that man o’ hers put ’er up to it. So, really, it’s ’is fault after all.”

Harriet opened her mouth to protest, but Finch was just getting started.

“Ye think Oi don’t know ’ow men operate?

Bah! Oi spent years servin’ ale to the sort what swore undyin’ love in one breath an’ were slippin’ a ring on some other wench’s finger in the next.

Sweet words, false promises, an’ when they’ve wrung ye dry, they move on without so much as a backwards glance.

An’ let’s not forget my own bleedin’ ’usband—may ’e rot wherever ’e ended up—who took me life’s work an’ tossed it aside like a scrap o’ spoiled meat! ”

She gave a disdainful snort, as though just the memory of him were enough to turn her stomach. “Mark me, m’lady. Men’ll blame ye for their own shortcomings, then leave ye to clean up the mess they made!”

Harriet listened to Finch’s tirade, but inwardly she argued against it.

Sebastian was not like other men. He had never been like the men Finch spoke of, had never been careless with her feelings or dismissed her as unworthy.

Even now, after all the pain she had caused him, after the mistakes she had made, his anger stemmed from hurt rather than cruelty.

He had never abandoned her, not truly. Not when they were young, not now. Even when she had given him every reason to walk away, some part of him had still wanted to believe in her.

She had ruined that today.

“Mark me,” Finch went on, still railing, “this is why a woman’s better off without ’em. No grief, no betrayal, no bloody ’eartbreak.”

Harriet exhaled slowly, turning her teacup between her hands. No grief? No heartbreak? Finch was wrong about that.

The absence of love did not protect one from pain. She had spent years keeping the memory of Sebastian at arm’s length, believing she was guarding herself against heartache, but in the end, it had found her anyway. And it was a thousand times worse knowing she had done it to herself.

Richard leaned forward, his expression grave.

“I must ask for your discretion in this matter, Sebastian,” he said quietly. “What I am about to tell you is not my story to share, but I believe you need to understand.”

Sebastian, still brooding over Harriet’s duplicity, gave a sharp nod. “Go on, then.”

Richard hesitated for only a moment before exhaling and rubbing a hand over his face. “It is about Lady Wood.”

Sebastian blinked in mild surprise. Lady Evaline Wood was an ever-present shadow at Harriet’s side—polite, unassuming, and often overlooked in a room full of louder personalities.

He had thought little of her, beyond the fact that she seemed a steadfast companion to Harriet, a chaperon with the proper pedigree.

Now, Richard’s tone told him there was far more to her story than he had ever suspected.

“You know that her husband died last year?” Richard asked.

Sebastian nodded. “An accident, was it not? A misfire?”

A muscle in Richard’s jaw twitched. “Yes. An accident.”

Something about the way he said it made Sebastian straighten.

Richard cast a quick glance at Sophia, who gave an encouraging nod before he continued.

“Lord Wood was a gentleman, as you well know from his reputation. He was”—he broke off, shaking his head—“a monster. He had abused Lady Wood for years, being noted for his fists, and the last few weeks of his life he had kept her locked away in that house of his. I doubt she saw sunlight for the better part of a month.”

Sebastian frowned, his mind sifting through the quiet observations he had made of Lady Wood over the weeks of their acquaintance.

She had always been composed, measured in her words and actions.

There was a delicacy about her—not of frailty, but careful restraint.

Now, knowing what Richard was telling him, he understood why.

“She endured it for years,” Richard went on grimly. “And when she was finally free, when he died …” He paused, swallowing hard. “I was there, Sebastian. Wood was drunk, and he had a pistol. We struggled, and it went off. The fool shot himself.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing.

Richard exhaled sharply. “Afterward, Lady Wood should have been free, should have been able to live on her own terms. But instead, she was left at the mercy of her husband’s kin.

They withheld her stipend, forced her to live as a poor relation in the very home where she had once been mistress.

Where she had been manhandled. She should have been able to walk away and rent herself a new home, away from her nightmares. ”

Sebastian felt a slow burn of anger rise in his chest. It was a common-enough cruelty—widows cast aside, their security stripped from them the moment their husbands died. It did not make it any less despicable.

“I tried to help her,” Richard continued. “Repeatedly. I offered her legal assistance, a place to stay—anything she needed. But she refused. She told me I had done enough by freeing her from her marriage.”

Sophia let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head. “She did not trust men. Not after what she had been through. And I do not blame her.”

