CHAPTER SEVEN #3
"It's the only thing I can give you," he said.
"The only way I can help without asking for something you're not willing to offer.
You've made your feelings about me abundantly clear, Harriet.
You've spent seven years treating me as an enemy, and even now, when we've moved past the worst of it, you still hold me at arm's length.
" He took a breath. "I'm not asking for your love because I know I won't get it.
I'm offering matrimony because it's the one thing I can do, the one concrete way I can ensure your family's safety without demanding anything you don't want to give. "
Harriet felt something twist in her chest. "Sebastian…"
"Don't." He held up a hand. "Don't offer me false comfort.
I'm not looking for reassurance. I'm simply telling you the truth, since you asked for it.
I have... feelings... where you're concerned.
I've had them for a long time. But I've accepted that they won't be returned, and I've made my peace with it.
" His smile was bitter, self-mocking. "Consider the proposal a gift from a friend who wants nothing in return. That's all it is."
He has feelings for me.
The words echoed in Harriet's mind, rearranging everything she thought she knew. Sebastian Vane…cold, sardonic, impossible Sebastian, had just admitted to having feelings for her. Had just confessed that he had carried those feelings for years, expecting nothing, hoping for nothing.
And he was offering to wed her anyway, knowing she didn't love him, because he wanted to help.
It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. And the most heartbreaking.
"You're a fool," she heard herself say.
Sebastian blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You're an idiot." Harriet felt a strange laugh bubbling up in her chest half hysteria, half something else. "You've been carrying a torch for me for years, and you never said anything? You just... suffered in silence? Like some character in a terrible novel?"
"I fail to see how this is relevant to…"
"It's relevant because you're proposing a matrimony of convenience based on the assumption that I could never care for you. And you've never once stopped to consider that you might be wrong."
Sebastian went very still. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying…" Harriet stopped, suddenly uncertain. What was she saying? That she had feelings for him too? That somewhere in the past few weeks, her hatred had transformed into something else entirely?
No. She wasn't ready to say that. Wasn't ready to admit it, even to herself.
But she could admit something smaller. Something true.
"I'm saying that I don't hate you anymore," she said quietly. "I haven't for a while. And if I'm going to wed anyone to save my family, I'd rather it be someone I don't hate."
It was not a declaration of love. It was barely even a compliment. But something in Sebastian's expression shifted, a light kindling in his grey eyes, quickly suppressed.
"That's... good to know," he said carefully.
"So I accept."
"You accept?"
"Your proposal. I accept it." Harriet squared her shoulders, trying to project a confidence she didn't feel. "We'll wed as soon as it can be arranged. You'll settle the debts, and my mother will have the peace she needs to recover. Those are the terms."
"Those are the terms," Sebastian repeated slowly. "And in exchange?"
"In exchange, you get a wife." Harriet shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. "Whether that's a benefit or a burden, I suppose we'll find out."
Sebastian stared at her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed, a real laugh, surprised and warm and utterly unlike his usual sardonic chuckle.
"You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met," he said.
"I'm glad someone thinks so."
"I do." His voice softened. "I always have."
The words hung between them, weighted with meaning Harriet wasn't sure how to interpret. She should say something, she knew. Something gracious, something appropriate, and something that acknowledged the significance of what they had just agreed to.
Instead, she said: "Well. I suppose we're betrothed, then."
"I suppose we are."
"How terribly romantic."
"Isn't it just." Sebastian's lips quirked. "I believe this is the part where I'm supposed to offer you a ring."
"Do you have one?"
"Not on my person, no. I wasn't expecting to propose tonight."
"Then I shall do without. I'm sure the lack of a ring won't make the betrothal any less binding."
"No, I don't suppose it will."
They stood there, newly betrothed, neither quite sure what to do next. The fire crackled in the grate; outside, an owl called into the darkness. It was, Harriet thought, quite possibly the strangest moment of her life.
"We should tell your mother," Sebastian said finally. "In the morning, when she's rested. The news might help her recovery."
