CHAPTER EIGHT #3
The carriage rolled to a stop, and servants emerged to greet them.
There was a flurry of activity, luggage being unloaded, introductions being made, rooms being prepared.
Harriet found herself swept along in the tide, nodding and smiling and trying to memorize the names of the endless parade of staff.
Finally, blessedly, she was shown to her chambers.
They were beautiful, a suite of rooms decorated in soft blues and creams, with a view of the gardens she had admired from the carriage. There was a sitting room, a dressing room, and a bedroom with a large four-poster bed that Harriet tried very hard not to look at directly.
"Lord Vane's chambers are through there," the housekeeper said, gesturing to a connecting door. "Shall I send your maid up to help you dress for dinner?"
"Yes, please."
The housekeeper departed, and Harriet was alone.
She stood in the middle of the room, taking in her surroundings, trying to process the reality of her situation. This was her home now. These were her rooms. That door led to her husband's chambers.
Her husband.
The word still felt foreign. Impossible. She was Lady Vane now, a title she had never expected to hold, attached to a man she had never expected to wed.
And tonight...
She forced herself to look at the bed. It was large, comfortable, covered in soft linens that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. A bed for sleeping.
Or for other things.
Harriet felt heat rise to her cheeks. She was being ridiculous. Sebastian had promised her time, promised her there was no pressure. He wouldn't expect anything from her tonight.
Would he?
A knock at the connecting door made her jump.
"Harriet?" Sebastian's voice, muffled through the wood. "May I come in?"
"I…yes. Yes, of course."
The door opened, and Sebastian stepped through. He had changed out of his wedding clothes into something more informal, a simple coat and cravat, his hair slightly disheveled as though he had been running his hands through it.
"I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed," he said. "The staff can be a bit overwhelming at first."
"They seem very efficient."
"They are. Mrs. Crawford runs the household with an iron fist." He paused, his eyes sweeping over her. "You look exhausted."
"It's been a long day."
"It has." Sebastian moved to stand by the window, keeping a careful distance between them. "I thought we might take dinner in our rooms tonight. Give you a chance to rest before the onslaught of social obligations begins."
"That sounds wonderful."
"Good." He turned to look at her, and something in his expression made her breath catch. "Harriet, I want you to know whatever happens tonight, whatever doesn't happen, there’s no wrong answer. I meant what I said about taking time."
"I know you did."
"Do you?" He took a step closer. "Because you seem... uncertain. And I don't want you to feel pressured, or obligated, or…"
"Sebastian." Harriet held up a hand. "Stop. Please."
He stopped.
"I appreciate what you're trying to do," she said.
"Truly. But all this reassurance is making me more nervous, not less.
You keep treating me like I'm made of glass, like one wrong word might shatter me.
And I'm not. I'm confused and overwhelmed and probably making a hash of this entire situation, but I'm not fragile. "
"I never said you were."
"You didn't have to. It's in every careful word, every measured distance, every time you pull back when you want to step forward.
" Harriet took a breath. "I saw you at the altar, Sebastian.
I saw how you looked at me. You're holding yourself back, and I don't…
" She stopped, frustrated. "I don't know if I want you to stop. "
Sebastian went very still. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying…" Harriet pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to order her thoughts.
"I'm saying I don't know what I want. I've spent so long being certain about everything, certain I hated you, certain I'd never wed, certain I knew exactly how my life would unfold.
And now everything is different, and I don't have a map anymore, and I need you to stop being so considerate so I can figure out how I actually feel. "
"You want me to be less considerate?"
"I want you to be honest. Really honest. Not this careful, measured version of honesty you've been giving me." Harriet dropped her hands and met his eyes. "Tell me what you actually want, Sebastian. I care not for what you deem me capable of enduring. Tell me instead what your soul truly craves.”
The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.
Then Sebastian crossed the room in three swift strides, stopping just short of touching her.
"You want honesty?" His voice was rough.
"Fine. Honestly, I want to kiss you properly.
Not the chaste peck at the altar, but really kiss you, the way I've been imagining for seven years.
Honestly, I want to hold you, and touch you, and show you exactly how I feel, because I'm terrible at finding the words.
Honestly, I'm terrified that if I do any of those things, you'll realise this was all a mistake and run screaming back to London. "
Harriet's heart was pounding. "And if I don't run?"
"Then I'll probably embarrass myself with the depth of my devotion." Sebastian's laugh was shaky.
"I told you once that I've wanted you for seven years.
I didn't tell you that wanting you has been the central organising principle of my entire adult life.
That every decision I've made, every path I've chosen, has been colored by the knowledge that you existed in the world, even if you'd never be mine. "
"Sebastian…"
“You demanded the truth, and though it may forfeit your esteem, you shall have it… I love you, Harriet. I have loved you since my nineteenth year, when I was yet too green in judgment to understand the depth of my own heart. I have loved you through seven years of bitter estrangement; I have loved you through these past weeks of inescapable intimacy; I even loved you throughout the trial of that most harrowing wedding ceremony,” He pause for a moment.
“Whether you ever find it in your heart to return my affection is of no consequence to my devotion. I shall love you until my final breath. That is my singular desire. That is the truth that I have laid bare to you.” His eyes were blazing now, all his careful control stripped away.
The words hung between them, raw and exposed.
Harriet should wanted to say something. She knew she should say something. But her voice had abandoned her, along with her capacity for rational thought.
Sebastian loved her. Really loved her. Not duty, not obligation, not some misguided sense of responsibility to Richard's memory. Love.
"I…" she started, but he shook his head.
"You don't have to say anything. I told you, there's no pressure. I just…you asked for honesty, and I couldn't…" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "I should go. Let you rest. We can talk tomorrow, or next week, or whenever you're ready."
He turned toward the connecting door.
"Wait."
He stopped.
Harriet moved before she could think better of it, crossing the distance between them and placing her hand on his arm. He turned, his expression guarded, braced for rejection.
"I don't know if I love you," she said quietly.
"I can't say those words yet, because I'm not sure they're true.
But I know I don't hate you. I know that somewhere in the past few weeks, you've become someone I trust, someone I rely on, someone I…
" She struggled for the right words. "Someone I want to know better. Much better."
"What does that mean?"
"It means…" Harriet took a breath. "It means don't go. Not yet. Stay and talk to me. Stay and have dinner with me. Stay and…" She felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Just stay."
Sebastian's expression softened. "Are you sure?"
"No." Harriet laughed shakily. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. But I'm tired of being careful. I'm tired of keeping my distance. You've been brave enough to be honest with me. The least I can do is try to be brave in return."
Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, Sebastian raised his hand and cupped her cheek. His palm was warm, his touch gentle.
"I'll stay," he said. "For as long as you want me."
"And if that's forever?"
"Then forever it is."
Harriet closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She wasn't ready to say she loved him. Wasn't ready to make promises she wasn't sure she could keep.