Sebastian's expression flickered. "I know."
"You know? How could you possibly…"
"Richard told me." Sebastian's voice was gentle. "Years ago. He said you had never stopped writing, despite what happened. He was proud of you for that."
Harriet felt tears prickling at her eyes. "He never told me he knew."
"He didn't want to embarrass you. But he used to read your poems, the ones you left lying about. He said they were beautiful."
"They're not beautiful. They're terrible."
"They're honest. That's better than beautiful."
The words hung between them, weighted with meaning Harriet couldn't quite parse. She wanted to ask how Sebastian knew what her poems were like. She wanted to ask if he had read them too, if Richard had shared them with him, if he…
But the door opened, and the vicar returned, apologising for the interruption, and the moment was lost.
They left the church separately, returning to Fordshire Park in their respective carriages. But something had changed, a part of the wall had crumbled, some distance had closed.
And Harriet found herself thinking that maybe…just maybe, this matrimony wouldn't be the sacrifice she had feared.
***
The night before the wedding, Harriet couldn't sleep.
She lay in her bed, staring at the canopy above her, running through everything that would happen tomorrow. The ceremony, the breakfast, the toasts, the first dance, the departure for Sebastian's estate where they would spend their matrimonial night…
Their marital night.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She still hadn't discussed it with Sebastian, nor did she have the courage to ask what he expected, what he wanted, what he hoped for. The subject felt too intimate, too fraught with implications she wasn't ready to examine.
But she would have to examine them tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would be Sebastian's wife, and all the things that entailed would become suddenly, urgently real.
She rose from her bed and pulled on a dressing gown, suddenly restless. Maybe a walk would help. Maybe the cool night air would calm the storm of anxiety swirling in her chest.
She found Sebastian in the garden.
He was sitting on a bench near the rose bushes, still dressed in his evening clothes, staring up at the stars. He turned at her approach, surprise flickering across his features.
"Harriet. What are you doing out here?"
"I couldn't sleep." She moved to stand beside him, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill. "You?"
"The same." He shifted to make room on the bench. "Sit. You'll freeze standing there."
She sat, careful to maintain a proper distance. The bench was small, though, and their shoulders nearly touched. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell the faint scent of sandalwood that always seemed to cling to his clothes.
"Nervous about tomorrow?" Sebastian asked.
"A little. You?"
"Terrified, actually."
Harriet turned to look at him, surprised by the admission. "You? Terrified? The unflappable Lord Vane?"
"Even I have my moments of vulnerability." Sebastian's smile was crooked. “Entering into matrimony is rather a significant undertaking. Even when one is prepared for it."
"Are you? Prepared, I mean?"
