CHAPTER NINE #2
He had imagined this. In his weaker moments, during the long years of hopeless wanting, he had allowed himself to imagine Harriet kissing him, initiating, wanting, and choosing him.
But imagination was a pale shadow compared to reality.
Her lips were fierce against his, her fingers twisted in his coat, her body pressed against him as though she couldn't get close enough.
He responded instinctively, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless. She tasted like the tea she had drunk at breakfast. She felt like everything he had ever wanted.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
Harriet pulled back, her eyes wide, her expression horrified. "That was…I didn't mean to…"
"Please," Sebastian managed, his voice rough, "by all means, continue not meaning to."
She stared at him for a fraction of a second. Then she turned and fled the library.
Sebastian stood alone among the improperly organised books, his heart pounding, his lips still tingling, utterly incapable of movement.
She kissed me, he thought. She grabbed me and kissed me because she wanted to. Because she couldn't help herself.
He pressed his hand against his mouth, as though he could hold the memory of her there.
I am going to die. I am going to die, and it will be worth it.
***
The following day was agony.
Harriet was avoiding him. This was not speculation; it was observable fact.
She did not come down to breakfast. She did not appear for their usual walk.
When he knocked on the door of the sitting room where she had sequestered herself, she called out that she was "indisposed" and would "see him at dinner, perhaps. "
Perhaps. As though there were any possibility of Sebastian not seeing her at dinner. As though he could survive an entire day without even a glimpse of her face.
He was being pathetic. He knew he was being pathetic. But he couldn't seem to stop.
He retreated to his study and attempted to review estate accounts.
The numbers swam before his eyes, meaningless.
He tried to read. The words refused to form coherent sentences.
He considered going for a ride, but the thought of being out of the house and away from even the possibility of seeing her was intolerable.
You're courting your own wife, he told himself savagely. You're mooning about like a lovesick boy because she kissed you and then ran away. This is what you've been reduced to.
But he couldn't help it. He had spent seven years loving her from a distance, convinced that distance was all he would ever have. Now she was here, in his house, wearing his ring, and she had kissed him…twice and he didn't know what to do with any of it.
In the end, he did what he always did when he couldn't handle his feelings: he sublimated them into action.
He went to the kitchens and spoke to Mrs. Crawford, the cook who had ruled the household since before he was born.
He requested that a selection of biscuits be prepared ,the lemon ones, specifically, because he had noticed Harriet eating three of them at tea last week.
He asked for fresh flowers to be placed in her sitting room.
He searched the library until he found a novel she had mentioned wanting to read, and had it wrapped in paper and left outside her door.
Small things. Pathetic things. The gestures of a man who didn't know how else to say I love you, please don't run from me.
He didn't know if she noticed. He didn't know if she cared.
But he kept doing it anyway, because doing something was better than doing nothing, and because he was, as he had long since accepted, utterly hopeless where Harriet Fordshire was concerned.
***
By evening, his patience had worn thin.
She could not avoid him forever. They were wedded; they lived in the same house; they had kissed twice and something had clearly shifted between them. If she thought she could simply pretend none of it had happened, she was mistaken.
He found her in the library, curled in her chair…her chair, the one she had claimed and refused to relinquish, with a book open in her lap. She looked up at his entrance, her expression wary.
"You're being ridiculous," he said, without preamble.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You kissed me and then ran away like a frightened rabbit. You've been hiding from me all day. It's ridiculous."
"I have not been hiding. I've been…"
"Avoiding. Hiding. The distinction is academic." Sebastian moved to stand before her chair, looking down at her. "Harriet, we need to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"You kissed me."
"A momentary lapse in judgment."
"You grabbed my lapels and kissed me in the middle of an argument about alphabetisation. That's not a lapse; that's a choice."
Harriet's cheeks flushed. "I did not grab your lapels."
"You absolutely grabbed my lapels. I was there. I remember it vividly." Sebastian crouched down so they were at eye level. "Harriet, I'm not upset. I'm the opposite of upset. But I need to understand what's happening, because I cannot keep…" He stopped, struggling for words.
"Cannot keep what?"
