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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. The trouble she was taking to help women in peril was not the conduct of the same girl who had always sought her own pleasures first.

He sat with that for a moment, with the distance between the woman he had once known and the woman Richard was describing, and found it larger than he had allowed himself to consider until now. The fire had burned very low. Neither he nor Richard moved to tend it. There seemed little point in interrupting what the silence was saying.

* * *

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, as if 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 something 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. 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 the night before, when feeling had run so high between them, his tenderness had never faltered. He had treated her with a reverence she could only now, in the cold light of morning, begin to measure the worth of.

And she had squandered it.

She had 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, 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, as though it were nothing special. “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. The small gesture cost her nothing and steadied her more than she would have expected. Around her, the painted room had grown very quiet, the last of the afternoon’s light beyond the curtains.