Page 18 of Yours Always
He was meant to leave for Somerton within the hour. It had been years since the Westons had last summered there. It was once a favorite retreat nestled deep in the country, complete with a stately, if aging, house, a wide pond, sprawling orchard, and tenant farms that stretched beyond the hills. Robert was signing the estate over to Benjamin as a wedding gift to the couple; a house to build their future, land to tend, and a legacy to continue.
While Somerton was under Robert’s ownership, Matthew had been managing its accounts for years, so he was accompanying Benjamin to walk the property, assess repairs, and ease the transition. It should have been a simple task, but nothing about this morning felt simple. Not after yesterday.
The clink of the spoon quieted and his hand stilled just as the door creaked open behind him. He turned, already knowing it would be her. Sarah stood in the doorway in a soft pink morning gown, her hair in a loose braid she had clearly done herself, her cheeks still flushed with sleep. Something about the softness and honesty of her stole the air from his lungs. Matthew rose immediately, the chair scraping softly against the rug, his hand tightening around the back of it.
“Good morning,” she said, a little breathless, but bright. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here so early.”
“Good morning,” he echoed, voice lower than he meant it to be.
Silence stretched awkwardly, until Sarah spoke again. “Has no one informed you that you do not actually live here?” The jest came out with practiced ease, but the spark in her voice didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yes, I am aware,” Matthew replied, managing a dry smile. “Benjamin and I are heading out for Somerton this morning. I didn’t see the point in troubling my cook at this hour when I knew yours would already have the table set.”
Sarah turned to the tea service, setting down the pot with a little more force than needed, the cups rattled against their saucers. Every movement was precise and practiced, like someone steadying themselves on a rocking ship.
“You’ll be gone for a few days?” she asked, without looking up. “Yes. Three or four.” The words sat heavily between them. Thin. Formal. As hollow as the distance he could feel stretching between them, wider with every beat.
“I—” he started, then paused. “I owe you an apology for what happened yesterday.” She waved a hand, still not meeting his gaze. “It is forgotten.”
“It shouldn’t be,” he said gently. “You deserved better.” She glanced at him then, raising an eyebrow. “Matthew Fenwick, if I held every childhood slight against you, I’d have a list of offenses longer than the portrait hall in the Queen’s Palace.” He chuckled, tension breaking just slightly. “Fair enough.”
She poured her tea, then, after a beat of hesitation, settled into the chair across from him. “You know the Duke well, don’t you?” she asked, tone light but too even and measured. Matthew stilled, his thumb brushing the rim of his cup.
Of all the subjects to rise between them, this was the last one he wanted. But she was here, close, calm, almost easy with him again, and he couldn’t bear to push her away. He leaned back, resting one hand on the table. “Aye,” he said after a pause. “From Eton. He was two years ahead.”
Sarah traced the rim of her teacup, watching the steam curl upward. “Was he always so serious?” A soft huff escaped him. “That’s one word for it. He can’t be faulted, though.” He should’ve stopped there, but the quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable, it was expectant, and she was listening. So Matthew simply kept talking.
“He was twelve when his father passed. A few months later his cousins and uncle, the late Duke of Kenswick, were lost in a terrible accident.” Matthew’s voice was quiet, steady. “He was still just a child, and suddenly heir to a title he was never meant to inherit.” Sarah stilled. “I hadn’t realized he had been so young...”
Matthew nodded. “His family steward managed things until he came of age, but the moment he turned eighteen he stepped in and took on everything. Most thought he’d falter. He was too young, too far removed… but he didn’t. Every inch of the man he is now he earned.”
Her gaze drifted as if she was lost in thought. “I just thought he was...” she trailed off. “Guarded,” Matthew offered. His voice had softened too. She nodded. “Proper. But kind.”
“He is,” Matthew agreed. “And loyal to a fault. Lifelong friends with Oliver Blackburn, and he’s never once tried to drown him.” That pulled a laugh from her, quiet but real, even if it didn’t linger.
Then, as the moment slipped into silence, the words escaped before he could stop them, “He is one of the best men I have ever known.” Matthew wasn’t sure why he’d said it. Maybe because it was true. Maybe because admitting it aloud felt like some small surrender; acknowledging the worth of the man she might choose.
Sarah stirred her tea, the spoon catching the light. “He is certainly more substantial than I expected.” Matthew’s brow lifted, but the smile that ghosted across his lips didn’t quitereach his chest. “Substantial?” he echoed. She flushed. “I only meant that he looks more like a bare- knuckle boxer than a duke. Broad shoulders. Strong build. I just didn’t expect that.”
Something twisted low in his chest. He looked down at his tea. “That’s fair,” he said, forcing lightness. “He rowed at Eton. Still does, I believe, when the weight of everything becomes too much.” The words kept tumbling, faster now, anything to fill the silence and keep him from sitting with his own thoughts. “The other boys claimed he wasn’t built for titles, but for snapping oars and splitting shirt seams.”
He knew he’d said too much, but Sarah’s gaze didn’t waver, she remained steady and quiet, wholly unlike the way she had looked at him the day before. Her lips curved slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes. "That explains a lot."
Matthew exhaled something between a breath and a laugh, but it lacked conviction. Then, before he could stop himself, the words were already leaving his mouth, uninvited and far too revealing. “So,” he murmured, tone not quite light enough to pass for teasing, “you’ve been admiring His Grace’s arms?”
He meant it as a joke, but it hit the air too hard and edged with something he hadn’t meant to show. Sarah’s teacup paused halfway to her lips. She didn’t look at him. “I was merely observing,” she said, too soft and too quick. “Observing quite intently, it would seem,” he replied, the edge of what was unspoken slipped through despite his careful tone.
She didn’t answer right away. Her lashes lowered as she lifted her tea to her lips. “Let us not pretend” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rim of the cup, “That you have been overlooked in that respect” Matthew nearly choked on his own tea.
For a split second, he thought he’d imagined it until he saw the color rise in her cheeks and the faint wince, like she wanted to swallow the words back whole. He should’ve laughed.Should’ve turned it into another joke. But he couldn’t. Not when his pulse was thundering, the lightness in his chest felt too close to something dangerous, and the air between them had shifted.
“Miss Weston,” he said, trying to sound amused, though his voice was too low, too rough. “Are you accusing me of being broad of shoulder and admirable of form?” She groaned, mortified. “I never should have left my bed.”
“No, no,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving. “Please continue. I’m utterly fascinated by your observations.” She glared at him over the rim of her cup. “You are impossible.”
“You say that like it’s a burden,” he muttered. “And yet, you are still here.” Their eyes met and the silence stretched, but it was no longer awkward. Not entirely. It was new.
“Matthew...” Sarah started, then faltered. “Why have you not...?” She hesitated, carefully choosing her words, or perhaps still deciding if she ought to speak them at all. “You’ve never seemed interested in courting, or settling down.” Matthew’s smile dimmed, the familiar teasing slipping from his face.
