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“The grooms are moving the tub back to my rooms. They will help with hauling hot water for us, but I have a more permanent solution.” Harriet sat back in her chair, relishing the moment. “I have sent word to the veterans’ charity I have been donating to recently, requesting recommendations for footmen.”

Evaline’s brows lifted slightly. “That is an excellent idea.”

Harriet nodded. “I thought so, too. Our coachman, Fletcher, was my inspiration. There are so many honorable men who have returned from war with no place to go. I requested men of good character, strong enough for their duties but not so formidable as to unsettle our staff. I stipulated that injuries or appearance were not a disqualification, thinking there might be some excellent candidates who would not normally be considered for footmen.”

Evaline’s gaze softened. “That is rather inspired.”

Harriet gave a small shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “It is practical. And it is only fair, given what they have sacrificed.”

Before Evaline could respond, the front door knocker sounded down the hall, the loud thudding jarring in the quiet of the morning. Someone knew about her shortage of staff, and that they needed to be heavy-handed with the brass ring if they wished to be attended to.

Harriet sat up instinctively. A moment later, Mrs. Finch entered, her ever-stern expression in place. “Lord Sebastian’s ’ere.”

Harriet’s heart gave a small, unwelcome flutter. She had not expected him so soon. She and Evaline rose, dabbing their napkins to their mouths before making their way to where Sebastian waited in the entrance hall.

He was impeccably dressed, his navy coat sitting snugly over broad shoulders, his snowy cravat in the same loose knot that she assumed must be a style from Florence. His gray eyes found hers immediately, moving over her face in that way he always had, as if she were a puzzle he could solve, if only he studied the pieces long enough.

He bowed slightly. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning, my lord,” Harriet replied smoothly.

A pause. A hesitation, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. Then, his voice dropped to a quieter register.

“And how did you spend your evening?”

Harriet’s stomach knotted. She had no intention of telling him about Belinda. The last thing she needed was Sebastian prying into her affairs, casting unwanted judgment on her goings-on. So she smiled a slow, practiced smile and said, “Oh, I spent a quiet evening at home.”

Sebastian’s expression shifted. A flicker of something passed through his gaze, something sharp and unreadable.

“You did not go out at all?”

“No,” Harriet said lightly, forcing a casual shrug. “I was rather tired after our visit to the museum.”

His jaw tightened. She had not expected him to look so dissatisfied. Evaline cleared her throat delicately, cutting through the tension. “I believe we are ready?”

“Of course.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on Harriet for a beat longer before he nodded once, briefly. Harriet and Evaline donned their pelisses, gloves, and bonnets. When she had composed herself, Sebastian offered her his arm, and she took it, even as she wondered why he seemed so very displeased.

* * *

Sebastian sat stiffly in the carriage, his arms crossed as he studied Harriet from the corner of his eye.

She had lied to him. The way she had smiled, too polished, too smooth, when she told him she had spent a quiet evening at home. The slight hesitation before she answered. The way her chin lifted ever so slightly in defiance, as if daring him to challenge her. He had spent years navigating the cunning twists and turns of art dealings, spotting forgeries, reading the nuances of deceit in a seller’s tone. Not to mention he had stooped to the dastardly behavior of following her to St. James’s Market. Which meant he knew Harriet was lying.

About what, precisely, he could not yet say.

But it bothered him. More than it should.

Sebastian exhaled through his nose, staring out at the streets of Mayfair as the carriage rocked forward. He had no claim on her whereabouts, nor any right to expect the truth. She was no longer the girl who had once promised him everything, only to leave him waiting.

And yet …

He turned his gaze back toward her.

Harriet was sitting beside Lady Wood, her gloved fingers tracing a pattern over the top of her reticule as she stared out the window, her auburn lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. Her expression was unreadable, but her mouth curved in a faint, private smile that he remembered all too well, the one that meant she was turning something over in her mind and had not yet decided whether to share it.

A woman with secrets.