Page 16 of Yours Always
Matthew stayed where he was, silent in the saddle, watching the grass ripple like waves under the sun. The wind tugged at his coat, lifting the curls at his collar and carrying her words further than he wanted them to go.
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Later that afternoon, the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the gardens at Edenfield. The air smelled of roses and warm earth, the hush of the day settling over the grounds like a soft blanket. Sarah sat on a stone bench near the arbor, her sketchbook balanced across her knees. A faint melody hummed from her lips as her pencil moved across the page, her brow furrowed in quiet concentration. From beneath an old oak tree, Matthew tried very hard not to look like he was staring at her. He was failing spectacularly.
Benjamin stood beside him, mid-sentence, recounting some outlandish story involving Oliver, a startled vicar, a runaway pig, and an alarming quantity of molasses. Matthew heard none of it. He nodded absently, eyes fixed on the figure in blue at the edge of the garden. “Have you heard a single word I said?” Benjamin said dryly. Matthew blinked, finally turning. “What?” Benjamin only laughed and walked off, shaking his head.
Grace was seated nearby on a blanket, her embroidery laying untouched in her lap for nearly ten minutes, watching him with barely concealed amusement. Every time Sarah glanced up from her sketch, Matthew panicked—first straightening his jacket, then pretending to examine the tree bark, and at one point bending to fuss with a bootlace that hadn’t needed fixing since he tied it that morning. He had absolutely no idea how obvious he was.
Grace cleared her throat with a single, theatrical sound loud enough to echo off the hedges. Sarah looked up blinking, “Was that you?”
“Pollen,” Grace said sweetly. “Terrible time of year.” Matthew shot her a murderous look. Determined to salvage what dignity he had left, he rose to his feet and crossed the garden toward Sarah, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The sun framed Sarah in gold, catching in her hair and highlighting the soft curve of her smile as she looked up at him. In a single moment, every coherent thought vanished from his mind.
“This is a nice bush,” he said, nodding toward a hedge. Sarah blinked, then she laughed, a bright, unguarded sound that made something in Matthew’s chest catch. “Thank you, Matty,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I’ll be sure to pass along the compliment.” From somewhere behind him, Grace made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. Matthew flushed scarlet. Sarah tilted her head, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “Are you feeling quite alright?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Matthew said far too quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing anywhere but at her. “I just...” The words tangled themselves before they reached his tongue. “I was wondering if you’d... like to... I mean...” Sarah waited, her gaze steady, the faintest sparkle lighting her eyes. “Would you care to take a walk with me?” he blurted, half-wincing the moment it escaped. Simple. Safe. And somehow the most terrifying question he’d ever asked in his life.
Sarah’s expression softened instantly, her voice gentler now. “Of course, Matty. I’d love to.” Behind them, Grace let out an exaggerated sigh of triumph. They turned onto the garden path, the trees overhead casting a gentle web of shadows and sunlight across the stones.
For a while, they simply walked. The quiet between them was familiar and well-worn, but something about it felt newnow, tenuous and tender. Suddenly all Matthew could focus on was the space between them—too wide to take her hand, but just narrow enough to ache for it.
Sarah brushed a loose curl from her cheek, her voice soft. “You’re quiet today.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Just thinking.” She smiled sideways at him. “Important thoughts, I hope.”
“You,” he tensed the moment he realized he had spoken the thought outloud. Sarah stopped mid-step, brows rising. “Your mother is planning another party,” he added hastily. “I was thinking about how much you’ll hate it.”
Sarah laughed and the knot in his chest loosened. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said, giving his shoulder a teasing nudge. Matthew stumbled a little. So did his heart. They circled back toward the arbor, golden light bleeding across the garden walls, shadows stretching long and slow across the stone. Grace watched from the fountain with Benjamin, her embroidery still abandoned beside her.
Matthew lingered at the edge of the path, every nerve taut beneath his skin. He needed air. Needed clarity. Needed to stop imagining what it might feel like to take Sarah’s hand in his and tell her the truth. But before he could even gather the breath to try, the soft thunder of hooves broke the quiet.
