CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sebastian had never given much thought to what happiness felt like.
He had assumed, in the abstract way one assumes things about experiences one has never had, that it would be dramatic. A thunderclap of joy. A sudden transformation from grey to colour. The sort of overwhelming emotion that poets wrote about and ordinary people only dreamed of.
He had been wrong.
Happiness, as it turned out, felt like walking through the gardens of Fordshire Park with Harriet's hand in his, listening to her describe the roses her father had planted when she was a child.
It felt like the warmth of the morning sun on his face and the slight pressure of her fingers against his palm.
It felt quiet. Ordinary. Utterly miraculous.
He kept glancing at her, half-convinced he had dreamed the night before. The confession. The kiss. The way she had looked at him when she said I love you, as though the words had cost her something precious and she was giving them to him anyway.
But she was real, solid and warm and here…and every time she caught him looking, her lips curved into a smile that made his chest ache.
"You're doing it again," she said.
"Doing what?"
"Looking at me as if I have hung the moon."
"You did hang the moon. I was there. I watched you do it."
"That's not even clever."
"I never claimed to be clever. I claimed to be devoted."
Harriet tried to look annoyed. She failed spectacularly. The corners of her mouth kept twitching upward, and there was a softness in her eyes that Sebastian had never seen before, or perhaps had never been allowed to see.
"You're ridiculous," she said.
"Ridiculously in love with you, yes."
"That's worse."
"I know. I can't seem to help it."
She stopped walking and turned to face him, her expression shifting to something more serious. The morning light caught the strands of gold in her dark hair, and Sebastian had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them.
"Sebastian. Last night…"
"You don't have to say anything."
"I want to." She took both his hands in hers, her grip firm and certain.
"I meant what I said. Every word. I need you to know that it wasn't…
it wasn't just the moment, or the emotion of being here.
I love you. I think I've loved you for longer than I knew.
And I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and change my mind. "
Sebastian's throat tightened. He had spent the hours before dawn lying awake, Harriet sleeping peacefully beside him, torturing himself with exactly that fear.
That she would wake and regret. That the words spoken in moonlight would seem foolish in daylight.
That he would lose her just when he had finally won her.
"How did you know that's what I was worried about?" he asked.
"Because I know you. Because you've spent seven years expecting nothing, and now you have everything, and you don't quite trust it." She squeezed his hands. "I don't entirely trust it either. But I'm choosing to believe in it anyway. In us."
"That's very brave of you."
"I learned it from someone." Her smile returned, smaller but no less warm. "A very stubborn man who refused to give up on me, even when I gave him every reason to."
Sebastian lifted her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I would do it again. Every moment. Every year. I would wait seven more if that's what it took."
"Let's not test that theory."
"Agreed."
They stood there for a moment, hands intertwined, the morning light warming their faces. A bird sang somewhere in the garden, and the roses swayed gently in the breeze, and Sebastian thought he could stay here forever in this garden, in this moment, with this woman.
"I keep expecting to wake up," he admitted quietly. "To find out this was all some elaborate dream, and I'm still back in London, watching you across a ballroom, knowing you'll never look at me the way you're looking at me now."
"How am I looking at you?"
"Like I matter. Like I'm someone worth seeing."
"You are someone worth seeing." Harriet's voice was fierce. "You've always been worth seeing. I was just too stubborn and too scared to admit it."
"And now?"
"Now I'm still stubborn, but I'm trying to be less scared." She released one of his hands to touch his face, her fingers gentle against his jaw. "You matter, Sebastian. To me. More than I know how to say."
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. "You're getting quite good at saying things."
“Do not grow too accustomed to such softness. I have a certain reputation for severity which I am quite determined to uphold.”
"Heaven forbid I damage your reputation."
"Heaven forbid indeed."
But she was smiling, and so was he, and when she took his arm and they continued their walk through the gardens, Sebastian allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that this was his life now. Morning walks with Harriet. Easy conversation. The simple pleasure of her company.
It was more than he had ever dared to hope for.
It was everything.
