Page 1 of Yours Always
Prologue
June 1850
Edenfield - London, England
Sarah Elizabeth Westonraced down the slope, her laughter rising like a birdsong as her hat flew loose, bouncing behind her, tethered only by the ribbon beneath her chin. Benjamin chased after her, the picnic basket swinging wildly from one hand as he shouted for her to slow down, as if she had ever listened.
Matthew watched from the hill as he strolled beside Grace, their pace far more civilized. The sun shone high and bright on his shoulders as the wind whispered gently through his hair, carrying with it the sound of Sarah’s joy, unbound and untamed. Her golden curls caught the light, and her laughter caught something in his chest. There was something differentabout her now. He hadn’t realized how much she’d changed, or how much he’d missed it happening.
"She's a menace," he said, watching Sarah dart and weave between the wildflowers. "She's a joy, Matthew Fenwick" Grace corrected him with a soft smile. "Don't you ever mistake it."
They reached the meadow that sloped gently toward the Westons’ private pond. The water sparkled under the high sun, a thousand tiny diamonds dancing across its surface. Benjamin dropped the basket beneath a tree and pulled off his boots."Come on, Sarah! I bet I can beat you to the water!"
"You wouldn't dare," Sarah called back, already unfastening the buttons at her cuffs. She spun once in the grass, laughing, before darting toward the pond’s edge. Grace settled on the blanket and began unpacking their lunch with calm precision, but Matthew lingered at the shoreline as Benjamin plunged into the water with an undignified shout. A moment later, Sarah dove in after her brother with a squeal.
Matthew rubbed the back of his neck, the heat of the sun pressing at his collar, prickling at the edge of his thoughts. "You’re not going in?” Grace teased, not looking up from the basket. “Someone ought to make sure we eat before they drown themselves.” he said, managing a grin, though it faltered the moment Sarah surfaced with water trailing down her flushed cheeks as she brushed her hair back with both hands. His throat tightened unexpectedly. He felt older, suddenly. As if something precious was slipping away and he hadn’t noticed until now.
Sarah caught his eye with a mischievous grin and flicked a splash of water toward him. “Are you scared of a little water, Mr. Fenwick?” From across the pond, Benjamin whooped, “He’s just worried about getting his hair wet!”
Grace giggled behind her hand as Matthew shook his head in defeat and tugged off his boots. “If I drown,” he muttered, “you can have my best waistcoat.”
“I’ll treasure it.” Grace replied.
Matthew dove into the cool water, surfacing just behind Sarah. She shrieked as he grabbed her ankle and tugged her under. She broke the surface with a gasp, sputtering and swiping at him as she treaded water. "You beast!"
“You dared me, Lizzy girl,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. Benjamin splashed water at them both and soon, the quiet pond gave way to shrieks, and laughter loud enough to wake the trees.
Much later, when the sun hung low and shadows stretched long across the meadow, the stillness returned. The four of them lay sprawled on the blanket, drowsy from sun and water, full from lunch and laughter. Matthew lay beside Sarah, his arm brushing hers, their heads tipped back in the grass. He could hear the faint ripple of the pond, the rustle of leaves, the quiet hum of bees in the wildflowers nearby. But mostly, he heard her laughter echoing faintly in his ears still shimmering like sunlight on water.
She had fallen asleep beside him, her damp hair clinging to her skin, one hand curled loosely against the sleeve of his coat. He turned his head just slightly, just enough to watch her breathe. For one wild, suspended moment, he imagined bending to kiss the top of her head. Just a brotherly-type gesture, surely—but he didn’t.
Instead, he memorized the weight of her beside him and the soft, steady rhythm of her breath. He tucked it away somewhere deep in his heart, where he thought it could do no harm. Someday, some fine lord would come for her—someone with a title, land, and promises that were not his to make—but Matthew would have this moment.
Always.
Chapter 1
March 1854
Edenfield - London, England
The early morning mistlay low across the field, wrapping the tall grass in a hush of silver. Sarah let the cool, damp blades brush against her bare feet as she slipped from Stella’s bareback. Her hair unbound and wild, flying around her in the soft breeze. Somewhere along the ride she had lost her ribbon, but the feeling of her curls dancing across her face only added to the feeling of freedom.
Sarah patted her mare’s neck, knowing Stella would be content to graze until it was time to return home. She glanced over her shoulder toward the large white house perched on the hill, smoke just beginning to curl from the chimneys. Thesurrounding sky was awake with purple and orange as the sun peeked its way over the horizon, but inside the servants would just now be rising to prepare breakfast while the rest of the household slept. She only had a short time before Maria rose to help her dress. Her maid had made excuses for her before, but even Maria’s loyalty had limits, and Sarah couldn’t risk her mother discovering her early morning escapades. She unfastened the few buttons down the front of her riding dress, and after one last glance around, let the dark green fabric fall to the ground. She quickly shed her undergarments and scrambled up the bank toward the cluster of rocks at the pond’s edge. Without a second thought, she launched herself into the cool blue water.
Sarah relished in the water’s quiet embrace and drank in the beauty of her surroundings. The pond was the jewel of Edenfield, with the wildflowers lining its banks and trees circling nearly the entire shoreline. The pond felt like a secret place tucked away from the world, visible only in part from the winding road that led to the house.
She leaned back into the water, eyes half-closed against the dappled light, when the sound of hooves broke the silence. Sarah stilled. Stella remained by the water, grazing, but the sun had climbed too high. Scrambling up the bank, Sarah grabbed her discarded clothes and ducked behind the nearest tree just as two riders emerged into the clearing. When the voices reached her, she instantly recognized them both.
Matthew Fenwick.
And Edward Datchbury.
Of all people.
She prayed that by some miracle, they would simply ride by Stella standing plainly in view by the water’s edge. Then, as if on cue, the mare lifted her head and nickered brightly in greeting,and Sarah’s heart stopped. Mr. Datchbury turned his horse from the road towards the pond. Sarah dropped to her knees, fumbling with her clothes, as she desperately tried to cover her shaking form before they reached her hiding place.
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