Page 72 of The Courtship Trap
“And it is I who must apologize to him.”
A hush fell over the room.
Harriet lifted her chin, her pulse thundering in her ears. She had started on this path after Lily’s heartfelt words, not a curse, but a blessing. And she had thought at the end of this road, however painful or difficult it may be, she might find someone for herself as Lily had. As that mouse who had married Perry had. But now she realized what she must have known all along.
She did not want someone like Sebastian.
There was no one like Sebastian.
She wanted Sebastian.
With all her heart.
She wanted to undo the mistakes of yesteryear and tumble into his arms. And stay there. Forever. As she should have done on that St. Valentine’s Day.
But after all she had done to him, how could she ever win his trust? She did not even trust herself. Why should he?
The thought sent a wave of desperation through her.
No.
She would not let him slip away. Not again. She surged to her feet, fists clenched at her sides, resolve burning bright in her chest.
“I shall throw myself at his feet and beg him to take me back!” she declared, her voice shaking but firm.
And then?—
A voice from the doorway. Low, familiar. Steady as bedrock.
“No begging necessary, Harry,” Sebastian said, stepping into the room, his broad frame filling the doorway and conveying such adoration that she was stunned into incredulity. “You have always had me. And you always will.”
Harriet gasped.
The world narrowed to him, standing there, looking at her as if nothing else existed. As if she had never shattered his heart. As if she had never once driven him away.
Her throat closed, emotion rising so swiftly it nearly knocked her breath away.
Sebastian was here. He was here. He had come for her.
And, in that moment, Harriet believed anything was possible. Even the possibility of forgiveness for a worthless life.
CHAPTER 16
Have pity on your constant swain,
And release him from his pain;
Cast him not like shells away;
But fix upon a joyous day,
When we to church shall trip away.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
Despite the impropriety of it all, the women rose to their feet as one, standing shoulder to shoulder with Harriet. Finch, naturally, was the first to speak, her stout figure braced like a general about to lead a charge.
“Well, m’lord?” she demanded, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Ye come stormin’ in ’ere like some bleedin’ conquerin’ ’ero, but what I wants to know is—what’re yer intentions toward our lady?”