"It might." Harriet felt a sudden wave of exhaustion crash over her. The adrenaline of the past few minutes was fading, leaving her wrung out and hollow. "I should sleep. We both should."
"Yes."
Neither of them moved.
"Sebastian," Harriet said. "Thank you. I know I haven't been... grateful. But I am. For everything you've done."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I know. But I want to." She hesitated, then added: "You're a good man. Better than I ever gave you credit for."
Something flickered in Sebastian's expression, hope, maybe, or longing. It was gone before she could be sure.
"Goodnight, Harriet," he said quietly.
"Goodnight."
She turned and left the library, feeling his gaze on her back the entire way. It wasn't until she reached her room and closed the door behind her that she allowed herself to lean against it, her heart pounding.
She was betrothed to Sebastian Vane. The man she had spent seven years despising.
And the strangest part, the part she absolutely refused to examine, was that it didn't feel like a sacrifice at all.
***
Sebastian stood alone in the library for a long time after Harriet left.
She had said yes. She had actually said yes. After everything the years of animosity, the bitter words, the elaborate walls she had built between them, she had agreed to become his wife.
His wife. Harriet Fordshire would be his wife.
He should have been glowing with triumph.
He ought to have been shouting his success to the rafters, giving way to the wildest elation that a lover might feel when the object of his seven-year's adoration finally yielded her hand.
Instead, he was possessed by a dreadful hollow, a coldness that ill-suited so momentous an occasion.
She had made it abundantly clear that she harboured no feelings for him.
She had accepted his proposal not out of affection, but out of desperation, a practical solution to an impossible problem.
She had explicitly stated that she would "rather wed someone she didn't hate," as though not hating him was some kind of ringing endorsement.
I don't hate you anymore. I haven't for a while.
It was more than he had dared hope for. And it was nowhere near enough.
Sebastian moved to the fireplace, staring down at the dying embers.
He had known, going into this, that Harriet didn't share his feelings.
He had made his peace with that reality years ago, burying his hopeless devotion beneath layers of sardonic detachment.
He had watched her from across ballrooms, exchanged barbs with her at dinner parties, and told himself that proximity without possession was better than nothing at all.
Now he would have possession. Or some version of it. A wife who tolerated him, who had chosen him as the lesser of several evils.
It should feel like a victory. So why did it feel like defeat?
Because he wanted more. That was the shameful truth of it.
He wanted Harriet to look at him the way she had looked at that ridiculous poetry of hers with passion, with fire, with the fierce certainty of someone who had found something worth caring about.
He wanted her to choose him not because she had no other options, but because she couldn't imagine wanting anyone else.
He wanted her give him her heart, though he knew that would never happen.
Sebastian pressed his palms against his eyes, fighting the wave of self-pity that threatened to overwhelm him.
This was ridiculous. He was getting exactly what he had offered a matrimony of convenience, a chance to help Harriet's family, nothing more.
He had no right to feel disappointed when she took him at his word.
But feelings, as it turned out, didn't much care about rights.
He stayed in the library until dawn began to grey the windows, then dragged himself upstairs to his room to change for breakfast. Whatever private anguish he felt, he could not let it show.
Harriet was doing him an honor by accepting his proposal an honor he didn't deserve and the least he could do was accept it graciously.
Even if it meant spending the rest of his life wanting something he could never have.
***
Lady Fordshire took the news better than expected.
"Betrothed?" she repeated, looking between Harriet and Sebastian with an expression that was half surprise, half calculation. "To each other?"
"No, Mama, to other people entirely. We simply thought we'd announce it together for dramatic effect." Harriet sighed. "Yes, to each other. Sebastian has proposed, and I've accepted."
"I see." Lady Fordshire settled back against her pillows, her sharp eyes studying them both. "And when did this... development... occur?"
"Last night," Sebastian said. "I apologise for not seeking your permission beforehand, Lady Fordshire. The circumstances were somewhat unusual."
"I imagine they were." Lady Fordshire's gaze moved to Harriet. "Darling, could you give us a moment? I'd like to speak with Lord Vane privately."
