After dinner, they gathered in the drawing room. Someone suggested games; someone else suggested music. Eleanor, overtired and overstimulated, began to fuss, and Harriet excused herself to take her up to the nursery.
Sebastian watched them go…his wife, his daughter, the two people who had transformed his life so completely. He thought about the man he had been four years ago, standing in a crowded inn, offering his room to a woman who despised him. He had been so certain, then, that he would never have this. That he would spend his life loving Harriet from a distance, wanting what he could never have.
How wrong he had been. How gloriously, magnificently wrong.
"You look thoughtful." Lady Fordshire appeared at his elbow, a glass of wine in her hand.
"I was thinking about how much has changed."
"It has been quite a journey, hasn't it?" Lady Fordshire's expression was softer than usual, the sharp edges worn smooth by wine and sentiment. "I remember the day Harriet came home from that inn, furious because you had been there. She ranted for an hour about your arrogance, your presumption, your insufferable concern for her welfare."
"I remember it differently."
"I'm sure you do." Lady Fordshire smiled. "But even then, I suspected. There was too much passion in her anger. No one gets that furious about someone they truly don't care about."
"Is that so?"
"It is. I've lived long enough to know that love and hate are closer than most people think. The opposite of love isn't hate…it's indifference and my daughter was never indifferent to you."
Sebastian considered this. "You never said anything. When I came to propose, you didn't warn me away."
"Why would I? You were exactly what she needed. Someone who would match her fire instead of trying to extinguish it." Lady Fordshire's gaze drifted to the doorway, where Harriet had disappeared. "She's happy now. Truly happy. That's all I ever wanted for her."
"She is happy," Sebastian agreed. "We both are."
"Then I shall stop meddling and let you enjoy it." Lady Fordshire raised her glass. "Merry Christmas, Sebastian."
"Merry Christmas, Lady Fordshire."
***
The nursery was quiet, the candles burning low, Eleanor finally asleep after a marathon of soothing and singing.
Harriet sat in the rocking chair, watching her daughter sleep. Eleanor's face was peaceful now, all trace of the evening's chaos erased. In sleep, she looked like an angel…innocent ,perfect and utterly incapable of throwing turnips at footmen.
The door opened softly. Sebastian slipped inside, crossing to stand behind her chair.
"Is she down?" he asked quietly.
"Finally. It only took four lullabies and a solemn promise to purchase her a pony."
"She's too young for a pony."
"I know. I'm hoping she forgets by morning."
Sebastian leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of Harriet's head. "Your mother accosted me in the drawing room."
"Oh no. What did she say?"
"Nothing terrible. She told me you were never indifferent to me. That love and hate are closer than most people think."
Harriet considered this. "She's not wrong."
"I know. It's rather annoying when she's right."
"Isn't it just."
They were quiet for a moment, watching Eleanor sleep. The candles flickered. Outside the window, snow had begun to fall soft, silent, transforming the world into something out of a fairy tale.
