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Your frowns I fear, your smiles I doubt,

Will ne’er to me incline;

The truth resolved to find you out,

I write, my Valentine.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

S ebastian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

His mind was still reeling from Sophia’s revelation.

Harriet had been attempting to change—to atone.

But what did that mean for them? Could he ever trust her again?

Was there a future where he could look at her and not think of all the lies?

His gaze moved to Richard, who was watching him carefully. “And what about the girl? Jem, I believe Finch called her. Who is she?”

Richard’s expression softened slightly, as if he had expected the question. “A foundling,” he said. “Lady Slight saved her.”

Sebastian arched a brow. “Saved her?”

Richard nodded. “She was living on the streets, controlled by a despicable thief-master who used children as pickpockets. The usual scheme—take in the orphans, force them to steal, beat them when they do not bring back enough coin.” His mouth tightened.

“Jem was one of the unfortunate ones. She was caught by a clerk with her hand in his pocket. He was dragging her off to be arrested when Lady Slight came upon them.”

Sebastian’s stomach twisted. He knew what would have happened next.

A child thief, particularly one caught red-handed, had little hope in London’s justice system.

She would have been sent straight to Newgate, crammed into a cell with hardened criminals, and treated with the same cruelty as an adult offender.

If she were lucky, she would have been sentenced to transportation—to be shipped off to Australia like so much unwanted cargo. If she were unlucky …

He swallowed hard.

“Lady Slight paid the clerk off,” Richard continued. “Gave him enough coin to silence his anger and take his grievances elsewhere. Jem was frantic, convinced Lady Slight had only done it to hand her over to someone worse. It took hours to convince her to board the carriage.”

Sebastian could picture it too well. Harriet, in all her imperious splendor, taking on the role of a benevolent queen as she swept in to rescue a desperate girl. But this was not some grand social gesture made for appearances’ sake. This was real.

“And then?” he asked.

“She brought her home,” Richard said simply.

“She and Lady Wood nursed her for a week. The girl had a fever, terrible nightmares. Likely half-starved before that, too. She pulled through, but as soon as she was well, she wished to leave. Return to the streets. The little one was too proud for charity, from all accounts, so Lady Slight had to persuade Jem that she was sorely needed as a chambermaid because Lady Slight had no servants to take care of her.”

Sebastian rubbed at his temples.

It was almost too much to comprehend.

A barmaid turned housekeeper. A widow who had barely escaped her husband’s cruelty. And now, an orphaned pickpocket who had been given a second chance at a respectable occupation in a good household.

A strange collection of people indeed.

And at the center of it all—Harriet.

Harriet, who had lied to him.

Harriet, who had deceived him.

Harriet, who had saved them all.

She truly was trying to change. He had always thought she possessed such potential, but there was no denying that Harriet had been rather selfish by nature when he had known her.

This trouble she was taking to help women in peril was not carried out by the same girl who had always sought her own pleasures first.

Jem gave Harriet’s hand a firm squeeze, her small fingers wrapping around Harriet’s own with surprising strength for one so slight. Her big hazel eyes—too knowing for a girl so young—fixed on her with solemn determination.

“Men,” Jem declared, in the same flat, matter-of-fact tone she might use to list items for the wash.

“They beat ye if ye dinna steal enough. They take what they want if ye ain’t quick enough to get away.

An’ a good blade’s always a good idea.” She gave a firm nod, like she was imparting the most sensible advice in the world.

“Stick ’em in the leg. Right in the thigh. Then ye got time to run.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Evaline’s gloved fingers stilled where they had been tracing a thoughtful pattern over her skirts.

Finch, mid-sip of tea, gave an approving grunt, as if Jem had spoken nothing but truth.

Even Belinda, who had weathered enough of life’s cruelties to be unsurprised by much, blinked at the girl in surprise.

Harriet, however, felt her throat tighten as she looked down at Jem’s small hand curled in hers.

This thin, waiflike girl, who had stolen her way into Harriet’s heart during her terrible fever, spoke as if men were merely another hazard of the world, like a carriage rattling too fast through the streets or a bitter cold snap that stole the warmth from your bones.

Jem had lived in a world where men were threats to be feared. A world where survival meant fighting back, running fast, or hiding well.