Richard nodded. “Eventually, Sophia and I came to a conclusion. If she would not accept help from me, perhaps she would accept it from another woman.”

Sebastian frowned. He already knew where this was going, and it was giving him a lot to think about.

“We turned to Lady Slight,” Richard confirmed. “She had already begun this … this path of hers, trying to make amends. We asked her if she would extend an offer to Lady Wood in our place. She did. And Lady Wood accepted. Apparently, Lady Slight was most persuasive.”

Sebastian sat back, absorbing this revelation.

He thought of Harriet and Lady Wood together, the way they so often moved in unison, a widow’s solidarity that had seemed natural.

He had questioned how Lady Wood had come to be under Harriet’s roof.

Now, knowing the truth, it cast the entire arrangement in a different light.

“Lady Wood reports that she is pleased with the arrangement,” Sophia added.

“She enjoys the company of another widow. And Lady Slight seemed pleased, too. It has been a transition for her—shifting from the shallow social obligations of her past to a life more meaningful—but together they have found some peace and become a good influence on each other.”

Sebastian exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He was not certain what he felt. Shock, perhaps. Respect, even. Harriet, for all her flaws, had achieved the extraordinary.

And yet, the sting of betrayal still simmered beneath the surface.

“She never told me any of this,” he muttered.

“Because if she told you the good she had done, she would need to tell you why she had made those changes. She would have to tell you about the bad,” Richard replied. “I believe she has not because she has yet to forgive herself for her mistakes, so she assumes neither will you.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. He had no response to that.

“If you are the man I believe you to be, I think you can persuade Lady Slight that she has done enough,” remarked Sophia. “It is time for Harriet Slight to let the past go.”

The room fell silent.

Even Finch, usually so brash and full of sharp opinions, seemed to recognize that her earlier words had done little to ease Harriet’s misery.

The scent of tea and freshly baked biscuits hung in the air, but no one reached for them now.

Instead, they sat together in uneasy quiet, all their efforts to lift Harriet’s spirits having failed.

Finally, Evaline sighed, smoothing her skirts, her fingers toying with the fine embroidery as she searched for the right words.

“Men are a prison,” she said softly. “They trap your soul, repress your spirit. Cage you in a prison of expectation and disparate duty, while they carouse about and keep mistresses without a thought for the women they have bound to them.”

Her words rang heavy in the air, and for the first time since their acquaintance, Harriet truly heard the bitterness beneath Evaline’s composed exterior.

“I spent years locked away in a house that was never mine,” Evaline continued, her voice steady but laced with pain.

“Told when to speak, how to act, what to wear. Forbidden to leave without permission. I lived as a ghost while my husband dined at clubs, drank himself into stupors, and took his pleasure elsewhere. He was never reprimanded for it, never scorned. But I? I was expected to endure. Because that is the role of a lady.”

She looked up, calm and unflinching. “Perhaps there is no place for men in our lives. Perhaps we do not need them at all. Look at what we have built together. This house is filled with warmth, with laughter, with friendship. We have each other. Why should we allow men to dictate our happiness when we have already found something far more lasting?”

Belinda nodded in quiet agreement. Even Finch grumbled her approval, though she busied herself with refilling her teacup as if reluctant to admit that Evaline had put words to that which she had long believed.

Harriet said nothing.

Because none of it was true about Sebastian.

He had never tried to cage her.

In their youth, he had encouraged her interests, treated her mind as an equal, invited her to explore the world with him, to share in his adventure on the Grand Tour. She had been the one to refuse. He had been the one to fight for the right to marry her all those years ago.

Even now—Harriet pressed her lips together, her throat burning—he had defied the duke, come to her the night before, clearly committed to a future with her. He had offered her everything, until he had seen the painting.

And was it fair to be angry with him for his mistrust when she had given him so many reasons to doubt her?

She had lied. Again and again, she had deceived him.

She had tricked him into a courtship.

She had hidden the truth about her past.

She had denied him the one thing he had wished for—honesty.

She could not blame him for being angry. She could not even blame him for thinking she was having an affair with Richard.

Because had she not already betrayed him once? Had she not taken his cousin Perry to her bed last year, leaving a trail of chaos until Perry had wed the country mouse and moved to Somerset?

The guilt of it crushed her.

Sebastian had every reason to turn his back on her. And he had not learned of Perry yet. At least, she did not think he had. And yet, selfishly, she still wished he would not.