She’d just started after the butler when—to her dismay—Miranda clomped down the stairs.
“Miss Stewart!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see Lord Westwood.”
“You shall not see him!” She glared at the butler. “Show her out. At once.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Wilson, but I won’t. The earl was very fond of her, and I’m sure he will welcome the meeting.”
Miranda gasped again. “You will not disobey me, or I’ll have your job!”
The butler was imperturbable, his dislike of Miranda very clear.
“Perhaps you should discuss the matter with you fiancé.”
Helen frowned. Wasn’t Westwood her fiancé? On the journey to town, Helen had wondered if their speedy wedding hadn’t already occurred. But no. The butler had specifically referred to Miranda as Miss Wilson.
“If you suppose,” Miranda fumed, “that I have to fetch Mr. Harcourt to make you behave as you ought, you will be sorely disappointed.”
The butler snorted with disdain. “Pardon the interruption, Miss Stewart. If you’ll come with me...?”
He started walking again, ignoring Miranda, and she shrieked with outrage and grabbed Helen by the arm.
“Get out, you pathetic hussy!”
Her voice was rising, the situation escalating, when suddenly, a man appeared at the end of the hall.
For the briefest instant, Helen froze, certain it was Westwood, but then she noted the differences. He had many of the same features, but he wasn’t James Harcourt.
Was he Tristan Harcourt? Miranda had said he was dead.
“Harriet?” he breathed. “Is it really you?”
He knew Harriet? As he hurried toward her, Helen was even more confused.
“No, I’m not Harriet.”
“Not...Harriet? Gad, you look exactly like her.”
He staggered to a halt, assessing her, scowling and touchingly crushed that Helen was the wrong sister.
“You’re Helen Stewart, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Are you Captain Harcourt?”
“I am. What’s going on? Who was shouting?”
The butler answered. “We’re having a dispute, sir. Miss Stewart wishes to speak with your brother, but Miss Wilson is insisting that she can deny the earl a visitor.”
“Honestly, Miranda,” Mr. Harcourt said. “You know better.”
“How are you acquainted with Harriet?” Helen queried.
“How?” Mr. Harcourt inquired. “My goodness, Miss Stewart, have you been living in a cave?”
“What do you mean?”
“He means,” Miranda bit out, “that your sister is a whore—just like you.”
“Miranda!” Mr. Harcourt scolded as she burst into tears and fled up the stairs.
The butler raced off too, so Helen and Harcourt were alone.
“I’m sorry to stare”—Helen was gawking at him—“but Miss Wilson had informed me that you’d perished.”
He sighed. “As you can see, I’m very much alive.”
He held out his arms and spun from side to side, letting her examine him.
“She also claimed that—since you were deceased—she was about to marry Lord Westwood.”
“Yes, there have been rumors to that effect.”
“So...they didn’t wed?”
“She’s still Miss Wilson to all of us.”
“Yet you’re proceeding with your betrothal?”
“As of this moment—yes.”
Helen couldn’t decide if he was crazy or extremely foolish—though he didn’t seem to be either. She pondered whether she should warn him about Miranda, but she didn’t.
The Harcourts and their marriages were none of her business.
“You mentioned Harriet, Captain Harcourt.”
“Do you truly not know about her and me?”
“No, but I’ve been in the country, so I wouldn’t have heard any gossip. How are you connected?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s sit down.”
He led her into the parlor, and he recounted the chilling tale of Harriet stowing away on his ship, of the pirate attack, and their sojourn on the island. Though he was vague as to the details, she understood that Harriet had been his mistress.
If Helen had had time to waste, she might have mused about fate and how she and Harriet had been tossed into the two brothers’ paths, but she was on a mission, and she didn’t have the luxury of philosophical contemplation.
“I’m embarrassed to admit,” he said, coming to the end of his narrative, “that I was awful to her after we were rescued.”
“What did you do?”
“I left her at the dock without a goodbye. I made no plans for her, even though she had no money and nowhere to go. I’ve regretted my lapse ever since, and I’m very ashamed of how I behaved toward her. Can you tell me where she is?”
“No, but I know who can.”
“And who is that?”
She studied him, curious if she could rely on him as she hadn’t been able to rely on his brother. He seemed to have been fond of Harriet, and he had kind eyes.
“She’s been taken hostage by a man named Bentley Struthers.”
She pulled out the flyer and watched as he read it. He frowned.
“She told me about this,” he muttered, “but she claimed you were the one in trouble with Struthers.”
“No, it’s her. She was working in his home when he assaulted her. She fought him off and ran, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“And you think Struthers knows where she is?”
“I’m sure of it. I recently learned that she was captured shortly after she debarked.”
“Dammit!”
“Someone recognized her and turned her in for the reward.” Helen didn’t disclose Nigel’s part in the debacle. Her cousin’s duplicity was too mortifying to divulge. “Struthers’s men made off with her, but I have no idea where they took her.”
“Struthers...” he fumed. “That horse’s ass!”
“I realize I’m imposing on you horridly, but could you...could you talk to him for me? I’d intended to ask your brother, but I’m—”
“Would you excuse me?”
Abruptly, he rose, and as he stomped out of the room, he looked very, very angry.
She hurried after him.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m off to find Harriet, and Bentley Struthers had better pray that she’s all right.”
Miranda hovered on the landing, listening as Tristan concluded his conversation with Helen Stewart. He stormed out, so distracted by his quest that he didn’t stop to grab a coat.
Stewart dawdled, acting as if she’d stroll back into the parlor and continue to wait for James.
How dare she! How dare she come into the house and assume she’d be welcome! How dare she humiliate Miranda by sending Tristan off after her sister!
If people discovered that Tristan was chasing about the city, searching for Harriet Stewart, the teasing Miranda had endured would escalate to unbearable proportions. She wasn’t about to stand for it!
She marched down the stairs, and as Stewart glanced up, she appeared worried and nervous. Good! Stewart was all alone now, with no male to protect her, and they both knew it.
“Get out of here,” Miranda seethed. “I told you before, and I’m telling you again: Get out!”
“I need to be here when Captain Harcourt returns. If he locates my sister, I have to speak with her.”
“You have the gall to ask me if you can stay?”
“I’m not hurting anybody. If my presence bothers you, go up to your bedchamber. Once Harriet arrives, we’ll leave, and you’ll never hear from us again.”
“Is that what you suppose? You urge my fiancé to ride to her rescue, and you imagine that afterward, he’ll allow the two of you to waltz off into the sunset? Are you insane?”
“No.”
“He is in love with her, you fool. If he brings her back, he’ll never let her out of his sight again.”
“You’re being absurd.”
“I will not lose my fiancé to her! Nor will I sit by and permit the two of you to insinuate yourselves into this family as you have.”
“We’ve done nothing to you.”
“You’re married, yet you come here anyway, trying to glom on to James, but I see through your ploy.”
“Married?” Helen said. “I’m not married.”
“You don’t need to pretend. Your cousin was very thorough in explaining your situation to James. You must be aware that—in his opinion—betrayal is the worst sin a woman can commit.”
“I haven’t betrayed Westwood.”
“Ha! And you with his babe lodged in your belly!”
“What?”
“You think I don’t know who you really are? You think I don’t know your ancestry?”
“My mother was a gentleman’s daughter. My father was a wealthy landowner.”
Miranda scoffed. “Lie to yourself, but not to me.”
She seized Stewart’s wrist and shoved back the sleeve of her dress to reveal the birthmark on her arm. It was in the shape of a figure-eight, and Miranda would have bet a hundred pounds that her twin had one exactly like it. The birthmark was called ‘The Mark of Trent’ because Trent’s illicit children usually inherited it.