And Harriet, who had never suffered such things, but had known her own share of disappointments at the hands of men, had been inclined to agree.

Until now.

Her fingers tightened gently over Jem’s.

She did not speak, only stroked the girl’s knuckles with the pad of her thumb, offering comfort in the only way she knew how.

Jem had endured things no child should, and Harriet had tried to give her a home free of such fears.

But those early years had left their mark.

Yet even as sympathy bloomed in Harriet’s heart, another thought followed swiftly on its heels.

Sebastian.

Sebastian, whose hands had never been cruel.

Sebastian, who had never used his significant size to intimidate, only to protect. Who had always been aware of his strength, careful with it, as if mindful that others were smaller, more breakable than he.

Even last night, when they had tangled together in the dark, his passion had never turned to roughness. He had been cautious even in the height of his desire, treating her with a reverence that made her ache now to remember it.

And what had she done?

Lied to him. Manipulated him. Used him.

She had thought herself clever, but she had been nothing more than selfish.

She did not deserve him.

Sebastian had spent years building a life of integrity, of art and purpose. And she? She was a scheming widow with a flexible sense of truth and a ruthless nature when it suited her.

No, she did not deserve him at all.

Harriet swallowed hard and looked down at Jem, who was waiting expectantly for approval of her tactics.

Harriet forced a small smile. “I sincerely hope you will never need to do such a thing under my roof.”

Jem tilted her head.

“Still, ’tis good advice, m’lady,” Jem said with a shrug, like it was nothing remarkable. “Ain’t no man gonna chase ye proper with a knife stuck in ’is thigh.”

Finch gave an emphatic nod of agreement.

Harriet exhaled, pressing a kiss to Jem’s knuckles before releasing her hand.

If only all wounds could be healed so easily. Harriet found she was regretting how she had run off from Sebastian in the park. He had a right to his anger, and perhaps she should have stayed and explained herself. Perhaps he had deserved some answers after all the secrets.

Sophia grimaced, shaking her head as she looked to her husband. “And then there is Belinda Cooper,” she reminded him.

Sebastian, who had been pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, froze at the name.

Cooper.

A chill ran through him as a memory stirred.

He had heard that name before. Recently.

His mind revisited the afternoon when Bertram Hargreaves had been waiting for them at Harriet’s house, standing in her painted room with his hands clasped behind his back, his face carved into a mask of barely restrained fury.

There had been a cryptic exchange. Harriet had been composed but dismissive, but Hargreaves—he had been searching for someone.

Cooper.

Then another memory surfaced. The remark about naughty novels that must not be found by a Miss Bélise Coupier, and his mind made the connection. Sebastian lifted his head slowly.

“You mean to tell me,” he said, “that when Hargreaves came sniffing around Harriet’s house, looking for Cooper, he was unknowingly looking for her lady’s maid?”

Richard hesitated before giving a firm nod.

Sebastian absorbed this revelation, tension thrumming through his veins.

“Explain.”

Richard sighed and leaned forward, rubbing his palms together before speaking.

“I was able to locate an address for Belinda after some effort—some rooms Lowe kept near St. James’s Market,” he admitted. “As soon as Lady Slight had it, she was determined to visit her.”

Sebastian arched a brow. “Personally?”

Richard gave him a look. “Of course personally.”

Sophia smiled faintly, shaking her head. “Once she sets her mind on something, there is no talking her down.”

Sebastian resisted the urge to curse. That must have been the night he had followed her after visiting the museum. When he had thought perhaps she was meeting with another man. “What exactly did Hargreaves do to this woman?”

Richard’s jaw tightened. “Belinda Cooper was a lady’s maid who was acting as a chaperon for two girls when she met him. He seduced her, promised her security. For years, she was his faithful mistress. By all accounts, she genuinely loved the man.”

Sebastian snorted, crossing his arms. “A rake like Hargreaves? I doubt he returned the sentiment.”

Richard nodded grimly. “Indeed. When she aged out of his interest, he discarded her without a second thought. But it was not just that.” His voice hardened.

“He took back everything. The townhouse he had installed her in, the gifts, the furnishings, all of it. Even reneging over the modest settlement he had once promised her. One day, she was living comfortably, and the next, she was destitute.”