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Sebastian’s gaze focused on her, and he smiled in a way that made her heart flip over in her chest.

“When you are ready, you will tell me these mistakes you regret. Until then, I accept you as you are because living without you is … I cannot do it again, Harry. It will kill me to walk away a second time, so show mercy on this wretched man who has loved you since I first laid eyes on you as a green youth in Wiltshire.”

He stepped forward, gently making his way through the women who stood between them. Once he reached her, he lifted his hand to her cheek and tilted her face up to look deep into her eyes.

“Let me love you, Harry.”

Tears spilled from her eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude. Gratitude for the man who knew her to the very depths. Knew her flaws. Knew about her secrets. And had always loved her anyway.

Sebastian used the pad of his thumb to wipe the moisture from her cheeks, lowering his head to settle his lips against hers, and Harriet felt the pieces of her soul slowly drawing together into one whole. A flawed whole, but if a man as true as Sebastian could accept her as she was, perhaps she could, too.

“Right then,” Finch said, clearing her throat and folding her arms across her ample bosom. “This is all very sweet an’ teary, but dinner ain’t gonna serve itself, now is it?”

Harriet let out a breathless giggle against Sebastian’s mouth, the tension of the moment giving way to sheer, giddy relief. The women chuckled amongst themselves before retreating, their skirts rustling as they dispersed, murmuring about roasts and puddings, no doubt eager to grant them privacy.

Finch paused at the door long enough to cast one final, appraising look over her shoulder at Sebastian, the expression that stated she was reserving judgment, before she, too, disappeared into the corridor.

Sebastian lifted his head, gray eyes warm and fixed on her as the last of their audience slipped away.

“There are things to settle between us,” Harriet said softly. “But”, she bit her lip, hesitant, but she knew what she wanted, “can I come to Italy with you? Perhaps we can wed in Calais?”

A slow, wondrous smile spread across his face. He nodded, then leaned down to kiss her again, more gently this time, as if sealing a vow.

Before she could take another breath, he tugged her into his arms. Harriet gasped, laughing as she instinctively clutched his shoulders. “Sebastian!”

“I have wasted enough time, Harry,” he murmured, striding out of the painted room and toward the staircase.

Her mind whirled, half in awe that this was real. Could it truly be happening? The thought of leaving England, of starting fresh, of standing beside Sebastian in Italy, of finally being free of all the burdens she had carried, sent a thrill through her veins. Perhaps she might ask Belinda if she wished to leave England as well, where her past reputation would not follow her, and she would be free to be Miss Belinda Cooper or Miss Bélise Coupier as she pleased, and Bertram Hargreaves’s disapproving presence could no longer touch either of them. And, here in London, Evaline would take care of her odd little household in her absence.

Then, as the warmth of his arms settled around her, a more sobering thought crept in. She winced slightly, knowing that sooner or later, she would have to tell him everything. Confess her sins. Lay bare the worst of herself so she never again had to flinch at the shadows of her past.

It should be soon. It should be now. But just as quickly as the thought arrived, it was vanquished when Sebastian’s lips found hers again, tender and certain, and Harriet felt the last of her resistance quietly dissolve into the steady strength of his arms and the promise of something new, something unbreakable.

For now, as evening approached, there was only them.

* * *

Sebastian was euphoric. All the doubts, all the anger, all the past arguments, none of it mattered anymore. Harriet had chosen him. She wanted to come to Italy. She wanted him.

For the first time since that fateful St. Valentine’s Day, he was truly happy.

He held her close, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, her breath warm at his throat. She was his. After all the years apart, the regrets and misunderstandings, the barriers between them had finally crumbled. Whatever troubles they encountered, they would navigate them together.

Happiness was possible. Even in the bad times, even when life was imperfect, he would have her by his side. For years, he had hardened himself against hope, against the foolish notion that he could ever reclaim what he had lost. But now, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to look forward to the future.

A future with Harriet.

A deep and quiet longing moved through him, his arms tightening around her.

He had no wish to think of anything else. Not the quarrels. Not the past. Not even the painting that had begun the argument earlier that day.

There was only Harriet.

She stirred in his arms, pushing lightly at his chest. “Sebastian, release me.”

He hesitated. But the quiet urgency in her voice cut through his certainty, and slowly, reluctantly, his arms dropped, his hands remaining at her waist for a moment as though reluctant to release her entirely.

She stepped back, putting space between them, her hands clasped, her expression the particular one he had come to recognize when she was working up to something difficult.