"Cannot keep hoping and then having the rug pulled out from under me." His voice came out rougher than he intended.
"I've been doing this for seven years. Wanting you. Watching you. Telling myself it didn't matter that you'd never feel the same. And now you're kissing me and running away and avoiding me and I don't…" He broke off, shaking his head.
"I need to know what you want, Harriet. Even if it's nothing. Even if it was a mistake. I need to know."
Harriet was very still, her book forgotten in her lap. Sebastian watched the play of emotions across her face…surprise, guilt, something softer he was afraid to name.
"It wasn't a mistake," she said finally, her voice quiet.
"Then what was it?"
"I don't know." She pressed her hands against her eyes. "I don't know, Sebastian. I've never…" She stopped, frustrated. "I've never felt this way before. I don't know what to do with it. Every time I let myself want something, I want to protect myself from losing it."
"You're not going to lose me."
"You can't promise that. No one can promise that."
"I can promise that I'm not going anywhere by choice." Sebastian reached out and gently pulled her hands away from her face. "Look at me, Harriet."
She looked. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and Sebastian felt his heart crack.
"I'm not going to pressure you," he said.
"I'm not going to demand declarations or force feelings you don't have. But I need you to stop running from me. Whatever this is…whatever we're becoming, we face it together. That's what matrimony means. That's what this matrimony means, at least to me."
Harriet was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Together," she repeated.
"Together."
"That sounds... terrifying."
"I know. I'm terrified too."
"You?" She laughed, a watery sound. "You always seem so composed. So certain."
"I'm not. I'm constantly certain that I'm going to say the wrong thing and you're going to realise you made a terrible mistake becoming my wife.” Sebastian smiled ruefully.
"I'm very good at hiding my inner turmoil."
"Apparently." Harriet studied his face, as though seeing him for the first time. "Why didn't you tell me?"
“That I was overcome with dread? That I have spent these recent weeks in a state of perpetual agitation, my mind never truly at rest?”
"That you felt... any of this. The uncertainty. The fear."
"Because I thought you had enough to deal with. Because I didn't want to burden you with my neuroses." Sebastian shrugged. "Because I'm a fool mostly.”
"You're not a fool."
"I'm a bit of a fool."
"Perhaps a bit." But she was smiling, and Sebastian felt something loosen in his chest. "Sebastian, I'm sorry I ran. Yesterday. And today. It wasn't fair to you."
"I understood. I understand."
"That doesn't make it right." Harriet reached out and took his hand, a mirror of what he had done to her at breakfast, days ago. "I'm not very good at this. Being vulnerable. Letting people in. But I'm trying. I want you to know that I'm trying."
"I know." Sebastian squeezed her fingers. "That's enough for now. That's more than enough."
They sat there for a moment, hands intertwined, and the fire crackling softly in the grate. It wasn't a grand romantic gesture. It wasn't a declaration of undying love. But it was something. It was progress.
And for Sebastian, who had spent seven years expecting nothing, it felt like everything.
***
The letter from Lady Fordshire arrived two days later.
Sebastian was in his study when Harriet appeared in the doorway, a folded paper in her hand and an uncertain expression on her face.
"News from your mother?" he asked.
"She wants us to visit." Harriet moved into the room, perching on the edge of a chair. "She says she's well enough for visitors now. She wants to see me. And you."
"Me?"
"You're her son-in-law. I believe she wishes to assess you properly." Harriet's lips twitched. "Make sure you're treating me adequately."
"Am I treating you adequately?"
"Adequately might be too strong. I would say tolerably."
"High praise indeed."
Harriet rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Would you be willing? To visit, I mean. I know we've only just settled in here, and the journey isn't short, but…"
"Yes."
She blinked. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." Sebastian set down his pen and gave her his full attention. "Harriet, Fordshire Park is your home. Your mother is your family. Of course I'm willing to visit."
"It's several days' travel. And my mother can be... formidable."
"I've met your mother. I know exactly how formidable she is."
"She'll interrogate you."
"I expect nothing less."
"She'll make pointed comments about grandchildren."
Sebastian's heart stuttered slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "I can withstand pointed comments."