CHAPTER SEVEN
The carriage ride home was silent.
Sebastian had handed her in without comment, his face a careful blank.
Mary had taken one look at both of them and retreated to her corner, suddenly very interested in the passing scenery.
The horses ate up the miles while the three of them sat in a bubble of tension that no one seemed willing to break.
Harriet stared out the window and tried not to think.
She had done the right thing. She knew she had done the right thing. Entering into matrimony with Davies would have been a slow death, a lifetime of cold beds and colder hearts, of being a possession rather than a partner. Whatever came next, at least she had preserved her dignity.
But dignity didn't pay debts. Dignity didn't save estates. Dignity didn't stop her mother's hands from trembling when she thought no one was watching.
"You're very quiet," Sebastian said, breaking the silence.
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
"About how spectacularly I've just made everything worse." Harriet laughed, a hollow sound.
“Davies shall pursue his claim with every resource at his disposal. The business has exceeded the ledgers; it has become a personal battle. I have struck at his vanity, and a man of his character does not suffer such a blow in silence.”
"His pride will recover. It always does, with men like him."
"And my family? Will we recover?"
Sebastian was quiet for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I do know that you made the right choice."
"Did I? Sometimes I'm not sure there are right choices anymore. Just different varieties of wrong."
"Refusing to wed a man you don't love is never wrong."
"Easy to say when you're not the one facing ruin."
The words came out harsher than she'd intended. Sebastian flinched slightly, and Harriet felt a stab of guilt.
"I'm sorry," she said. "That was unfair. You've done nothing but help us, and I keep…" She stopped, shaking her head. "I keep taking my frustrations out on you."
"You're under considerable strain. I don't take it personally."
"You should. I've been horrible to you."
"You've been yourself. That's not the same thing."
Harriet turned to look at him, struck by something in his voice. He was watching her with that expression she couldn't quite read, the one that made her feel seen in ways she wasn't sure she wanted to be seen.
"Why do you keep helping us?" she asked. "The real reason. Not the one about Richard, not the one about duty. Why?"
Sebastian held her gaze for a long moment. Something shifted in his expression, like a crack in the careful mask he always wore.
"Because I cannot seem to do otherwise," he said quietly. "Because your family has been more of a home to me than my own ever was. Because…" He stopped, seeming to catch himself. "Because it's the right thing to do."
It wasn't the whole truth. Harriet could tell it wasn't the whole truth. But she didn't press, because she wasn't sure she was ready to hear whatever truth he was holding back.
"Thank you," she said instead. "I don't say it enough. But thank you."
Sebastian nodded once, then turned to look out his own window. The conversation, apparently, was over.
But something had shifted between them. Harriet could feel a new thread of understanding, fragile but real. Whatever else happened, they were in this together now.
For better or worse.
They arrived at Fordshire Park to find chaos.
Mrs. Briggs met them at the door, her face pale with worry. "Lady Harriet, thank goodness you're back. It's your mother…she's taken ill."
Harriet's heart stopped. "Ill? What do you mean, ill?"
"She collapsed this morning. The physician is with her now. He says it's exhaustion, that she's been pushing herself too hard, but…" Mrs. Briggs' voice wavered. "She's asking for you."
Harriet was up the stairs before the housekeeper finished speaking, her traveling clothes forgotten, her fatigue forgotten, everything forgotten except the need to reach her mother.
She burst into Lady Fordshire's chambers to find the room dimmed, the curtains drawn, and her mother lying in bed looking smaller and more fragile than Harriet had ever seen her.
"Mama." Harriet crossed to the bed and took her mother's hand. It was cold, thin, the bones too prominent beneath the papery skin. "I'm here. I'm here."
Lady Fordshire's eyes fluttered open. "Harriet. You came back."
"Of course I came back. What happened? Mrs. Briggs said you collapsed…"
"It's nothing. A momentary weakness." Lady Fordshire tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "The physician is making a fuss over nothing."
"You don't look like nothing, Mama."
"Flatterer." Lady Fordshire squeezed her hand weakly. "How was Lord Davies? Did you reach an agreement?"
Harriet hesitated. This was not the time for bad news. Her mother needed rest, not worry.
"We'll discuss it later," she said. "Right now you need to sleep."
