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That which slew me can restore me,

Bid me with new ardor rise:

Then I still will fall before thee,

Captured by thy beaming eyes.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

DECEMBER 20, 1821

S ebastian sat stiffly in the drawing room of his brother’s grand townhouse, his jaw tight as he stared at the Duke of Halmesbury. The atmosphere was tense, the silence thick with unspoken grievances. Beside him, Richard shifted, ever so slightly, but kept his focus on the duke.

Philip leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he regarded them both. Sebastian knew his brother well enough to recognize the calculation in his gaze.

“So,” Philip finally said, his voice cool, measured. “You wish me to grant my blessing on a marriage to a woman I have warned you against.”

Sebastian’s hands fisted in his lap. “I am not here to ask for your permission,” he stated. “I am here to tell you that Harriet and I will be married. But I would prefer that you support us, that you accept her into this family as she deserves.”

Philip arched a brow. “Deserves?”

Richard cleared his throat. “If I may, Halmesbury. Lady Slight has undergone a … transformation of sorts. I believe you are not aware of the good she has done these past months.”

Philip’s eyes flicked to Richard, assessing. “And what, pray, has she done to earn such praise from you?”

“Lady Slight sought me out in August. After the situation with Brendan. She asked for my help in pursuing her own road to redemption.”

Philip exhaled, frowning slightly. He was clearly taken aback by this announcement.

“Truly? In what way?”

Sebastian exchanged a look with Richard and nodded. Harriet had given her consent to share some of her activities with the duke in an effort to mend things between him and Sebastian.

Richard leaned forward. “She has made it her mission to help those who cannot help themselves. To make up for her misdeeds. Women who have been cast aside. Servants who had nowhere else to turn. She took in Lady Wood when her own family would not aid her. She saved her maid, Jem, from life on the streets. She fought for Belinda Cooper when Lady Slight’s father left her to ruin. And Finch, her housekeeper?—”

Philip held up a hand, stopping him. He exhaled through his nose and looked away for a moment. “And you believe she has done this all out of genuine goodwill? A sincere desire to … change her behavior?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said without hesitation. “I have seen it with my own eyes. She is not the woman she once was.”

The duke was silent for a long moment. Then, to Sebastian’s utter surprise, he nodded.

“Very well,” Philip said. “You are determined, and I can see I will not sway you. If this is what you truly want, then I will not stand in your way.”

Philip exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself, his fingers still loosely steepled beneath his chin. He looked past Sebastian, his gaze unfocused, lost in memory.

“For years, I have made decisions with the belief that I was acting in your best interest, but since your return, I have been reflecting on our strained situation,” Philip said at last, his voice quieter now.

“I believed I was protecting you. I thought I knew what was best.” He paused, his mouth pressing into a firm line.

“But I suspect now that I failed you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian frowned, his back straightening. “What are you saying?”

Philip’s gaze met his directly, his usually impenetrable mask giving way to raw regret.

“I should have had more faith in you. More faith in your ability to choose your own path, to make your own future. You carved out a career in Florence, far from my influence.” He shook his head slightly.

“When I refused to support your courtship all those years ago—when I let my reservations about Harriet Hargreaves cloud my judgment—I was certain I was preventing disaster.” His lips curved wryly.

“And yet, all I did was ensure years of unhappiness for the both of you.”

Sebastian’s breath caught. Of all the things his brother could have said, he had not expected this. Not an admission of fault. Not this … this understanding.

Philip sighed. “I should have listened to you back then. Stood beside you. But I let duty, and my own beliefs, dictate my actions. I forgot that you were my brother deserving of my fraternal appreciation, not merely a duty.” He hesitated, then continued, “I do not wish to make that mistake again. I want to be part of your life.”

Sebastian’s throat was tight, his emotions warring within him. He had spent so many years resentful of his brother’s interference. Had spent so much time convincing himself that Philip would never see him as anything but the younger brother, the reckless, impetuous spare who needed to be managed.

But now, now his brother was sitting before him, acknowledging his mistakes. Accepting them.

And deep within his chest, Sebastian’s heart softened.

He did not hesitate. Rising swiftly, he strode forward, and before Philip could react, he grabbed him in a crushing embrace.

