CHAPTER TEN
After dinner, Harriet took him to visit Richard's grave.
The family plot was set in a quiet corner of the property, surrounded by ancient oaks that filtered the evening light into something golden and soft. Richard's headstone was simple with just his name, his dates, and a line from a poem Sebastian didn't recognise.
Till the last petal falls, I remember.
"He loved poetry," Harriet said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not as much as I did, but he appreciated it. I wrote that line for him. After he passed, Mama had it carved on the stone."
Sebastian stood beside her, not touching, just... present.
"It's beautiful."
"Is it? I've never been sure. I wrote it in a fog of grief. I didn't know if it was good or if I was just... desperate to leave something of myself behind. Something to mark his passing."
"Poetry doesn't have to be good to be meaningful."
"No. I suppose not." Harriet knelt down, her hand resting on the cold stone. "I haven't been here since the funeral. I couldn't... I couldn't face it."
Sebastian said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"I blamed myself, you know." Her voice cracked slightly.
"For not being there when he passed. He was out riding, and I was at home reading, and I didn't even know anything was wrong until they brought him back.
I kept thinking, if I had been there, maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have stopped it."
"You couldn't have stopped it."
"I know. I know that, logically. But grief isn't logical.
" She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears.
"I was so angry, Sebastian. At him for passing.
At the world for taking him. At myself for surviving.
And I didn't know what to do with all that anger, so I turned it outward. I found someone to blame."
"Me."
"You. You were there, and Richard loved you, and I couldn't understand why you got to live when he didn't. It wasn't fair, I knew it wasn't fair…but I needed someone to unleash my anger on…. and you were convenient."
Sebastian crouched down beside her. "I don't blame you for that."
"You should. I was horrible to you."
"You were grieving. We all were."
"That's not an excuse."
"No. But it's an explanation." He reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. "Harriet, I forgave you a long time ago. Whatever you did, whatever you said…it doesn't matter. Not anymore."
She stared at him, her expression raw and open in a way he had never seen before. "How can you just... forgive me? After everything?"
"Because I love you. And loving someone means accepting them entirely, all the good and the bad, the kind and the cruel." Sebastian smiled slightly. "Besides, your cruelty was never truly cruel. It was always grief wearing a different mask."
Harriet made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "You see too much."
"I see you. That's all."
She reached for him then, her arms wrapping around his neck, her face buried against his shoulder. Sebastian held her while she cried…for Richard, for the years they had lost, for the anger that had finally found a place to rest.
He didn't try to fix it. He just held her, steady and present, until the storm had passed.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red but clear.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For coming here with me. For staying." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "For being... you."
"I'm not sure that's worthy of thanks."
"It is." She stood, and he rose with her. "Sebastian, I…"
She stopped, and Sebastian waited, barely breathing.
"Never mind," she said finally. "We should go back. It's getting dark."
She turned and walked toward the house, and Sebastian followed, wondering what she had been about to say.
Wondering when she would finally be ready.
***
That night, Harriet came to his room.
Sebastian was sitting by the window, unable to sleep, watching the moon rise over the gardens. He heard the soft knock at his door and knew, somehow, that it was her.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, as she slipped inside.
"No. Too many memories." She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. "Is it strange? Being here?"
"A little. But not bad." Sebastian gestured to the chair across from him. "Would you like to sit?"
She sat, tucking her feet up beneath her in a way that made her look very young. She was wearing a dressing gown over her nightclothes, her hair loose around her shoulders. Sebastian had never seen her like this…undone, informal and entirely herself.
She was beautiful. She was always beautiful. But this was different.
"I wanted to thank you," she said. "For today. At the grave."
"You've already thanked me."
"I know. But I wanted to say it again." She looked down at her hands. "You didn't have to come here with me. You didn't have to hold me while I cried. But you did, and I…" She stopped, struggling for words.
"Harriet, you don't have to…"
"Let me finish." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "I've spent years pushing people away. Building walls. Convincing myself that I didn't need anyone. And then you came along, and you just…you just stayed. No matter how awful I was. No matter how hard I pushed. You stayed."
"I didn't know how to leave."
"That's…" She laughed, a slightly watery sound. "That's ridiculous, Sebastian."
"It's the truth. I tried to leave. I tried to stop loving you. I couldn't." He shrugged. "So I stayed."
"For seven years."
"For seven years."
Harriet was quiet for a long moment. The moonlight caught the tears still glistening on her lashes.
Then she said: "I love you."
Sebastian's heart stopped.
He must have misheard. He must have misunderstood. There was no way…after everything…that she had actually…
"Say it again," he managed.
"I love you." Her voice was stronger now, more certain.
