"It does."
They were looking at each other now, really looking, and something in the air between them had shifted. Mr. Thornton was saying something, Harriet had no idea what, and Lady Fordshire was nodding along, but none of it mattered. There was only Sebastian's grey eyes, holding hers, and the strange electricity that seemed to crackle in the space between them.
Stop it, Harriet told herself firmly.You're being ridiculous. This is Sebastian Vane. The man who laughed at your poetry. The man you've spent so many years despising.
But the reminder felt hollow, somehow. Like a door that had once been firmly locked but now hung slightly open, letting in light from an unexpected direction.
"Lady Harriet." Mr. Thornton's voice finally broke through her reverie. "Shall we adjourn to the drawing room? I believe there are some documents you should review before tomorrow's discussions.",
"Of course." Harriet rose, grateful for the interruption. "If you'll excuse me."
She fled the dining room with as much dignity as she could muster, not looking back to see if Sebastian was watching.
She suspected he was.
***
The documents were exactly as tedious as Harriet had expected.
Mr. Thornton had assembled a comprehensive accounting of the estate's debts, assets, and obligations, a mountain of paper that reduced her family's history to numbers in columns. She sat in the drawing room, poring over ledgers, while her head ached and her eyes blurred and her mind kept wandering to places it had no business going.
Sebastian did not join them. He had excused himself after dinner, citing fatigue from the journey, and Harriet told herself she was relieved. His presence was... distracting. She could think more clearly without him there, could focus on the figures without wondering what he was thinking, what he was feeling, whether he was looking at her.
"The primary concern," Mr. Thornton was saying, "is this note here, from Lord Davies. He is owed nearly eight thousand pounds, and he has been most insistent in his correspondence."
"Eight thousand pounds." Harriet stared at the figure. "How did we come to owe Lord Davies eight thousand pounds?"
"Gaming debts, my lady. Your father was... not fortunate at cards."
"Gaming debts." The words tasted bitter. "My father gambled away our future, and now Lord Davies is knocking at the door."
"I would not put it quite so bluntly, but... essentially, yes."
Harriet set down the ledger and rubbed her eyes. "Is there any possibility of negotiating with him? Arranging a payment plan?"
"Lord Davies has shown little interest in negotiation. He wishes to be paid in full, or he will pursue legal remedies."
"And if he pursues legal remedies?"
"The courts will likely order the sale of assets to satisfy the debt. Which, given the size of the claim, would almost certainly mean the estate."
Round and round they went, the same impossible circle. Every path led back to the same destination: ruin, unless some miracle intervened.
"What about Lord Vane's claim?" Harriet asked. "If he's willing to forgive the debt…"
"His lordship's forgiveness would help considerably, but it would not solve everything. Lord Davies's claim alone exceeds what we could raise through sale of peripheral assets."
"Then we need to find a way to satisfy Lord Davies specifically. What does he want? Beyond payment, I mean. What matters to him?"
Mr. Thornton looked surprised by the question. "I couldn't say, my lady. I've dealt with his solicitors, not the man himself."
"Then perhaps we should deal with the man himself. Find out what he values, what might be negotiable." Harriet sat up straighter, feeling the first stirrings of a plan forming in her mind. "If he's a gambler, he understands risk. He might bewilling to take a chance on future returns rather than immediate payment."
"That's... an interesting approach, my lady."
"You sound skeptical."
"I am merely uncertain whether Lord Davies would agree to such an arrangement."