A lone rider approached from the drive, framed by sunlight like a vision out of myth. His coat was dark and immaculately fitted, his posture straight, his boots gleaming, and of course, the horse was white. The Duke of Kenswick. A smile broke across Sarah’s face radiant, and a little too perfect.
Matthew’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t tell if the smile was real, or just practiced instinct. The fact that he didn’t know sank low and heavy in his chest. He stepped back without thinking, putting distance between himself, the woman who deserved the world, and the man who just might be able to give it to her.
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The Duke dismounted with quiet ease, leading his horse across the garden with the calm assurance of a man used to being welcome wherever he went. Sarah brushed the grass from her skirts as he approached, her pulse quickening for reasons she didn’t fully understand. “Your Grace,” she said, her voice too polite, even to her own ears. He bowed over her hand, offering the kind of courtly smile that never seemed to falter.
“Forgive the intrusion, Miss Weston. Your mother was gracious enough to invite me to join you all this evening. I hope I haven’t caught you at a poor time.”
“Of course not,” Sarah said, managing another smile. “You are always welcome here.” But as the words left her mouth, she could feel the absence behind her like a shadow. Matthew was gone. He had been standing only a few feet away, steady as always, until the moment the Duke arrived. Now, without a word or glance, he had turned and walked away. Not like someone retreating in anger, but someone who had chosen to leave her behind.
The Duke, still holding the reins of his horse in one hand, offered her his arm with the other. “Shall we?” he asked, nodding toward the house. Sarah hesitated only a breath before slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. They walked slowly through the gardens, the hush of evening settling around them.
The scent of roses still clung to the air, and the grass gave softly beneath her slippers. His horse walked quietly beside them, steps measured, a reflection of the man who held the lead. He was steady, good, and yet all she could think of was how much warmer her hand felt nestled into Matthew’s arm.
As they neared the terrace, the Duke glanced sideways at her, his tone gentle. “You seem troubled, Miss Weston. I hope I haven’t come at an unfortunate time.” Sarah shook her head,forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “Not at all.” He smiled, but his gaze searched hers. “You must know,” he said after a moment, “I would never wish to intrude upon...anything.” The hesitation in his voice was subtle, and the weight of his meaning settled instantly in her chest. “You are not intruding,” she said, a bit too quickly to be sincere.
He offered her a grateful smile, though a flicker of sadness passed through it. “I know this may be bold,” he said after a pause, “but I believe I have made my intentions clear. I am beginning to care for you, Miss Weston. Deeply. And I had hoped...” His voice grew quieter. “...that perhaps your heart might be starting to find a place for me.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say. She wanted to speak honestly, but honestly, she didn’t know what her heart wanted. It wanted both safety and freedom. Certainty and comfort. It wanted Matthew, and Matthew had walked away. The realization settled into her chest, heavy and almost painful. She swallowed it down, forcing the truth to sink deep where she could not feel it, so she could focus on the man standing before her.
“A man would have to be blind not to see how admired you are,” the Duke continued. “And while I’ve never been one to compete for affections, I do hope that in time, I might earn your favor.” Sarah’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak on what she was still trying to untangle. She wanted to be worthy of his hope.
“You flatter me, Your Grace,” she said softly. “Though I believe you greatly exaggerate the amount of admiration I’ve received.” The Duke smiled faintly. “I doubt that very much.”
He led her to the foot of the terrace steps, then passed his horse off to a waiting stablehand with a quiet nod before turning back toward the house to join them for supper. Sarah stepped through the doors, the Duke’s presence was a quiet weight just behind her, yet all she could feel was the fading echo of footsteps in the garden and the hollow space Matthew left behind.
As they turned the corner toward the dining room, she saw him, standing at the threshold, hat and coat in hand, paused as though caught between staying and going. Their eyes met and held. One breath. Then two. Then without a word, Matthew turned and walked away again. The door closed behind him with a hush that sounded far too much like goodbye.
