Harriet’s eyes grew wide as the butler led the way up a grand staircase.
“Oh, I’m—I’m sorry—” Harriet began, quite rooted to the spot. The butler turned then, a twinkle in his eye.
“Yes?”
“I’m not—I’m not here to—Well, I’m not—” Harriet wasn’t ready to use the wordswivewith a butler, no matter her practice earlier tonight. The butler’s confusion barely registered before his eyes widened in surprise. His gaze swept over her, and he paused, chuckling to himself.
“No, I don’t suppose you are. Tell me then, what is a lady such as yourself doing here to see Lord Alexander? You seem too guileless to be a widow and too shrewd to be unhappily married, if you don’t mind me saying. Either way, those sorts of ladies do so rarely use the front door.”
Harriet found herself smiling at his impropriety. Something about the warmth this stranger exuded steeled her, making her feel as if he was on her side.
“I must talk to your … uh, well, to Lord Alexander. I’m afraid he and I ended up in a bit of a situation this evening. An entanglement, if you will.” The butler’s eyes narrowed with concern, in a way that made Harriet’s heart catch.
“I assure you, he’s all right.”
“I’m not worried about him, my lady.”
It took Harriet a moment before she could reply with an “Oh. Well—” although she had no idea where the sentence was going. Luckily for her, Lord Alexander’s butler didn’t mind taking control of a situation.
“I can have you wait in the sitting room, if you’d like. I’ll bring you tea while you wait, although I must warn you, he will be a while.”
Harriet didn’t have a while. If Philippa found the letter she’d left, she’d be here within minutes. Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t even given herself much time to convince the man; blast the part of her that felt compelled to inform at least one of her sisters precisely where she was at all times.
“There is an exceedingly urgent matter I must discuss with him this evening. Could you perhaps tell me where he is?”
The butler thought for a moment, clearly weighing his options.
“I can do you one better, my lady. I’ll send you there. Although I do hope you’re not one to scandalize easily. He’s a bit of a git, he is. Too handsome for his own good, I’ve always said.” He chuckled, as if they were sharing a joke, although Harriet couldn’t tell who it was on. He cleared his throat and turned graver. “He’s with company is what I mean.”
What an odd butler, Harriet thought. She liked him immensely.
“His mistress?” she asked, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice. To make it seem as if she frequently spoke of such things to gentlemen’s butlers.
“I’m afraid so. Lovely woman, she is. I have a strong suspicion you two would get on.” Harriet smiled. “It’s that or wait till morning, I’m afraid. And morning for my lord starts around noon.”
“I suppose I have no choice, then.” Harriet and the butler shared a look, as if they were in league together, which she supposed they were. He simply nodded and left the room, his absence bringing back the chill of the evening.
“What the bloody hell am I doing?” Harriet whispered to herself, allowing herself a few curses as the situation seemed to call for them.
As if in response, a nearby clock chimed two.
Time’s running out.
After decades of dealing with both her father and Philippa, Harriet had been virtually certain that nothing could shock her. Her first thought upon entering Lord Alexander’s mistress’s sitting room was not shock per se, but rather an honest reappraisal of her own naivety.
She charged in, ready to spar once again with the indomitable Lord Alexander, only to be greeted by a roaring fire illuminating two people in shocking states of undress. One—the most gorgeous woman Harriet had ever seen—was entirely nude and sitting casually on a loveseat reading a book. The other, Lord Alexander himself, was sitting—or rather sleeping—in a nearby chair, snoring softly. His jacket and waistcoat had been removed, his shirt unbuttoned, and his cravat discarded. His feet were appallingly bare, though most egregious of all was that his breeches appeared to be unfastened—that was the last detail Harriet observed before she threw her gaze elsewhere and tried to blink away the image.
To her credit, the nude woman barely flinched at Harriet’s presence. She simply snapped her book closed and smiled, as if she’d been expecting her. “Good evening,” she said, standing. “I trust Sanderson let you in?” The woman—Lord Alexander’s mistress, presumably—was tall and lean, with a mass of light-brown hair that cascaded down her back as she stood.
Harriet nodded and turned her face toward the wall a bit, doing her best not to notice anything else about the nude woman, but then wondered perhaps if that was rude. She didn’t want to appear as if shewasn’tlooking out of distaste or disgust. Wheredidone look when presented with someone’s nipples?
“I hope I didn’t—Won’t you forget what page you’re on?” Harriet said to the wall. She knew it was a silly thing to ask, and she winced, waiting for the woman to laugh at her.
And she did. It was, however, a warm laugh. A shared laugh. “Page 265. Not to worry. I have an excellent memory for such things.” As she said this, the woman picked up a blanket thrown over the settee and tucked it around herself with practiced ease, looking even more like a goddess than before, which Harriet would not have thought possible.
With an ease Harriet envied, she extended an arm and dipped into a small curtsy. “You must be the woman from the library. I’m Miss Hightower, but you may call me Giuliana.” Harriet had no idea what the etiquette books said about being shown into a gentleman’s mistress’s house by said gentleman’s mistress’s butler to arrange a marriage after an incident of public compromise only to find both the gentleman and the mistress in states of undress. Giuliana, however, behaved as if she’d experienced this many times before.
“Please, have a seat. Would you like me to ring for tea? Otherwise, you can join me in drinking his good brandy.” Harriet took the seat across from Giuliana, still dazed by the sheer ordinariness of their conversation.
