How was it possible his voice was so even? How, when he was shaking inside?
“Given the information yielded by my investigation, I took the liberty of stationing men outside Her Grace’s residence in the event that the young woman flees, and we lose any potential connection she might have to the duchess’ missing niece.” Steele stood. “I would also like to schedule an interview with Miss Smith for later this afternoon at the duchess’s residence.” He handed over a card with a time marked on it.
“Of course.” Harris had to tell his legs to move and shot to his feet. He took that damnable card and stretched his free palm out. “Thank you,” he said, shaking the other man’s hand. “I appreciate the work you’ve done.”
Work that had made Julia into a liar, and that knocked Harris’ world off-balance.
After Steele left, Harris remained rooted to the floor, not certain how long he remained there. Time had ceased to have any and all meaning. Minutes, moments, or hours—whatever they were, they all crawled by.
None of what had been revealed here should come as any surprise. After his marriage, he’d been cynical by nature. What Steele had revealed was consistent with what life had shown him about the ruthlessness of the human spirit and the natural ease with which a person was capable of deceit.
And yet, even with all of that cynicism bestowed by life, Harris had believed in her. He’d believed her.
Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he sucked in a painful breath.
What was worse, he’d fallen in love with her…
And now he was left with the agonizing task of telling the duchess and the countesses that they’d been duped, and in the worst possible way.
A short while later, seated across from his three mothers, it became apparent the moment he uttered his discovery aloud: “You knew,” he said dumbly, staring at the trio of women.
“Of course we knew,” the duchess scoffed. “Though I do find it in bad taste for that Steele fellow to not inform me of his findings.”
“Gentlemen,” the twins muttered together in annoyance.
“Always presuming we aren’t deserving of information that is directly about us,” Lady Cowpen said.
The ladies gave commiserative nods before going back to their notes and discussion… about Julia’s debut.
That was it?
That was who and what they’d take umbrage with? Not Julia? Not any aspect of Julia’s treachery, but rather, the fact Steele had come to Harris first?
Pressing his fingertips into his temple, he rubbed at the increasingly aching megrim he was developing.
He tried again. “And what of the missing young woman?” he asked carefully.
Tears formed in the duchess’ eyes, and for a moment, he regretted the question that had brought his godmother more pain. Her loyal friends each took one of her palms in theirs and held them, conferring support in a touching display of friendship.
“Adairia died,” the duchess said, her voice surprisingly strong. “But Julia is here.”
Ah, so this accounted for the duchess’ graciousness and forgiveness. She’d found in Julia a link, a replacement for the niece she’d lost.
“She lied to you,” he said with a bluntness he hoped would penetrate.
“Only at first,” his godmother said, and with that, she gave all her focus to the page in front of her and began taking notes once more.
Lies.
My God, the world has gone insane.
Surging to his feet, Harris paced a path over the floral carpet.
And seethed.
As he’d suspected, it had been nothing more than lies. All of it.
Every fear he’d had. Every doubt had proven correct.
Of course, one would never know it by the serene smiles worn by the three elderly ladies who’d delivered the announcement. The same ladies who’d since moved on in conversation, sipping tea and munching on chocolate while planning Julia’s entry into Polite Society.
“Come, come, Harris, join us,” Lady Cavendish urged. “We had the maid prepare you coffee.”
“We also have some of your favorite biscuits,” her sister piped in, her mouth full even now with a powdery treat.
He stopped abruptly and stared over at them. “Biscuits?” he said incredulously. “Biscuits?” Because, well, it really required clarifying.
Her mouth powdered with sugar, Lady Cowpen held her plate aloft. “Biffcits,” she said, and then swallowed the remainder of her bite.
The world had gone insane. There was nothing else for it.
“Sit down, Harris,” the duchess said impatiently. “I am getting dizzy watching you pace so, and I do not like it.”
He promptly joined his godmother, taking up a place on the King Louis XIV chair opposite the trio. “I’m sorry, are you—?”
“No need to apologize, dear boy,” Lady Cowpen called over.
“I’m not apologizing,” he gritted out.
“Well, that is just rude,” Lady Cavendish said, and his neck went hot as she turned to her twin for sisterly support. “Have you ever known Harris to be rude?”
He opened his mouth to get a word in.
“Never,” the other countess responded, shaking her head. “It is not like him at all.”
Her sister leaned close, whispering loud enough for the next household on Grosvenor Square to hear her. “This is what Polite Society says he’s like. I just never thought I’d see that rudeness turned my way.”
“I’ve not done anything wrong,” he exploded. “I’m not being rude. I’m being perfectly calm and rational!”
“That certainly remains to be seen,” Lady Cavendish mumbled. “All that back-and-forth running you’re doing around the room.”
He felt the rush of color flooding his cheeks and briefly closed his eyes to rein in his temper. It didn’t help to diffuse his outrage and annoyance. “I’m not the one you should be turning your ire on.” He jabbed a hand toward the
