Frances’ parents were holding a house party at their country estate west of London. The gathering would consist of a combination of Mr. and Mrs. Melbourne’s family, friends, and associates from London along with some of the local gentry.
“I think I prefer to remain home,” her mother said. “You will have an enjoyable time without me. Besides, your uncle will stop by, I’m sure.”
Harriet’s uncle, Matthew Hancock, had moved to London after his wife died nine years ago, and had recently been courting Tibby’s mother, much to Tibby’s delight.
Harriet released a quiet breath of relief at her mother’s refusal. It would be easier if her mother remained here as she wouldn’t approve of what Frances had asked of Harriet.
Frances had approached Harriet a few weeks ago and asked for her help. Apparently, the gentleman Frances was interested in had been invited to the party, too. Frances struggled with shyness and asked Harriet to help her catch his notice.
Harriet had mixed feelings about doing so. She adored Frances but wanted her friend to find the courage and determination to move forward on her own.
When she’d tried to explain that, Frances had shaken her head. “I can’t. The moment he speaks to me, I won’t be able to say a word in return. Please say you’ll help me.”
Of course, Harriet had agreed. But she would do her best to encourage Frances to gain the gentleman’s notice on her own. She was only going to help bolster Frances’ confidence.
The plan would be easier if Frances told her who the man was, but she refused to disclose it until the party, saying she feared doing so would bring bad luck and keep him from coming.
In two days, Harriet would travel with Frances and her parents by train to Melbourne House. She looked forward to the trip. Rumors suggested that the country estate was impressive. Frances’ grandfather had made a fortune in textiles before selling the business and buying the place, leaving it to his only son upon his death.
“I suppose I should become accustomed to you being gone,” her mother continued as they walked to the lace shop window. “When you marry, I won't see you nearly as often.”
It was all Harriet could do not to dispute her comment. She couldn’t imagine marrying. Not when doing so meant revealing her secret. She pressed her hand to her chest again, the scars there a reminder of that secret.
Harriet had tried to explain her feelings several times, but despite her poor experience with her last marriage, her mother continued to insist that when Harriet found the right man, he would overlook her scars.
But Harriet knew the truth—the worst of the scars were on the inside and couldn’t be overcome.
It was truly for the best that Frances had volunteered for theFor Better or Worsemission instead of her. Harriet had grown accustomed to the idea of being a spinster. Mostly. Or at least she had until Viscount Garland had strolled into her world.
“I’m so pleased your uncle is nearby,” her mother said, bringing Harriet’s thoughts back to the conversation. He lived a short walk from their house in Mayfair and visited frequently.
“We don't see him as often now that he has been courting Tibby’s mother.” Harriet and Tibby had arranged for them to meet a couple of months ago. Much to their surprise, he and Lady Dunford seemed quite taken with one another.
“True,” her mother agreed. “But he still makes time for us and for that I'm grateful. I wonder if I should consider getting a dog like the one he gave Lady Dunford.”
Harriet looked at her mother in surprise. “I didn’t think you liked dogs.”
“I didn’t think I did either. But Pekoe is adorable and so well behaved. It would be nice to have that sort of companionship.”
Harriet smiled. “Perhaps we should have Uncle Hancock look for one for you. He seems to be an excellent judge of dogs since he found one for Captain Shaw’s mother as well.”
A lady dressed in a dull grey gown with her hair tightly bound under a black bonnet emerged from the lace shop, bumping into Harriet. “Terribly sorry,” she murmured with barely a glance at Harriet.
The unhappiness—or was it despair?—etched on her narrow face made Harriet wonder at its cause. She knew from experience that everyone had a story, including herself. How sad to think the lady was so distraught.
The woman’s attire suggested she was in half-mourning. Perhaps that was the reason for her apparent sadness.
As Harriet watched, she walked toward the street, seemingly unaware that she crossed people’s paths, causing them to halt to avoid her, as she went. Without slowing her pace, the lady stepped off the curb into the street.
Harriet glanced up and down the busy street where carriages, riders, and coaches rumbled past, some at an alarming pace. Surely the woman would take care to navigate the heavy traffic. Yet her gaze remained focused on the ground rather than the approaching conveyances.
One oncoming carriage was driving far too fast and approached the woman at a fast clip.
“Oh, dear,” Harriet’s mother said as she watched the scene as well. “That carriage is going to—”
Before her mother completed the thought, Harriet ran toward the woman, hoping to catch her.
The driver of the approaching carriage seemed unaware of the danger as he flicked the reins for the horses to go even faster.