Chapter 16
Have pity on your constant swain,
And release him from his pain;
Cast him not like shells away;
But fix upon a joyous day,
When we to church shall trip away.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
* * *
Despite the impropriety of it all, the women rose to their feet as one, standing shoulder to shoulder with Harriet. Finch, naturally, was the first to speak, her stout figure braced like a general about to lead a charge.
“Well, m’lord?” she demanded, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Ye come stormin’ in ’ere like some bleedin’ conquerin’ ’ero, but what I wants to know is what’re yer intentions toward our lady?”
Sebastian lifted a brow, clearly amused by the interrogation but entirely undaunted. His gaze flickered across each woman before settling on Finch with a calm patience.
“My intentions,” he said slowly, “are my own to discuss with Lady Slight.”
Finch let out a huff, unimpressed. “Ain’t good enough, my lord. We all knows ’ow men work. Ye’ll say all them pretty things, make yer promises, then scarper soon as ye’ve ’ad yer fill.” She folded her arms. “Oi’ll not ’ave our lady left ’eartbroken on my watch.”
Harriet, still reeling from Sebastian’s sudden appearance and his words, barely managed to find her voice. “Finch—”
But the older woman was undeterred.
“Ye ain’t got the foggiest what she’s been through,” Finch continued, her voice thick with conviction. “Ye don’t know ’ow hard she’s worked to turn things ’round. So if ye’re just ’ere to muck about with ’er, ye can turn right ’round an’ shove off out that door.”
Sebastian did not so much as flinch at the scolding. Instead, he inclined his head, as though he had expected no less from the formidable woman. “I assure you, I do not intend to toy with her.”
A delicate throat-clearing sounded beside Finch, and Lady Wood, ever the picture of grace and refinement, clasped her hands before her.
“My lord,” she said, her voice smooth and composed but no less resolute, “it is not simply a matter of whether you intend to cause pain but whether you are prepared for all that loving Harriet entails.” She tilted her head, scrutinizing him with an assessing gaze.
“You may think you know her, but people change. Life changes them. You have spent years apart, and now you have only had a handful of days together. Are you certain you understand what you are asking for?”
Harriet’s heart pounded. Evaline’s words, spoken with quiet authority, struck true.
Did he truly understand?
Sebastian was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, at last, he spoke.
“I know her well enough to understand that I love her,” he said.
A ripple of reaction passed through the room.
Harriet inhaled sharply, her stomach twisting into knots.
He loved her.
Finch and Lady Wood exchanged glances, but before they could respond, Belinda Cooper stepped forward, her gaze piercing.
“And yet you did not trust her,” Belinda pointed out, her words laced with skepticism. “You accused her of unfaithfulness. You stormed out.” She raised a brow. “What has changed?”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “I was angry.”
“That much was clear,” Belinda murmured.
His gray eyes darkened with something unreadable. “I was angry because I have spent years trying to forget her. And the moment I stopped resisting, the moment I allowed myself to believe in a future with her, I discovered she had deceived me again.”
Harriet winced. He had every right to say it. Every right to hold that grievance close to his heart. But his next words made her breath catch.
“I left because I was afraid,” Sebastian admitted, his admission settling over the room.
“Afraid that I would never be able to trust her. Afraid that she would never trust me. Afraid that after everything, I had come back for a dream that had already crumbled.” His voice turned hoarse. “But I was wrong.”
A hush fell.
Harriet swallowed past the lump in her throat.
Sebastian took a step forward.
“Harriet, I know we cannot erase the past,” he said. “I know we have made mistakes. Both of us. But I also know that I am not willing to let you go. Not again.”
Jem, standing by Harriet’s side, her little hands balled into fists, finally spoke, her young voice quiet but firm.
“Then don’t.”
Sebastian turned his gaze to the girl. Jem met his eyes without flinching.
“If ye love ’er, then stay.”
The simple words, spoken with such certainty, sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over Harriet.
Stay.
She looked to Sebastian, her heart hammering. The room was silent, waiting. Waiting for her to decide. Waiting for her to believe. She took a shaky breath. And then, voice trembling but firm, she spoke.
“There are things I have done. Things you do not know about.”
Sebastian’s gaze focused on her, and he smiled in a way that made her heart flip over in her chest.
