"You once told Richard that Wordsworth was 'adequate but uninspired.'"
"A fair assessment."
"Wordsworth is a genius."
"Wordsworth is a sentimentalist who uses too many daffodils." Sebastian's expression softened. "But I take your point. We've spent more time arguing than actually conversing."
"Yes. And I'd like to change that. If we're going to be husband and wife, we should at least know each other well enough to have a proper conversation."
Sebastian was quiet for a moment. Then he moved to sit on one of the wooden benches that lined the vestry walls, patting the space beside him.
"What would you like to know?" he asked.
Harriet sat, leaving a careful distance between them. "Everything. Anything. Tell me something I don't know about you."
"That's rather a broad request."
"Then start anywhere. I'm not particular."
Sebastian considered for a moment. "I dislike eggs."
Harriet blinked. "Eggs?"
“I have an aversion to them, I never had a fancy for them." Never could. The texture, the smell, everything about them is vile." He shrugged at her surprised expression. "You asked for something you didn't know. Now you know."
"I... suppose I do." Harriet felt a bubble of unexpected laughter rising in her chest. "What else?"
"I have an irrational fear of moths."
"Moths? Not spiders? Not snakes?"
"Moths. Something about the way they flutter. I find them deeply unsettling." Sebastian's expression was perfectly serious, but there was a gleam of humor in his eyes. "Your turn. Tell me something I don't know about you."
Harriet thought for a moment. "I do not particularly take well to dancing.”
“ I have observed you dancing and I must say that I find that you have a skill at dancing.”
"I can perform the steps. But I don't enjoy it. I find it tedious and uncomfortable, and I only do it because society demands it." Harriet smiled ruefully. "Every dance I've ever attended, I've spent the entire time counting the minutes until I could escape to the refreshment table."
"Then we shall have to limit our dancing at the wedding breakfast. I wouldn't want you counting minutes on our wedding day."
"That's very considerate of you."
"I try." Sebastian's voice softened. "What else? What other secrets are you hiding behind that formidable exterior?"
"I'm not formidable."
"You are. Terrifyingly so. Half the men in London are afraid of you."
"Only half?"
“The others are so unhappily gifted with ignorance that they fail to perceive the necessity of fear.”
Harriet laughed, a real laugh, surprised out of her by the unexpected compliment. Sebastian's expression warmed, and something loosened in Harriet's chest.
This was nice. Easy. The kind of conversation she had imagined having with a future husband but never quite believed she would find.
"I write poetry," she said quietly. "Still. In secret."
