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Finch made a dismissive sound. “Bah. If a man really loves ye, he don’t go abandonin’ ye over just one mistake.”

Belinda studied her carefully. “Did he say it was over?”

Harriet swallowed, glancing away. “He did not have to.”

Silence settled over the room.

And yet, as she sat there, surrounded by the women who had become her own unconventional family, the grief did not feel as suffocating as it had before. The ache in her heart remained, but it was tempered by something else. A reminder that she was not truly alone.

She would grieve for what she had lost.

But she would endure. What choice did she have? Outside, the winter light was weak, and the painted room existed now in the amber warmth of firelight and candle glow alone, sealed against the cold and the gloom of the longest month of the year.

A small shift on the settee drew her attention. Jem had moved beside her, her small frame barely making a dent in the cushion. Without hesitation, the girl reached out, her tiny fingers curling around Harriet’s hand in silent comfort.

Harriet’s heart turned over at the frailty of the gesture, at the simple kindness in the girl’s touch.

She squeezed Jem’s hand, finding solace in the realization that if she could not have Sebastian, at least she had helped these troubled women find a place in her home. At least she had done some good. It was not Florence. It was not the life she had imagined. But it was her life and it was not worth nothing.

* * *

Richard sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “It did not take long for Harriet to realize just how insidiously her father had embedded himself into her life,” he said, his voice grim. “The moment she started making changes, dismissing certain callers, and altering her household expenses, it became apparent that nearly half her servants and retainers were being paid to report back to Bertram Hargreaves.”

Sebastian frowned, his arms crossed. “Her own father was spying on her?”

Richard nodded. “Not just spying, controlling. She was his possession, a pawn to be maneuvered as he saw fit. Lady Slight believes he intended her to make a second match that would benefit him. The servants, those she had trusted, were feeding him details of her daily life, ensuring he always knew what she was doing, where she was going, and with whom. He had his fingers in everything. Her finances, her household, even her very freedom.”

Sebastian felt a fresh surge of anger burn in his gut. Harriet was a woman grown, a widow, and yet her father had treated her as though she were still an unwed debutante under his thumb. “So she dismissed them,” he guessed.

“Nearly all of them,” Richard confirmed. “It left her with a nearly empty household. No footmen, no maids save for a single scullery girl, no butler. But she did keep one person, her cook. An old woman who had served her since childhood and whom she was certain had no loyalty to Hargreaves.” He shook his head. “But even with Cook, she still had problems. The woman could no longer go to market herself, so Harriet went in her stead when the maid had her day off.”

Sebastian exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A viscountess forced to buy her own fish and bread.”

Richard gave a small shrug. “It was necessary. And while she was there, she found something, or rather someone, that 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 … Harriet, dressed modestly, attempting to buy apples, when suddenly she hears a loud, no-nonsense voice berating a fishmonger for trying to pass off subpar 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. “Harriet 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 scoundrel 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 determination.”

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 given her 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 Harriet’s motives at first, but she saw something in her, just as Harriet saw something in her.” His gaze flickered. “That was when it started.”

Sebastian frowned. “What started?”