“When you are ready, you will tell me these mistakes you regret. Until then, I accept you as you are because living without you is … I cannot do it again, Harry. It will kill me to walk away a second time, so show mercy on this wretched man who has loved you since I first laid eyes on you as a green youth in Wiltshire.”
He stepped forward, gently making his way through the women who stood between them. Once he reached her, he lifted his hand to her cheek and tilted her face up to look deep into her eyes.
“Let me love you, Harry.”
Tears spilled from her eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude. Gratitude for the man who knew her to the very depths. Knew her flaws. Knew about her secrets. And had always loved her anyway.
Sebastian used the pad of his thumb to wipe the moisture from her cheeks, lowering his head to settle his lips against hers, and Harriet felt the pieces of her soul slowly drawing together into one whole.
A flawed whole, but if a man as true as Sebastian could accept her as she was, perhaps she could, too.
“Right then,” Finch said, clearing her throat and folding her arms across her ample bosom. “This is all very sweet an’ teary, but dinner ain’t gonna serve itself, now is it?”
Harriet let out a breathless giggle against Sebastian’s mouth, the tension of the moment giving way to sheer, giddy relief. The women chuckled amongst themselves before retreating, their skirts rustling as they dispersed, murmuring about roasts and puddings, no doubt eager to grant them privacy.
Finch paused at the door long enough to cast one final, appraising look over her shoulder at Sebastian, the expression that stated she was reserving judgment, before she, too, disappeared into the corridor.
Sebastian lifted his head, gray eyes warm and fixed on her as the last of their audience slipped away.
“There are things to settle between us,” Harriet said softly. “But”, she bit her lip, hesitant, but she knew what she wanted, “can I come to Italy with you? Perhaps we can wed in Calais?”
A slow, wondrous smile spread across his face. He nodded, then leaned down to kiss her again, more gently this time, as if sealing a vow.
Before she could take another breath, he tugged her into his arms. Harriet gasped, laughing as she instinctively clutched his shoulders. “Sebastian!”
“I have wasted enough time, Harry,” he murmured, striding out of the painted room and toward the staircase.
Her mind whirled, half in awe that this was real.
Could it truly be happening? The thought of leaving England, of starting fresh, of standing beside Sebastian in Italy, of finally being free of all the burdens she had carried, sent a thrill through her veins.
Perhaps she might ask Belinda if she wished to leave England as well, where her past reputation would not follow her, and she would be free to be Miss Belinda Cooper or Miss Bélise Coupier as she pleased, and Bertram Hargreaves’s disapproving presence could no longer touch either of them.
And, here in London, Evaline would take care of her odd little household in her absence.
Then, as the warmth of his arms settled around her, a more sobering thought crept in. She winced slightly, knowing that sooner or later, she would have to tell him everything. Confess her sins. Lay bare the worst of herself so she never again had to flinch at the shadows of her past.
It should be soon. It should be now. But just as quickly as the thought arrived, it was vanquished when Sebastian’s lips found hers again, tender and certain, and Harriet felt the last of her resistance quietly dissolve into the steady strength of his arms and the promise of something new, something unbreakable.
For now, as evening approached, there was only them.
* * *
Sebastian was euphoric. All the doubts, all the anger, all the past arguments, none of it mattered anymore. Harriet had chosen him. She wanted to come to Italy. She wanted him.
For the first time since that fateful St. Valentine’s Day, he was truly happy.
He held her close, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, her breath warm at his throat. She was his. After all the years apart, the regrets and misunderstandings, the barriers between them had finally crumbled. Whatever troubles they encountered, they would navigate them together.
Happiness was possible. Even in the bad times, even when life was imperfect, he would have her by his side.
For years, he had hardened himself against hope, against the foolish notion that he could ever reclaim what he had lost. But now, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to look forward to the future.
A future with Harriet.
A deep and quiet longing moved through him, his arms tightening around her.
He had no wish to think of anything else. Not the quarrels. Not the past. Not even the painting that had begun the argument earlier that day.
There was only Harriet.
She stirred in his arms, pushing lightly at his chest. “Sebastian, release me.”
He hesitated. But the quiet urgency in her voice cut through his certainty, and slowly, reluctantly, his arms dropped, his hands remaining at her waist for a moment as though reluctant to release her entirely.