James wrenched away to glare at his brother.
“Get her out of my house.”
“What?” Miranda gasped. “You can’t be serious. Tristan and I are about to wed.”
“Shackle yourself to her if you like,” James said to Tristan, “but I revoke my blessing, and I warn you against it. Escort her to the country. Proceed with this travesty where I won’t have to watch it happen.”
“You’re distraught, James,” Tristan soothed. “We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
“No. I want her out of here at dawn.”
He stormed up the stairs, and as his strides faded, there was a shocked silence, then the crowd drifted to the various salons, their titters wafting out.
“I’m sorry, Miranda,” Tristan said. “I don’t know what came over him.”
“Neither do I.”
“I think he had strong feelings for Miss Stewart,” Tristan explained.
“I didn’t realize it,” she lied. “When she worked for us, were they...involved?”
He shrugged, but didn’t reply.
“Must I leave?” she queried.
“No. We’ll give him a few days to calm down, then I’ll speak to him.”
“But he wants me gone tomorrow,” she wailed, “and we have wedding plans to make.”
“He’ll change his mind. You’ll be able to stay. Don’t worry about it.”
She snuggled herself to his chest, hiding her grin of excitement.
Helen Stewart was married, so James was broken-hearted, and if Miranda played her cards right, there was still time to win him.
“I’m here for my money.”
“What money?”
Nigel frowned at Bentley Struthers. They were in Struthers’s parlor, and Struthers was seated in his throne-like chair, munching on candy.
After a week of attempting to gain an audience, Nigel’s temper was exhausted.
“You know what money,” Nigel seethed. “I want the reward you promised me for finding Harriet Stewart.”
“Did I promise you a reward? I don’t recall.”
“When news came of Captain Harcourt’s rescue”—Nigel was so angry that he was trembling—“when I heard his companion was named Harriet, I was the only one who figured out that she might be my cousin.”
“Are you taking credit for the capture of Harriet Stewart?”
“Yes, you bastard, and don’t even try to pretend I wasn’t responsible.”
Struthers glanced at Radley who was loitering over by the window.
“Radley,” Struthers said, “I could have sworn that you found Harriet Stewart. Aren’t I correct?”
“Of course you are,” Radley declared. “I located her wandering alone down by the harbor.”
“You liar!” Nigel fumed.
“So you see, Mr. Stewart”—Struthers preened—“I have no idea why you’ve traveled all this way. I owe you nothing.”
“I want my reward!” Nigel shouted.
There was a small decorative table next to him, and he pounded his fist on it. It shattered and crashed to the floor.
Struthers gestured to Radley, and Radley picked Nigel up, tossed him over his shoulder, and hauled him out. He was unceremoniously pitched into the street.
Harriet huddled against the prison wall, trying to be invisible. There were hundreds—perhaps thousands—of people incarcerated with her: single men and women, families, widows with their children.
It was a stinking, hungry swarm of humanity, and most everyone looked bewildered over what they’d done to land themselves in the horrid spot.
Another female, a prostitute who’d introduced herself as Josephine—Jo for short—plopped down next to her.
“I just talked to the guard,” Jo said. “My bribe’s been paid. I’ll be out before sunset.”
Jo had friends watching out for her. The madam who ran the brothel where Jo was employed had an arrangement with the jailors. Whenever her girls were mistakenly swept up, they were swiftly freed.
Harriet had no one at all.
No one knew where she was. No one knew what had happened. No one in the entire world would be aware if she died.
“It’s too bad they stole my purse when they caught me,” Jo stated. “If I had any money, I’d leave it with you.”
“You’ve been so kind to me.”
“How will you eat? You have to purchase your food.”
The terms of her internment were brutal. She had to pay for everything, a bed, a blanket, her meals. Those who couldn’t buy food would starve. Those who couldn’t afford a room and blanket slept outside and frequently froze to death.
