"No. I asked whether Richard was the only reason you care. You've told me why you care about the family. But I'm asking…" Harriet stopped, suddenly uncertain whether she wanted to finish the question. Whether she wanted to know the answer.
"You're asking whether I care about you specifically." Sebastian's voice was very quiet. "Apart from your family. Apart from Richard."
"Yes."
The word seemed to hang in the silence, laden with implications that Harriet wasn't ready to examine. Sebastian held her gaze for a long moment, something shifting in the depths of his grey eyes.
"That," he said finally, "is a complicated question."
"Then give me a complicated answer."
"I'm not certain I can. Not without saying things that might... change how you see me."
"Things are already changing. Everything is changing. What's one more shift in a landscape that's already unrecognisable?"
Sebastian exhaled slowly. "You want honesty. Very well. I will give you as much honesty as I can, though I warn you it may not be what you want to hear."
"I'll take that risk."
He was quiet for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was careful, measured…the voice of a man choosing each word with deliberate precision.
"I have known you for many years," he said. "In that time, I have watched you grow from a precocious child into a remarkable woman. I have watched you face tragedy with courage, navigate society with wit, and defend your family with a ferocity that would put warriors to shame." He paused. "I have also spent most of those years knowing that you despise me, and accepting that as the price of my own foolishness."
"Your foolishness?"
"The poetry incident. Surely you haven't forgotten."
"I've forgotten nothing." Harriet's voice was sharper than she intended. "You laughed at me. In front of everyone. You made me feel like a fool."
"I know." Sebastian's face was pained. "And I have regretted it every day since."
"Then why did you do it?"
"Because I was young and foolish and…He stopped, shaking his head. “No… That's not fair to either of us. You deserve the truth."
"Then tell me the truth."
Sebastian turned away, moving to stand by the fireplace. He stared into the cold grate as though seeking answers in the ashes.
"I laughed," He said quietly, "because I was terrified."
"Terrified? Of what?"
"Of you."
The word dropped into the silence like a stone into still water. Harriet felt something shift in her chest…confusion, disbelief, something else she couldn't name.
"That's absurd," she said. "I was A young girl in my teen years. What could you possibly have been afraid of?"
"Everything." Sebastian's laugh was hollow. "Your intelligence. Your beauty. The way you looked at the world like it was a puzzle waiting to be solved. The way you read that poem,your poem, your words, your heart laid bare for everyone to see and I sat there thinking, this girl is magnificent, and she will never, ever look twice at me."
Harriet's mouth opened, but no words came out. She felt as though the floor had shifted beneath her feet, rearranging itself into patterns she didn't recognise.
"And then I laughed," Sebastian continued, still not looking at her. "Not at your poetry…never at your poetry, but at myself. At the absurdity of my situation. At the knowledge that I was Richard's awkward, sardonic friend, and you were his brilliant, beautiful sister, and there was an ocean between us that I would never be able to cross."
"I don't understand." Harriet's voice was barely above a whisper. "You're saying you…"
"I'm saying I was nineteen years old and completely out of my depth. I'm saying I handled it badly, and you paid the price for my cowardice, and I have never forgiven myself for it." Sebastian finally turned to face her. "I'm not saying anything more than that. I'm not making declarations or demands or trying to influence your decisions about the future. I simply thought you deserved to know why I really laughed that day."