"I've been sleeping. It's all I seem to do these days." Lady Fordshire's eyes searched Harriet's face. "Something's wrong. I can see it. Tell me."
"Mama…"
"I am not a child to be protected from unpleasantness, Harriet. I am your mother, and I have a right to know what's happening to our family."
The firmness in her voice was so familiar, so reassuringly maternal, that Harriet felt tears prickling at her eyes. She blinked them back.
"Davies proposed," she said. "I refused. He's going to pursue the debt immediately, no more extensions, and no more negotiations."
Lady Fordshire closed her eyes. "I see."
"I'm sorry, Mama. I know I should have…I know it would have solved everything but I couldn't. I couldn't enter into matrimony with him. He's cold and calculating and he sees me as nothing more than a means to an end, and I…” Harriet's voice broke. "I couldn't."
"Hush." Lady Fordshire's hand tightened on hers. "You did the right thing."
"Everyone keeps saying that. But doing the right thing is going to cost us everything."
"Not everything. We still have each other.
We still have our integrity." Lady Fordshire opened her eyes, and there was a fierce light in them despite her weakness.
"I would rather lose Fordshire Park than watch my daughter trapped in a loveless matrimony.
Do you understand me? I would rather live in a cottage and take in sewing than see you sacrifice yourself for a house. "
"It's not just a house. It's our home. It's Richard's legacy…"
"Richard would have said the same thing. He loved you, Harriet. He would never have wanted you to suffer for his sake."
The mention of Richard's name sent a fresh wave of grief washing through Harriet. She bowed her head, fighting to maintain her composure.
"What do we do now?" she whispered.
"Now, we rest. We regroup. We find another way." Lady Fordshire's voice was growing weaker, exhaustion pulling her back toward sleep. "Lord Vane is still here?"
"Yes."
"Good. He's a good man. Richard always said so." Her eyes drifted closed. "Talk to him, Harriet. Let him help. You don't have to carry this alone."
"Mama…"
But Lady Fordshire was already asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. Harriet sat beside the bed, still holding her mother's hand, and felt the weight of impossible choices pressing down on her like a physical thing.
The physician’s report was not encouraging.
"Your mother is suffering from severe exhaustion," Dr. Hartley said, his voice low as they stood in the corridor outside Lady Fordshire's chambers. "Her heart is strained. She needs complete rest…no worry, no stress, no exertion of any kind."
"For how long?"
"Indefinitely. Lady Fordshire is not a young woman, Lady Harriet. The pressures she's been under..." The physician shook his head. "She cannot continue like this. If she does, I cannot guarantee the outcome."
The words hit Harriet like a blow. "You're saying she could pass…"
"I'm saying that stress is a poison, and your mother has been ingesting it daily for months.
Her body is failing under the strain." Dr. Hartley's expression softened with sympathy.
"I understand your family is facing difficulties.
But whatever those difficulties are, they must be resolved.
Your mother cannot survive another crisis. "
Harriet nodded numbly. "I understand."
"I'll return tomorrow to check on her. In the meantime, keep her calm and quiet. No visitors, no bad news, nothing that might upset her."
He departed, leaving Harriet alone in the corridor with the ruins of her plans.
No stress. No worry. Complete rest. As though such things were possible when creditors were circling and solicitors were sharpening their knives and everything they had ever known was about to be torn away.
She had to fix this. She had to find a solution, any solution, before the next blow fell.
But how? How could she solve in days what months of effort had failed to resolve?
"Harriet."
Sebastian's voice came from behind her. She turned to find him standing at the end of the corridor, his expression grave.
"The physician informed me,” he said. "About your mother."
"Then you know we're running out of time."
"Yes."
"Davies will begin proceedings within days. When he does, there will be letters, demands, court notices. My mother will hear of it. The stress will…" Harriet couldn't finish the sentence. "She can't take another blow, Sebastian. The physician was very clear."
Sebastian moved closer, his grey eyes searching her face. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that I've been a fool. That I've let pride and stubbornness cloud my judgment while my mother's health deteriorated." Harriet laughed bitterly. "I thought I was being noble, refusing Davies. I thought I was standing on principle. But what good are principles if they kill my mother?"
"Harriet, you can't blame yourself for…"