Page 19 of Yours Always
“You must know how women look at you…” she added, pressing on now, emboldened by something he couldn’t see. “At every dinner and ball, they are tripping over themselves just to catch a glimpse of you.” Matthew tried to steer the conversation back into more pleasant waters, to shake off the sudden weight pressing between them.“Because I’m as handsome as I am broad?”
“Matthew.” Her voice was sharper now, undercut with something earnest. Something vulnerable. He exhaled through his nose, a short breath meant to buy time, and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “To be honest...I hardly notice.”
“You hardly encourage it either,” she pressed, her brow drawn with concern. He paused. Just long enough for the silenceto settle between them. “I never saw the point,” he said finally, the words dull and distant, like they’d been buried too long. Sarah frowned, clearly not expecting that. “You could have had any number of admirers. A dozen women would have married you happily.”
Matthew’s eyes dropped to the table, his thumb dragging along the rim of his teacup, tracing the same worn path again and again. “I never saw the point…” he repeated, softer now. “...because when a man’s heart is already spoken for, he doesn’t waste time pretending he wants something else.”
When he looked up she was staring at him, her expression unreadable. Somehow, that silence undid him more than any response could have. When she finally spoke her voice was slow and measured. “You loved someone?” Matthew nodded once. “I do,” he said not with hesitation, but with quiet finality. Not a memory. Not a regret. A truth.
“I am in love,” he added, the words leaving him like a breath he’d been holding for years. “I have been for a very long time.” She looked away then, down toward the floor, lashes lowered like a shield. “And you never told her?”
“I am afraid I missed my chance.” He leaned forward, not out of boldness, but because the weight of it had finally become unbearable. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t planned. It was survival. The truth and a hundred almost confessions pressed against his ribs like they had for years, begging for air.
“I didn’t tell her,” he said quietly, “because I thought I had more time. I thought if I waited long enough, she might see me, not as a friend or a familiar face, but just me.” The silence that followed was sharp, breathless. Sarah’s fingers curled tightly around her teacup, white-knuckled. Her face remained calm, composed, but something about her stillness felt too forced. She still hadn’t looked at him.
“Lizzy...” he said softly. The words hovered on the edge of his tongue, real, trembling, and ready. For the first time, he knew he wanted to say them. He needed to say them. Before he could, Sarah stood suddenly, the legs of her chair scraped against the rug nearly toppling as she pushed away from the table.
“Matthew, please.” Her voice was sharp and defensive in a way that didn’t match her tone a moment ago. Matthew froze. Her face was composed, like someone trying to close a door that had accidentally opened too far. In an instant, he understood. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want the weight of what he was about to say. Not now. Maybe not ever.
The realization landed like a stone in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight. He sat back slowly, hands resting loosely on his knees as he forced the words down where they’d always lived, in silence. “I should check on the horses,” he said at last, the words quieter than before. “They need to be ready once Benjamin wakes.”
Sarah gave a slight nod, her eyes fixed on her teacup. He hesitated at the door, just once, but she didn’t look up. So he walked away. Each step felt heavier than the last.
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The moment his footsteps faded, the silence closed in. Sarah stood motionless, fingers still clenched around her teacup. The porcelain felt too delicate, her breath too shallow. She stared at the swirling tea leaves, willing the ache behind her ribs to ease.
She had stopped him. She’d silenced the very words that had haunted her dreams for years, and he had looked completely undone. Not visibly, and not to anyone else, but she knew him too well. The set of his jaw, the quiet in his eyes, it was pain. Shepressed her fingers to her lips, trying to breathe. He was in love. Just not with her.
“I was afraid I missed my chance.”She had heard the truth in it, and somehow she’d managed to be surprised. She had been foolish. She’d let herself believe that the glances, the nearness, and the warmth in his voice had meant something, but it had always been Mary.
He loved her, and he had lost her.
Sarah had been the girl who watched him grieve.
She set the teacup down with trembling fingers and crossed to the window. The sunlight spilled across the garden path. In the distance, the stables stood quiet, the roof glinting faintly. She imagined him there, sleeves rolled, brushing down his horse, trying to outrun the conversation he hadn’t finished. She knew him better than anyone, and somehow, she hadn’t known his heart.
The ache rose sharp in her throat, twisting tighter when she realized what sat beneath it. Shame. Some part of her, quiet, stubborn, and buried, had wanted him to say her own name. Had hoped. Had dreamed.
The door creaked open and Benjamin stepped inside wearing a weightless smile, blissfully unaware of how heavy her heart had become. “Morning, Lizzy. You haven’t seen Matty, have you? He was supposed to meet me.” Sarah didn’t turn to greet him. “He left.” Benjamin paused, noting her clipped tone. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine.”
He blinked. “You look as though you want to set fire to the drapes.”
She turned slowly, her chin high. “I said I am fine.”
Benjamin studied her, eyes narrowing. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Sharper now. He glanced at Matthew’s abandoned teacup, then at her flushed cheeks. “Did he go to the stables?”
“Where else would he go?” A beat of silence.
“Liz,” Benjamin said gently, “did something happen between the two of you?”
“No,” she said again. “Please stop asking.”
Benjamin raised both hands in surrender. “Alright.” He hesitated. “I will find him myself.” He lingered in the doorway. His voice was quiet this time. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but you don’t have to carry it alone either.”
