"I need to know what you want, Harriet. Even if it's nothing. Even if it was a mistake. I need to know."
Harriet was very still, her book forgotten in her lap. Sebastian watched the play of emotions across her face…surprise, guilt, something softer he was afraid to name.
"It wasn't a mistake," she said finally, her voice quiet.
"Then what was it?"
"I don't know." She pressed her hands against her eyes. "I don'tknow, Sebastian. I've never…" She stopped, frustrated. "I've never felt this way before. I don't know what to do with it. Every time I let myself want something, I want to protect myself from losing it."
"You're not going to lose me."
"You can't promise that. No one can promise that."
"I can promise that I'm not going anywhere by choice." Sebastian reached out and gently pulled her hands away from her face. "Look at me, Harriet."
She looked. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and Sebastian felt his heart crack.
"I'm not going to pressure you," he said.
"I'm not going to demand declarations or force feelings you don't have. But I need you to stop running from me. Whatever this is…whatever we're becoming, we face it together. That's what matrimony means. That's whatthismatrimony means, at least to me."
Harriet was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Together," she repeated.
"Together."
"That sounds... terrifying."
"I know. I'm terrified too."
"You?" She laughed, a watery sound. "You always seem so composed. So certain."
"I'm not. I'm constantly certain that I'm going to say the wrong thing and you're going to realise you made a terrible mistake becoming my wife.” Sebastian smiled ruefully.
"I'm very good at hiding my inner turmoil."
"Apparently." Harriet studied his face, as though seeing him for the first time. "Why didn't you tell me?"
“That I was overcome with dread? That I have spent these recent weeks in a state of perpetual agitation, my mind never truly at rest?”
"That you felt... any of this. The uncertainty. The fear."
"Because I thought you had enough to deal with. Because I didn't want to burden you with my neuroses." Sebastian shrugged. "Because I'm a fool mostly.”
"You're not a fool."
"I'm a bit of a fool."
"Perhaps a bit." But she was smiling, and Sebastian felt something loosen in his chest. "Sebastian, I'm sorry I ran. Yesterday. And today. It wasn't fair to you."
"I understood. I understand."
"That doesn't make it right." Harriet reached out and took his hand, a mirror of what he had done to her at breakfast, days ago. "I'm not very good at this. Being vulnerable. Letting people in. But I'm trying. I want you to know that I'm trying."
"I know." Sebastian squeezed her fingers. "That's enough for now. That's more than enough."
They sat there for a moment, hands intertwined, and the fire crackling softly in the grate. It wasn't a grand romantic gesture. It wasn't a declaration of undying love. But it was something. It was progress.
