"That's not a word."
"It should be."
She laughed, and the sound settled into Sebastian's chest like a warm ember. He would burn down the world to keep making her laugh like that.
"I'll write to my mother," Harriet said. "Tell her to expect us within the week."
"I'll make the arrangements."
She nodded and turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Sebastian?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're coming with me. I wouldn't want to do this alone."
She was gone before he could respond, but her words lingered in the air like a promise.
I wouldn't want to do this alone.
It wasn't a declaration of love. It wasn't even close. But for Sebastian, who had spent so long being held at arm's length, it felt like the beginning of something new.
***
The journey to Fordshire Park took three days.
Three days of shared carriage rides, of conversation that ranged from trivial to profound, of slowly peeling back layers that had been carefully constructed over years. Sebastian had thought he knew Harriet had spent seven years studying her from a distance, but he was discovering that observation was no substitute for intimacy.
She talked about her childhood and Richard, who had been her closest friend as well as her brother. She talked about her father, whose death had left them in such precariouscircumstances….her mother, whom she loved fiercely even when she found her exasperating.
"She wanted me to find a good husband,” Harriet said, on the second day. "Not for money, necessarily, but for security. She saw what happened when Papa passed away, how quickly everything can fall apart and she didn't want that for me."
"That's understandable."
"I know. But I resented it at the time. I felt like she was trying to sell me off to the highest bidder." Harriet looked out the window, her expression distant. "I didn't understand that she was trying to protect me. I thought protection meant controlling."
"Perhaps it can be both."
"Perhaps." She turned back to him. "What about your parents? Were they... protective?"
Sebastian considered the question. He rarely spoke about his parents who had passed a decade ago, and he had spent most of his adult life trying not to think about them.
"They were... distant," he said finally. "My father cared about the estate, the title, the family legacy. My mother cared about social standing and appearances. I was useful to them as long as I fulfilled their expectations. Beyond that..." He shrugged. "We were not close."
"That sounds lonely."
"It was. But I had Richard." Sebastian smiled at the memory. "He was the first person who ever seemed genuinely interested in who I was rather than what I represented. He became the brother I never had."
"He spoke about you often." Harriet's voice was soft. "Before he died. He said you were the best man he knew."
"He was generous in his assessments."
"He was honest. Richard was always honest, sometimes to a fault." She reached across the space between them and took hishand. "I'm glad you had each other. Even if it makes me miss him more."
Sebastian squeezed her fingers. "I miss him too."
They sat in silence for a while, hands intertwined, watching the countryside roll past. It should have been uncomfortable, speaking of the dead, sharing grief, but instead it felt like a relief. A burden shared, a weight distributed.
"Thank you," Sebastian said eventually.
