She was gone before he could respond, but he heard her laughter echoing down the corridor, and he thought:Yes. This is what happiness feels like.
***
Breakfast was an exercise in studied innocence.
Harriet had managed to change before her mother appeared, but Lady Fordshire's sharp eyes seemed to notice everything anyway. She looked between them, at Sebastian's slightly disheveled hair, at Harriet's barely suppressed smile and raised one elegant eyebrow.
"You seem well rested," she observed.
"We slept excellently, thank you, Mama."
"I'm sure you did." Lady Fordshire's tone was perfectly bland. "The east wing beds are quite comfortable."
Sebastian concentrated very hard on his meal before him. Harriet appeared to be fascinated by her toast.
"I trust you enjoyed the grounds yesterday evening?" Lady Fordshire continued. "Harriet mentioned you visited the family plot."
"We did," Sebastian said. "It was... meaningful."
"I imagine it was." Lady Fordshire's gaze softened slightly. "I'm glad she had someone with her. She's been avoiding that place for too long."
"Some things take time."
"Yes. They do." Lady Fordshire smiled, and for a moment, Sebastian saw exactly where Harriet had inherited her formidable nature. "Well, I won't keep you. I'm sure you have plans for the day."
"We thought we might walk the gardens," Harriet said. "Show Sebastian the rest of the property."
"An excellent idea. The weather is meant to hold." Lady Fordshire rose from the table. "I'll leave you to it. I have correspondence to attend to."
She departed, and Sebastian let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
"That could have been worse," he said.
"She knows."
"She definitely knows."
"She's going to be insufferable about it."
"Almost certainly." Sebastian reached across the table and took Harriet's hand. "Do you mind?"
Harriet considered the question. "No," she said finally. "I don't think I do."
"Then neither do I."
They finished breakfast and went to walk the gardens, hand in hand, and if the servants noticed the new Lady Vane smiling more than they had ever seen her smile before, they were kind enough not to mention it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sebastian had never given much thought to what happiness felt like.
He had assumed, in the abstract way one assumes things about experiences one has never had, that it would be dramatic. A thunderclap of joy. A sudden transformation from grey to colour. The sort of overwhelming emotion that poets wrote about and ordinary people only dreamed of.
He had been wrong.
Happiness, as it turned out, felt like walking through the gardens of Fordshire Park with Harriet's hand in his, listening to her describe the roses her father had planted when she was a child. It felt like the warmth of the morning sun on his face and the slight pressure of her fingers against his palm. It felt quiet. Ordinary. Utterly miraculous.
He kept glancing at her, half-convinced he had dreamed the night before. The confession. The kiss. The way she had looked at him when she saidI love you, as though the words had cost her something precious and she was giving them to him anyway.