***
Lady Fordshire was waiting for them when they returned to the house.
She was seated in the morning room with a cup of tea and a stack of correspondence, looking healthier than Sebastian had seen her in months. The drawn quality had left her face; the shadows under her eyes had faded. Her hands, when she set down her teacup, were steady and sure.
"There you are," she said, looking up from a letter. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost in the gardens."
"The roses are very distracting," Harriet said, taking a seat across from her mother. "They're blooming beautifully this year."
"They are. Your father would have been pleased." Lady Fordshire's gaze moved to Sebastian, assessing him with the sharp intelligence that seemed to run in the Fordshire women. "Lord Vane. You look well rested."
"The country air," Sebastian said, settling into a chair and trying to project an innocence he did not feel.
"Yes, you mentioned that yesterday. The air does seem to be agreeing with both of you." Lady Fordshire's expression was perfectly bland. Her eyes were anything but. "Harriet, darling, you seem different this morning. Lighter, somehow."
"I don't know what you mean, Mama."
"Of course you don't." A knowing smile played at the corners of Lady Fordshire's mouth. "Lord Vane, you've done something to my daughter. She's practically glowing."
Sebastian felt heat climb his cheeks. "I assure you, Lady Fordshire…"
"Oh, don't look so stricken. I'm not accusing you of anything improper.
" Lady Fordshire picked up her tea again, the picture of aristocratic composure.
"I'm simply observing that my daughter, who spent the better part of five London seasons scowling at every eligible gentleman in sight, has apparently discovered the appeal of matrimony.
It's gratifying. I was beginning to worry she would never come around. "
"Mama." Harriet's voice carried a warning note.
"What? I'm paying your husband a compliment. He's managed to accomplish what dozens of suitors could not." Lady Fordshire turned her full attention to Sebastian. "I'm impressed, Lord Vane. Truly. I had begun to despair of Harriet ever finding someone who could match her in stubbornness."
"I believe we're quite evenly matched in that regard," Sebastian said carefully.
"I suspected as much. It's the only explanation for how you've survived this long." Lady Fordshire set down her teacup with a decisive click. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have matters to discuss with Mr. Thornton this morning. He's coming at eleven to review the estate accounts."
Sebastian straightened slightly. "The accounts? Is there anything I should be aware of?"
"Nothing concerning, I assure you. Quite the opposite, in fact.
" Lady Fordshire rose, smoothing her skirts with practiced elegance.
"Your settlement of our debts has been..
. transformative, Lord Vane. Mr. Thornton has been positively giddy well, as giddy as Mr. Thornton gets, which is to say he smiled twice last week.
I thought you and Harriet might like to join us.
See the results of your generosity firsthand. "
Sebastian glanced at Harriet, who nodded.
"We would be honoured," he said.
"Excellent. Eleven o'clock in the study. Don't be late Mr. Thornton becomes anxious when his schedule is disrupted." Lady Fordshire swept toward the door, then paused, her hand on the frame. "And Sebastian?"
He looked up, surprised by the use of his Christian name.
"Thank you." Her voice was softer now, stripped of its usual social armour. "I don't believe I've said that properly. What you've done for this family, settling the debts, providing security, giving my daughter a reason to smile, I am more grateful than I can express."
She was gone before Sebastian could formulate a response, leaving him alone with Harriet in the suddenly quiet morning room.
"Well," Harriet said, after a moment. "That was almost sentimental."
"Your mother is a formidable woman."
"She is. But she's not wrong." Harriet's expression softened as she looked at him. "I haven't thanked you properly either. For any of it."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I do, though." She shifted in her chair, turning to face him more fully. "You've saved my family, Sebastian. You've given my mother peace, secured our home, lifted the weight that was crushing all of us. And you've never once made me feel like I owed you anything in return."
"You don't owe me anything."
"I know. That's precisely my point." Harriet shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. "I spent so long resenting the very idea of being saved. I thought it would feel like defeat. Like giving up. Like admitting I wasn't strong enough to solve my own problems."
"And now?"