Harriet hadn’t learned her legal fate, but she’d either be hanged or shipped off to the penal colonies in Australia. It was reported to be warm there, but most inmates didn’t survive the rigorous journey, so—whatever sentence was imposed—the end was nigh.
With her sentiments at their lowest ebb, her demise was beginning to seem like a blessing. She wished Helen could be apprised of her plight. She yearned to have at least one person know that she was deceased.
“It ain’t right,” Jo complained. “With you being Captain Harcourt’s doxy and all. It just ain’t right.”
“Nobody cares that I was with him on that stupid island.”
“Ha! That’s what you think. The whole bloody city was rooting for you.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“The ladies was jealous of you being alone with him, and the gents was agog over the sexual side of the situation.” Jo wiggled her brows. “If you get my drift.”
“Yes, I get it.”
“Harcourt is a rich, famous nob,” Jo pointed out. “He ought to have helped you.”
“It would never have occurred to him.”
At the mention of Tristan Harcourt, tears surged and dripped down her cheeks.
“Here now,” Jo soothed, patting Harriet’s shoulder, “we’ll have none of that. Crying is a waste of energy. It never does no good.”
“I can’t believe he left me to rot. I can’t believe he let Bentley Struthers do this to me.”
It was silly to be upset at Tristan over her predicament. She’d revealed Struthers’s perfidy to him, but she’d pretended that Helen was the one who was in trouble, so why Harriet should hope he’d figure out the truth and ride to her rescue was a mystery.
She had to stop mooning over him. She had to stop wondering how he was and if he ever missed her.
“Your eye is much better,” Jo commented.
“Yes, it is. The swelling is down.”
When Radley had delivered her to Struthers, Bentley might have raped her, but for some reason, Radley had intervened. So as punishment, Bentley had only managed to administer a single, hard blow with his fist that knocked her down and blackened her eye.
Though Radley had prevented a more vicious assault, his attack of conscience had only gone so far. He couldn’t be persuaded to release her. He’d dumped her at the prison, and Harriet was philosophical about the entire affair. With Struthers not inflicting the ravishment penalty he’d planned, she felt that she’d won the battle.
No matter what transpired, whether she was hanged or deported, she’d bested him in the only manner that counted. Jo clasped her chin, critically studying the bruising.
“Yup, much better. You’ll live.”
“Wish I wouldn’t,” Harriet muttered.
“You gotta buck up, Harriet. You gotta stay strong.”
“I know. I’m just weary.”
“Survive just to spite the bastards. Vow to come back from Australia someday. Get yourself some revenge.”
“Maybe I will.”
“If anybody deserves a bit of vengeance, it’s you.”
They both smiled as a guard called to Jo, and she stood.
“I’m sprung,” she said. “You take care.”
“I will.”
Jo reached out her hands, and Harriet grabbed hold. For a long moment, they stared, a lifetime of friendship passing between them in an instant, then Jo was gone, the gate clanging shut behind her.
Harriet closed her eyes and let a vision form, of the hot sun and sandy beach on her deserted island. Her hair and chemise whipped in the wind. She saw Tristan beckoning to her from out in the water, and she leapt up and joined him in the waves.
“The slimy weasel wouldn’t pay me!”
“I can’t believe it.”
Helen was walking down the hall at Brookhaven, and she halted, listening.
Nigel was sequestered in the front parlor with Barbara, and he was very angry. He’d traveled to London to obtain a Special License, and obviously, something dire had occurred while he was in the city. What could it have been?
She tiptoed nearer.
“He should be thanking me,” Nigel protested. “Instead, I was insulted, tricked, and tossed out the door.”
“He’s a beast!” Barbara concurred. “An absolute beast! How dare he treat you that way!”
“What should I do, Mother? How should I proceed?”
“Could you locate Harriet and abscond with her yourself? That would show him.”
Harriet! Helen’s breath caught in her chest.
Since she’d returned to Brookhaven, she and Nigel had often spoken about Harriet. He kept claiming that he had initiated a search, but she’d seen no proof that an investigation had been launched. Had he known where Harriet was all along?