Philip stiffened in shock, his arms pinned at his sides. “Sebastian?—”

“Shut up,” Sebastian muttered against his shoulder, squeezing tighter.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with an exasperated sigh, Philip relented, his arms coming up to clap Sebastian on the back in an awkward, hesitant motion.

Richard, still seated, let out a low chuckle. “Well, this is unexpected.”

Sebastian pulled back, clapping a firm hand on Philip’s shoulder. “You were a bastard about it, you know.”

Philip rolled his eyes, straightening his coat. “I am aware.”

Sebastian grinned, warmth spreading through him. He could feel the past shifting, settling into something lighter.

Philip gave him a long look. “You truly love her, do you not?”

“With everything in me,” Sebastian answered without hesitation.

Philip nodded. “Then I suppose you should marry her.”

Sebastian grinned. “I intend to.”

Philip exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God help me, I am going to have to be civil to her, am I not?”

“Yes, you are.”

Philip sighed. “Well, let us hope she does not make it too difficult.”

Sebastian laughed, his heart lighter than it had been in years. He had gained his woman and his brother back, and it felt good.

When Harriet arrived, she found herself standing before the duke, her heart hammering in her chest. His sharp gaze settled on her, obscure as ever.

“I hear you wish to marry in Calais,” he said without preamble.

Harriet swallowed. “I …” She glanced at Sebastian, who gave her a small, reassuring nod. “Yes, Your Grace.”

The duke inclined his head. “Then allow me to offer my assistance. A wedding, even in Calais, requires proper arrangements. I will secure a special license and accompany you across the Channel to see it done properly.”

Harriet’s breath caught. Her lips parted, but no words came.

A lump formed in her throat as she stared at the man who had been so cold to her for so long. And yet now, he was offering her not just permission, but his blessing.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I …” She blinked them back quickly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

He inclined his head again. “You are to be family … Harriet … Philip is acceptable.”

“Yes, Your Gra—” Harriet curtsied, then stopped. Straightening up, she stepped forward and stood on tiptoes to press a kiss to the duke’s cheek. He was so tall, it landed on his jaw even as he leaned down to accept it. “Yes, Philip.”

She dropped back and the duke smiled. It was stiff, but it was an improvement, and she was more than willing to accept the olive branch he was extending.

Sebastian reached for her hand, squeezing it in support. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

His Grace hesitated only a moment before extending his own hand. Sebastian clasped it firmly, a silent understanding passing between them.

It was done.

Harriet was going to be his wife, and his family would support them.

She barely remembered leaving the duke’s townhouse, her mind a whirl of emotions too tangled to …

well … untangle. The journey back to her own home passed in a haze, with Sebastian seated beside her in the carriage, his fingers wrapped around hers, anchoring her when she felt as though she might drift away on the tide of her own astonishment.

She had spent so long preparing for battle—for rejection, for scorn—that the sudden shift in fortune left her feeling weightless. It was done. Philip had accepted her. The duke—Sebastian’s formidable, unyielding brother—had given his blessing.

And she was going to be Sebastian’s wife. His partner. His travel companion. Her fingers tightened around his, and Sebastian glanced down at her.

“Are you well?” His voice was low, threaded with warmth and amusement.

Harriet exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I cannot believe I will stand beside you in Calais, repeating my vows with your family in attendance.”

Sebastian lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “That, my love, is every dream come true.”

Her heart clenched painfully at the tenderness in his voice, the devotion in his eyes.

When the carriage rumbled to a stop before her townhouse, Harriet allowed herself to be guided inside, her body and mind still reeling. Finch met them at the door, her shrewd gaze flitting back and forth between them before she gave a brisk nod, as though confirming an opinion to herself.

“Oi’ll get summat brought to the painted room,” she said.

“No need,” Sebastian interjected smoothly. “We shall retire upstairs.”

Finch’s brows lifted, but she said nothing, merely gave another nod before sweeping away.

Harriet barely had time to register the meaning of Sebastian’s words before he took her hand again and led her toward the stairs. Her pulse leapt. She climbed each step with growing anticipation, her fingers curled around his like a lifeline.