Page 2 of Yours Always
Matthew rode behind Mr. Datchbury, letting the chatter buzz past his ears like a persistent fly. The older man had been talking nonstop since they'd met on the road a few miles back, but Matthew’s mind had long since drifted. He preferred the quiet, and Edenfield was a place best appreciated in silence.
The Westons’ estate was unlike any other home on the outskirts of London. It wasn’t buried in the heart of the city, smothered by soot and cobblestone, nor removed entirely into the countryside. Instead, it sat just beyond the city’s edge, where the air began to clear and the landscape softened—caught in that rare space where wildflowers still dared to grow. They were close enough to remain at the heart of the Season, but far enough for green hills, private gardens, and a pond that caught the morning light like polished glass. There was room to breathe and appreciate the still, quiet rhythms.
“Did you hear that, Fenwick?”
Well. Mostly quiet.
Matthew pulled his gaze from the scenery and noticed that Mr. Datchbury had reined in his horse, and was peering toward the trees that surrounded the pond. “It sounded like a horse.”
Matthew rode up beside him, unease prickling down his spine. If Datchbury had heard a horse, he had a very strong suspicion who it belonged to. His eyes scanned the bank, and it didn’t take long for him to spot the cream-colored mare with chocolate-brown spots standing by the water’s edge. There wasno mistaking her; there wasn’t another horse like that in all of London.But where was her rider?
“That is a beautiful creature,” Mr. Datchbury said admiringly. “I don’t see any tack. Do you think she’s wild?” Matthew felt a brief flood of relief. The man hadn’t spent enough time in the Westons’ stables to recognize Stella, but he would absolutely recognize Sarah. He had to get Datchbury away. He could only imagine the state Sarah would be in if they found her now.
“She may have gotten loose,” Matthew said, voice casual. “We should head to the house. I’ll let the stable hands know.” He nodded back toward the road, but Datchbury was already dismounting.
Matthew scanned the trees again, but there was still no sign of her. Maybe the girl had enough restraint to avoid swimming so late in the morning. Then again, expecting Sarah Elizabeth Weston to curb her wild streak was almost laughable. He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. The sound of boots crunching over the grass brought Matthew’s attention back to the urgent matter at hand—Mr. Datchbury was striding toward the pond.
Matthew started to call out but froze when a flicker of movement caught his attention just behind a tree. A glimpse of damp golden curls made his heart stop. “Mr. Datchbury, stop!” There was no time to explain. He moved quickly to intercept the man, stepping between him and the clearing. “We don’t know whose horse that is,” Matthew said, firmly. “Let us go speak to the stable hands. She may be unpredictable, and we could not manage her between the two of us.”
He placed a hand on Datchbury’s shoulder, trying to steer him back toward the road. The older man frowned, “It seems a shame to leave such a fine animal. Maybe one of us should stay behind...”
“No!” The word came out too forcefully. Matthew slowed his breath, “Please. Just trust me. I’ll handle it.”
At last, Datchbury nodded reluctantly, as they both mounted and turned their horses towards the large white house. Matthew stole one last glance toward the tree, and imagined Sarah fuming behind it—soaked, entirely unrepentant, and absolutely perfect. Some things,some people, never changed.
He heard hoofbeats behind them, thundering lightly through the trees. Sarah could outride any man in London, and she would have no trouble beating them back to the stables. Her secret was safe.At least for now.
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Sarah lept from Stella’s back the moment she was in the safety of the stables. She had to get her horse brushed and back in her stall before the stable hands returned with Matthew and Mr. Datchbury’s horses. Her face flushed at the thought of their near encounter.
What would her mother have said if her father’s business partner had found her in such a state? Sarah would’ve lost the little freedom she had and been forced to endure Maria trailing behind her every step. A life like that would be worse than chains.
She loved Maria dearly. The young girl had grown up in the Weston household and eventually became Sarah’s maid. Over the years she had covered for Sarah more times than she could count, but things had changed. Maria had matured gracefully, and Sarah still craved adventure. She knew she couldn’t rely on her friend to indulge her for much longer.
Everyone was waiting for the day Sarah Elizabeth Weston would become the proper young lady of society she was supposed to be, but no one understood her need forindependence and adventure. No one except Benjamin and Matthew.
Sarah smiled despite herself. She could only imagine the thoughts running through Matthew’s mind as he scrambled to get Mr. Datchbury away from the pond. She would get a talking-to later. She was sure of it.
Matthew understood her need to feel free, but that didn’t mean he approved. He had grown up with Benjamin and Sarah in the pond, swimming away entire summers—Benjamin’s already blonde hair turned nearly white in the sun, Matthew’s freckles took over his whole face, and her mother had been horrified by how tanned Sarah’s skin became.
Benjamin now worked alongside their father and was courting Sarah’s best friend, Grace Rockwell. Matthew ran the company his father left him and was employed by her father managing estates and investments. They had grown up and entered society as expected; Sarah was the only one still holding on to the freedom of their childhood.
Sarah froze as the sound of footsteps echoed through the barn. “My, my. Look at that hair,” Matthew drawled from the doorway. “Get caught in the rain, Lizzy-girl?” Sarah smiled at the sound of his Scottish lilt but didn’t turn around. He was enjoying this far too much. She ran the brush more vigorously along Stella’s damp coat, cheeks burning. “I didn’t notice any storms this morning,” he continued, his voice light with amusement. “Clear skies, dry paths...”
She could hear him grinning and her face flamed hotter. “I know what you’re going to say…” she declared, spinning around with arms crossed, meeting his gaze squarely as he leaned against the stall with his arms folded, green eyes gleaming with mischief. “...and you needn’t bother. I’ve already had the lecture in my own head.” Matthew lifted a brow, feigning innocence.
Sarah struck a pose and launched into a dreadful brogue: “This behavior isnaeappropriate for a young lady your age. Timeyegave up your childish ways and embraced the futurebefittin’your family name.” Matthew chuckled, and the sound stirred something unfamiliar in Sarah’s stomach. “That is a terrible accent, even by your standards,” he said, crossing to the tack wall. “And I wasn’t going to lecture you. I was going to ask if you’d help me with Datchbury’s horse.” She blinked. “You were?”
“Only if you’re not too busy drying out your petticoats,” he added with a grin. “I had to send your stable hands out to capture a wild mare.” Sarah laughed as she gathered up her wet skirts. “I would stay to help you, Matty, but I think my mother might notice if I show up to breakfast dripping pond water.”
“True,” he said, picking up a brush and getting to work on the coat of his own raven-black stallion. “You’ve never been particularly subtle when you’re guilty.” Sarah grinned, but her gaze lingered on him longer than it should have.
He was brushing down Gideon, his movements steady and practiced, the soft rhythm of it familiar. There was nothing unusual in the sight—his reddish-brown hair tousled by the wind, jacket abandoned and sleeves rolled, his jaw darkened by the hint of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. This was the Matthew she had always known. It wasn’t the polished version the rest of London admired, clean-shaven and dressed in starched cravats, but the one who never minded muddy boots or early mornings. The one that smiled without pretense and moved as though nothing in the world could rattle him, and yet something felt different.
His green eyes shifted as he worked, brightening and darkening, always restless and impossible to read. When he smiled, as he did just then, it was the kind that settled behind hiseyes and lingered. She had seen that smile a thousand times. So why did it suddenly feel entirely new?
He looked up then, as if he could feel her staring. There was nothing in his face to give away his thoughts, but his eyes held a knowing that unsettled her. He nodded towards Stella, still damp and half-groomed. “Go on. I’ll finish with her,” he said casually. “Best you’re inside before your mother launches a search party.”
