"No, I don't suppose she does. Harriet has never been good at recognising what's right in front of her face." Lady Fordshire sighed. "I should have intervened years ago. Forced you two to actually talk instead of circling each other like wary cats. But I thought…" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. What matters now is the future."
"I intend to make Harriet happy," Sebastian said. "Or, at the very least, comfortable. She'll want for nothing."
"Except a husband who loves her."
"She'll have that as well. She simply won't know it."
Lady Fordshire studied him for a long moment. "You're a good man, Lord Vane. Better than I suspect you believe yourself to be. But I'm going to offer you some advice nonetheless."
“You have my undivided attention.”
"Don't let Harriet keep you at arm's length. She'll try…it's her nature. She builds walls around herself and dares people to breach them. But if you accept the distance she creates, if you resign yourself to a matrimony of mere convenience, you'll both be miserable." Lady Fordshire reached out and took his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "Fight for her. Even when she pushes you away. Especially when she pushes you away. Because underneath all that prickly armor is a woman who desperately wants to be loved and is terrified of admitting it."
Sebastian swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I'll try."
“Seek not to endeavour resolve upon the act itself.” Lady Fordshire released his hand and settled back against her pillows with a weary smile. "Now send my daughter back in. I'd like to congratulate her on finally making a sensible decision."
***
The announcement was made formal that afternoon.
Mr. Thornton was summoned to handle the legal particulars, and by evening, the engagement was a matter of record. The debts would be paid, the creditors would be satisfied, and Fordshire Park would be saved.
Harriet should have felt relieved. Instead, she felt oddly numb, as though the reality of what she had agreed to hadn't quite sunk in.
She was going to enter into matrimony with Sebastian Vane. In three weeks, she would stand before a clergyman and vow to love, honor, and obey a man she had spent seven yearsdespising. She would become Lady Vane. She would share his name, his home, his life.
His bed.
The thought sent a jolt of something through her, panic, maybe, or anticipation. She hadn't let herself think about that aspect of the arrangement. About the physical intimacy that matrimony entailed. About what it would mean to be Sebastian's wife in every sense of the word.
They hadn't discussed it. They hadn't discussed much of anything, really. The betrothal had happened so quickly, swept along by the tide of practical necessity, that there had been no time for the conversations that normally preceded such a commitment.
What did Sebastian expect from her? He had offered her separate lives, separate households, if she wanted them. But did he actually want that? Or was he simply saying what he thought she needed to hear?
And what did she want?
It was a question she had been avoiding, but it demanded an answer. Did she want to keep Sebastian at arm's length, maintaining the polite distance of a matrimony of convenience? Or did she want... something else?
Something more?
She was entirely unacquainted with the facts of the matter. This lack of certainty preyed upon her spirits until she was quite overcome by agitation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The days that followed blurred together in a whirlwind of preparations.
There were trousseau fittings and menu consultations and endless decisions about flowers and music and guest lists. Lady Fordshire rallied magnificently, directing the proceedings from her bed with the imperious authority of a general marshaling her troops. The household buzzed with activity, and everywhere Harriet turned, there were reminders of what was coming.
Through it all, Sebastian remained a steady, calming presence. He handled the financial arrangements with quiet efficiency, met with solicitors and creditors, and ensured that every debt was properly settled. He was unfailingly polite, scrupulously proper, and infuriatingly distant.
He never touched her. Never sought her out for private conversation. Never gave any indication that their betrothal was anything more than a business arrangement.
It was exactly what Harriet had asked for. And it was driving her absolutely mad.
"You're staring at him again," Mary observed, as they stood in the drawing room watching Sebastian confer with Mr. Thornton.
Harriet tore her gaze away. "I was not staring."
