"You look tired," she said, and immediately wished she hadn't. It was too personal an observation, too close to concern.
Sebastian's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "The roads were not kind. I left London at dawn, hoping to outrun the storm. As you can see, I failed spectacularly."
"Why the urgency?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it. Sebastian's expression flickered, there and gone, too quick to identify before settling back into careful neutrality.
"Business matters," he said. "Your father's solicitor contacted me regarding some of Richard's affairs that were apparently left unresolved."
Richard. The name sent its familiar pang through Harriet's chest. Her brother had been deceased for three years now due to a singularly ill-judged misfortune involving a horse and a stone wall and a morning that had been perfectly ordinary until it suddenly, devastatingly, wasn't.
"What sort of affairs?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
"I'm afraid I cannot say. Mr. Thornton was rather vague in his correspondence, and I suspect he wishes to explain the matter in person." Sebastian moved to the window, his back to her. "I imagine you are travelling to Fordshire Park for similar reasons."
"My mother is unwell."
"Ah." He turned, and his expression had softened slightly, or perhaps it was merely a trick of the firelight. "I'm sorry to hearthat. Lady Fordshire has always been remarkably resilient. I'm certain she will recover."
"You don't know that."
"No. But I have observed that the women of your family possess a certain... tenacity. I should be very surprised if a mere illness could defeat her."
It was, Harriet supposed, meant to be comforting. And perhaps, from anyone else, it would have been. But from Sebastian Vane, every word felt like a potential trap, every kindness suspect.
"How long has it been?" she asked abruptly.
Sebastian blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Since we last spoke. Properly spoke, I mean. Not these little barbs we exchange at parties."
He was quiet for a moment, seeming to consider the question. "Three years…at your brother's funeral."
"You tried to say something to me. After, but I don't remember what."
"Neither do I." His voice was flat, carefully emptied of emotion. "It was a difficult day for everyone."
Harriet remembered that day in fragments: the grey sky, the black clothes, the endless parade of mourners offering condolences she couldn't hear through the roaring in her ears. She remembered Sebastian approaching her in the garden, his face pale and drawn, and his mouth forming words she had refused to let herself understand. She remembered telling him to leave as his presence was unwelcome, and the way he had flinched… actually flinched, before nodding once and walking away.
She had not felt guilty about it. Not then, not in the months that followed. He had laughed at her poetry. He had laughed at herheart. Whatever he had wanted to say that day, she had not owed him the chance to say it.
But now, standing in this room with the storm howling outside and the fire crackling between them, she found herself wondering. What had he been trying to tell her? What words had she refused to hear?
"I was not kind to you," she said. "That day."
Sebastian's expression didn't change. "You were grieving. I did not expect kindness."
"Even so. I might have…" She stopped, unsure how to finish the sentence. Might have what? Listened? Forgiven? It seemed presumptuous to suggest either, given that she still wasn't certain he deserved forgiveness at all.
"It was a long time ago," Sebastian said. "We were different people."
"Were we? I feel rather the same, all things considered."
"Then perhaps you should look more closely." He said it quietly, without malice, but something in his tone made Harriet's breath catch. Before she could respond, a knock at the door announced the arrival of supper.
***
They ate in awkward silence, seated on opposite sides of the small writing desk. The meal was simple but well-prepared: roasted chicken with herbs, crusty bread still warm from the oven, a wedge of sharp cheese, and a bottle of surprisingly decent wine. Under other circumstances, Harriet might have enjoyed it. As it was, she found herself merely pushing food around her plate, too aware of Sebastian's presence across from her to summon any real appetite.