Harriet hesitated. "Mama, if you're going to interrogate him…"
"I'm going to have a perfectly civil conversation with my future son-in-law. Run along."
There was no arguing with that tone. Harriet shot Sebastian an apologetic look and retreated from the room, closing the door behind her.
The moment she was gone, Lady Fordshire's expression sharpened.
"Now then," she said. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries. You're entering into matrimony with my daughter to save our family from financial ruin. Is that correct?"
Sebastian inclined his head. "In part."
"And the other part?"
"I have... long held Lady Harriet in high regard. The opportunity to assist her family while also securing her hand in matrimony is not one I would willingly pass up."
"High regard." Lady Fordshire's smile was thin. "An interesting way to phrase it. Tell me, Lord Vane, how long has my daughter captured your heart?”
Sebastian felt his carefully constructed composure crack slightly. "Lady Fordshire…"
"Don't insult my intelligence. I've watched you watch her for years. At balls, at dinner parties, at Richard's funeral. You look at her like she hung the moon, and you've been doing it since before she decided to hate you." Lady Fordshire tilted her head. “Is she aware?”
"She knows I have... feelings. She does not reciprocate."
"No, I don't suppose she does. Harriet has never been good at recognising what's right in front of her face.
" Lady Fordshire sighed. "I should have intervened years ago.
Forced you two to actually talk instead of circling each other like wary cats.
But I thought…" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. What matters now is the future."
"I intend to make Harriet happy," Sebastian said. "Or, at the very least, comfortable. She'll want for nothing."
"Except a husband who loves her."
"She'll have that as well. She simply won't know it."
Lady Fordshire studied him for a long moment. "You're a good man, Lord Vane. Better than I suspect you believe yourself to be. But I'm going to offer you some advice nonetheless."
“You have my undivided attention.”
"Don't let Harriet keep you at arm's length.
She'll try…it's her nature. She builds walls around herself and dares people to breach them.
But if you accept the distance she creates, if you resign yourself to a matrimony of mere convenience, you'll both be miserable.
" Lady Fordshire reached out and took his hand, her grip surprisingly strong.
"Fight for her. Even when she pushes you away.
Especially when she pushes you away. Because underneath all that prickly armor is a woman who desperately wants to be loved and is terrified of admitting it. "
Sebastian swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I'll try."
“Seek not to endeavour resolve upon the act itself.” Lady Fordshire released his hand and settled back against her pillows with a weary smile. "Now send my daughter back in. I'd like to congratulate her on finally making a sensible decision."
***
The announcement was made formal that afternoon.
Mr. Thornton was summoned to handle the legal particulars, and by evening, the engagement was a matter of record. The debts would be paid, the creditors would be satisfied, and Fordshire Park would be saved.
Harriet should have felt relieved. Instead, she felt oddly numb, as though the reality of what she had agreed to hadn't quite sunk in.
She was going to enter into matrimony with Sebastian Vane. In three weeks, she would stand before a clergyman and vow to love, honor, and obey a man she had spent seven years despising. She would become Lady Vane. She would share his name, his home, his life.
His bed.
The thought sent a jolt of something through her, panic, maybe, or anticipation. She hadn't let herself think about that aspect of the arrangement. About the physical intimacy that matrimony entailed. About what it would mean to be Sebastian's wife in every sense of the word.
They hadn't discussed it. They hadn't discussed much of anything, really. The betrothal had happened so quickly, swept along by the tide of practical necessity, that there had been no time for the conversations that normally preceded such a commitment.
What did Sebastian expect from her? He had offered her separate lives, separate households, if she wanted them. But did he actually want that? Or was he simply saying what he thought she needed to hear?
And what did she want?
It was a question she had been avoiding, but it demanded an answer. Did she want to keep Sebastian at arm's length, maintaining the polite distance of a matrimony of convenience? Or did she want... something else?
Something more?
She was entirely unacquainted with the facts of the matter. This lack of certainty preyed upon her spirits until she was quite overcome by agitation.