"I don't know when it started. Maybe at the inn, when you gave up your room. Maybe in the library, when you confessed about the poetry. Maybe I've always loved you and just couldn't admit it." She shook her head.
"But I love you. I love your stubbornness and your wit and the way you look at me like I'm the most precious thing you've ever seen. I love that you stayed. I love that you're here."
Sebastian couldn't speak. His throat had closed up, his eyes were burning, and he was fairly certain that if he tried to say anything, he would embarrass himself completely.
"Sebastian?" Harriet's voice was uncertain now.
"Say something. Please."
He crossed the room in two strides, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was not restrained or careful or polite. It was seven years of hope and fear and desperate longing, finally released. He kissed her like she was air and he was drowning. He kissed her like she was the answer to every question he had ever asked.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping, he pressed his forehead against hers.
"I love you too," he said, his voice cracking.
"I've loved you for seven years. I'll love you for seven more, and seven after that, and every seven after that until I die."
"That's a very long time."
"Not long enough."
Harriet laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. "You're ridiculous."
"I know."
"And melodramatic."
"Guilty."
"And I love you anyway."
"That," Sebastian said, "is the greatest miracle I have ever witnessed."
She kissed him again, softer this time, and they stood there in the moonlight, holding each other, marvelling at the impossibility of it all.
Seven years of wanting. Seven years of waiting.
And finally, finally, they were here.
***
Morning came too quickly.
Sebastian woke to find Harriet curled against his side, her hair spread across his chest, her breath warm against his neck. They had talked for hours the night before, eventually falling asleep on top of the covers, fully clothed, too exhausted and too happy to care about propriety.
He lay still for a moment, watching her sleep, marvelling at the reality of it.
She loved him. She had said the words. She had meant them.
He was the luckiest man in the world.
Harriet stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked confused and then memory seemed to return, and she smiled.
"Good morning," she murmured.
"Good morning, wife."
For the first time, she didn't object to the word. Instead, she stretched up and pressed a kiss to his jaw.
"Good morning, husband."
Sebastian's heart expanded to approximately twice its normal size.
"Say that again."
“Be content with the ground you have gained and venture no further.”
"Fair enough."
They lay there for a while, neither quite ready to face the day. But eventually, Harriet sighed and sat up.
"We should go down. Mama will be expecting us at breakfast."
"Your mother will also undoubtedly notice that you're wearing the same clothes as last night and draw conclusions."
Harriet looked down at herself and groaned. "I didn't think of that."
"I'll distract her. You slip upstairs and change."
"You would do that for me?"
"I would do anything for you. I thought we established this."
She kissed him quick and fierce and then scrambled off the bed. "You're a good husband, Sebastian Vane."
"I try."
"Try harder."
She was gone before he could respond, but he heard her laughter echoing down the corridor, and he thought: Yes. This is what happiness feels like.
***
Breakfast was an exercise in studied innocence.
Harriet had managed to change before her mother appeared, but Lady Fordshire's sharp eyes seemed to notice everything anyway. She looked between them, at Sebastian's slightly disheveled hair, at Harriet's barely suppressed smile and raised one elegant eyebrow.
"You seem well rested," she observed.
"We slept excellently, thank you, Mama."
"I'm sure you did." Lady Fordshire's tone was perfectly bland. "The east wing beds are quite comfortable."
Sebastian concentrated very hard on his meal before him. Harriet appeared to be fascinated by her toast.
"I trust you enjoyed the grounds yesterday evening?" Lady Fordshire continued. "Harriet mentioned you visited the family plot."
"We did," Sebastian said. "It was... meaningful."
"I imagine it was." Lady Fordshire's gaze softened slightly. "I'm glad she had someone with her. She's been avoiding that place for too long."
"Some things take time."
"Yes. They do." Lady Fordshire smiled, and for a moment, Sebastian saw exactly where Harriet had inherited her formidable nature. "Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you have plans for the day."
"We thought we might walk the gardens," Harriet said. "Show Sebastian the rest of the property."
"An excellent idea. The weather is meant to hold." Lady Fordshire rose from the table. "I'll leave you to it. I have correspondence to attend to."
She departed, and Sebastian let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
"That could have been worse," he said.
"She knows."
"She definitely knows."
"She's going to be insufferable about it."
"Almost certainly." Sebastian reached across the table and took Harriet's hand. "Do you mind?"
Harriet considered the question. "No," she said finally. "I don't think I do."
"Then neither do I."
They finished breakfast and went to walk the gardens, hand in hand, and if the servants noticed the new Lady Vane smiling more than they had ever seen her smile before, they were kind enough not to mention it.