Page 12 of Yours Always
“Then why tell him I am off-limits?” Sarah asked, the question escaping before she could stop it. Matthew looked down at her, his thoughts still perfectly hidden behind his steady gaze. “Because while Oliver would never ruin a lady’s name, he has been known to leave a few broken hearts.” Sarah nodded, though something sharp and irrational twisted beneath her ribs.She wasn’t sure what she’d been hoping he would say, but it wasn’t that.
Before she could untangle the feeling, a familiar voice cut in. “There you are, Matthew. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Victoria Weston stood beside them, a fluttering lace fan in her hand, a smile on her lips, and a pointed look in her eyes. Sarah straightened instinctively.
“How may I be of service, Mrs. Weston?” Matthew asked, stepping forward just enough to place himself subtly between mother and daughter. “Since Robert is away,” Victoria said briskly, “and Benjamin is otherwise occupied with Grace, I require you to ensure Sarah meets the gentlemen worth knowing this evening.” Matthew stilled. “My apologies, Victoria,” he said carefully. “But I fail to see how that task falls to me.” Sarah stared at the embroidery on her fan, wishing she could disappear behind it.
“Sarah must have a proper escort,” Victoria continued. “One who can vouch for her character. There are men here tonight whose attention could alter the course of her future, and I will not have her overlooked.” Matthew’s jaw ticked slightly, and Sarah hoped her mother hadn’t noticed.
“Mother,” Sarah said quickly, “I am quite sure I have already met everyone that is in attendance tonight, and I didn’t find them very interesting the first time.”
“Nonsense, you could not have met every one…” Victoria trilled. “...ah, over there.”
Sarah followed her mother’s gaze. Near the back of the ballroom stood a tall young man in black, his jacket cut with exquisite precision. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Matthew and Benjamin, yet there was an unspoken authority in the way he carried himself—a quiet sign of station and responsibility. His pale blue eyes moved slowly across thecrowd not with hunger or impatience, but with the kind of stillness that made people look twice.
“That is the Duke of Kenswick,” Matthew said, his voice low. He hadn’t released Sarah’s arm. “Oh yes,” Victoria said brightly. “Sarah, you must meet him. Matthew, you know him, do you not?”
“Well enough,” Matthew replied. “He’s a good man. Highly respected.” Sarah hated the way her heart dipped at his words, as though she’d hoped for something different. “Will you introduce them?” Victoria asked. He stilled, just for a heartbeat. “If Lizzy wishes it.”
Sarah caught the careful restraint in his tone. “I am not sure what interest a Duke would have in me.” Matthew gave her a soft smile, she wasn’t sure whether it held a touch of sadness or if she had only imagined it. “The Duke has never been one for strategic matches. If anyone could capture his attention, it would be you.”
Sarah felt her mother’s expectant gaze still fixed upon her. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to remain steady against the turmoil she felt within. “If you are willing to make the introduction, I will speak with him.” she managed, her heart sinking slightly as he bowed in agreement. Victoria clapped her hands in delighted satisfaction as she ushered them forward.
The air felt denser as they crossed the room, as if each breath took more effort and something unseen awaited them on the other side. They stopped just a few paces from the tall figure near the edge of the floor. She felt Matthew’s breath change, just slightly, as he came to a halt. The Duke of Kenswick turned at their approach. His bearing was impeccable, his posture rigid and meticulously proper, but he softened slightly the moment his eyes landed on Matthew.
“Fenwick,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s been too long.”
“Far too long,” Matthew replied, clasping it with a faint smile. “Though I daresay, you don’t look any worse for the wait.”
“That’s because I spend more time on the water than in drawing rooms,” the Duke said with a faint smile. “It’s quieter. And the boats ask fewer questions.”
Sarah blinked in surprise, not by the words themselves, but by his tone which held a quiet whisper of humor. Something about the Duke was grounded and unexpectedly real, unlike most of the other men Sarah had met, even those of lesser station. Perhaps that was why, for the first time since she had entered Society, she felt at ease just long enough to forget where she stood.
“I suppose that depends on the company,” she said lightly. “Some questions are worth answering.” The words had left her mouth before decorum could catch up. She felt a flush creep into her cheeks and immediately lowered her gaze, realizing too late that she had spoken without being addressed. For an instant, time almost seemed to still and the air around them held its breath along with her.
When Sarah dared to look up again the Duke was studying her. His expression was not harsh, but set with quiet focus, as if he were turning her words over in his mind. Sarah, despite herself, stared back.
He was, undeniably, the most striking man she had ever seen. Raven-dark hair framed a face shaped by both discipline and privilege. His features were strong and unmistakably noble, but what held her gaze were his eyes; pale, clear, and unflinching. There was nothing performative about him. Nothing adorned for effect. Just a stillness. A man carved of self-possession. He was beautiful, yet her heart did not skip and her pulse did not quicken. Not until she heard Matthew’s voice.
“Miss Sarah Elizabeth Weston,” he said, his tone was smooth and composed but noticeably void of its usual warmth . “May Ipresent His Grace, the Duke of Kenswick.” Sarah dipped into a graceful curtsy, forcing her mind to stay focused on the Duke. “Your Grace.”
“The pleasure is mine,” the Duke replied, his voice devoid of the polished charm most men offered so freely. It was a voice that didn’t need to impress, but simply to be heard. He paused a moment before the faintest hint of smile curled at his mouth. “I had promised myself I would only dance with my sister tonight.” A glimmer of amusement lit his eyes, “And yet, I find myself being forced to reconsider.” He extended his arm without an ounce of flourish or theatrics, only certainty. “Miss Weston, would you do me the honor?”
Matthew’s hand released her arm slowly. There was no ceremony to it, but the gesture felt weighted. Sarah looked up at the Duke. “I would be honored, Your Grace,” she replied, and placed her hand gently on his arm. As Sarah allowed herself to be led away, she heard Lord Blackburn’s voice drifting just loud enough to catch her as she stepped towards the center of the room. “I did not think you’d give her up so easily, Fenwick.”
Sarah didn’t dare look back, but she felt the words settle like a stone in her chest.
Chapter 8
The Duke movedwith quiet precision. Every step was composed and each motion practiced and unhurried. Sarah followed easily, letting the rhythm of the dance guide her, though her mind struggled to keep pace with the rest of her. “You dance well,” he said after a few turns. “Though you seem less than enchanted by the evening.” Sarah allowed herself a faint smile. “Is it so obvious?”
“Only to one who feels the same.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You seem rather well-suited to events like this.”
“I am practiced,” he said. “Not fond.” The honesty in his tone caught her off guard. So many men in ballrooms performed their charm like a polished routine, and his lack of it felt strangely disarming. “It is the pretending, I think. The way everyone speaks as if reading from a shared script. As if the evening hasalready been written and all we’re meant to do is smile and play our parts.”
His brow lifted in subtle agreement. “It has. The script is well-worn, but not everyone follows it quite so obediently.” The corner of Sarah’s mouth quirked. “I find it exhausting. All the charm and performance.” The Duke gave a quiet laugh, though it felt genuine. “You are not alone, Miss Weston.”
The music softened into its final chords, and he leaned in slightly, his voice pitched just for her. “Would you care for some air?”
