Page 21 of Yours Always
______________________
The horses trotted into the drive just as the clouds began to break over Edenfield, warm afternoon light spilling across the gravel path. Matthew pulled his coat tighter as they rode beneath the elms, the weight of the last few days still sitting heavy in hischest. Somerton had been quiet, calm, beautiful and completely unbearable.
Benjamin dismounted first, passing the reins to a waiting groom with a lazy stretch of his arms. “Home at last,” he muttered, tossing Matthew a sidelong glance. “Care to come in for a drink, or are you still too busy wallowing in silence to be sociable?” Matthew didn’t smile. He swung down from the saddle, keeping hold of the reins as he waved off the stable hand.
He walked toward the house, side by side with Benjamin, the sound of gravel underfoot sharp in the quiet.“I think I’ll head home.” Benjamin’s brows lifted. “We’ve been riding for a full day, you don’t want to rest for a moment?” “I would rather have the quiet.”
Benjamin folded his arms. “No. You would rather avoid conversation.” Matthew didn’t answer. His jaw tensed, eyes on the windows of the main house. In the library the curtains were half-drawn, and he saw her just behind the glass. Sarah was curled up in the window seat, book resting in her lap, head tilted slightly as she read. It was the same image he’d carried in his mind since they were children, but now it carved a hollow ache in his chest
Benjamin followed his gaze, then let out a low groan. “We have danced around this long enough, Matty. What is truly going on between you and Sarah?”
“There is nothing going on,” Matthew said quietly.
“Don’t insult me,” Benjamin exhaled and crossed his arms. “You have been sulking like a man who lost a duel, and insists on blaming the pistol instead of his own aim.” Matthew exhaled, the breath leaving him like it hurt. “I tried to tell her.” Benjamin straightened. “You what?”
“In the breakfast room, before we left for Somerton, I tried to tell her how I feel.” He looked down at his hands. “Shestopped me.” Benjamin was quiet for a moment. “She stopped you?”
“She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t even let me say the words.” There was bitterness in his voice, but it wasn’t aimed at her. Only at himself. For waiting. For hoping. Matthew’s eyes lifted to the window again. “She has chosen the Duke. And I...” He shook his head. “I need space, Ben. I need time to figure out how to stand in the same room and watch her truly belong to someone else.”
Benjamin studied him, the silence stretching between them, until he clapped a hand to Matthew’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to feel like ruin, Matty, but don’t stay there too long. Some things...some people... they’re worth fighting for. Even when you think you’ve already lost.”
Matthew gave a short nod, the gesture too heavy to mean agreement. He turned and walked down the lane, the house and the soft golden light shrinking behind him with every step. And behind the library window, Sarah turned another page, her heart no quieter than his.
Chapter 13
June 1854
Rigby House - London, England
The chandeliers of Rigby Houseblazed overhead, casting a glittering net of light across the ballroom. Music spun through the air, violins and harps weaving golden threads above the steady hum of conversation and laughter. Sarah moved through the crowd like a vision. Her pale silk gown caught the candlelight with every step, her laughter rising light and warm above the din. At her side was the Duke of Kenswick.
Matthew stood near the refreshment table, nursing a glass of brandy he barely tasted, his eyes fixed on her. She was radiant tonight. Smiling. Poised. Effortlessly charming. Everything a young woman ought to be when dancing toward a perfect future. Everything Matthew should want for her, but it hollowed him out from the inside.
“You look like a man about to throttle a bishop,” Benjamin muttered at his side. Matthew snorted into his glass. “Maybe I should.” Benjamin followed his gaze to Sarah and the Duke, his expression tightening. “You did this to yourself, you know,” he said, his voice heavy with more compassion than accusation. “You gave her away without ever giving her the truth.” Matthew didn’t respond. He only drained the last of his drink and set the glass down with a soft clink.
Grace appeared beside them, eyes sharp, missing nothing. “You are spiraling…” she said flatly. “...and it is pitiful to watch.” Matthew didn’t miss a beat. He summoned the most charming smile he could manage. “Then I suggest you look away, Lady Rockwell.”
Matthew didn’t know if it was the Duke’s momentary absence, or the brandy that finally loosened the knot in his spine, but before either Benjamin or Grace could say another word, he was crossing the floor. The crowd blurred. The music sharpened, and suddenly Matthew was in front of her, bowing low, arm extended. “Miss Weston,” he said, voice steady. “May I have this dance?”
Sarah froze, only for a moment, but it was long enough for her smile to flicker before she caught it, smoothing into something poised and practiced. “Of course,” she said quietly, placing her gloved hand in his. The orchestra shifted into a slower waltz as he led her onto the floor. His hand settled lightly at her back, their fingers entwined as the first notes soared through the room.
He felt everything. The warmth of her hand. The brush of silk. The scent of peppermint. A thousand memories buried in every step. She was devastating tonight. Beautiful, yes, but not just the gown or the candlelight in her hair. It was the way she carried herself: gracious, polished, untouchable. It nearly undid him.
“You look well,” she offered, voice just a shade too bright. “So do you,” he said. “Even though you did look ready to bolt halfway through the third quadrille.” Her eyes flashed to his. “You were watching me?”
“Aren’t I always?”
She exhaled, half a laugh, half a breath. Then he pushed forward, too far to pull back. “And how is His Grace? I assume the engagement is progressing according to everyone’s expectations.” She stiffened, just slightly. “There is no engagement.”
“Not yet.”
“That is not your concern, Matthew.” His jaw ticked. “Is it not?” She looked away, her spine too straight, her voice too smooth. “You said yourself, he is a good man.”
“I’m not insinuating otherwise.”
They turned again, skirts brushing his legs, her hand trembling faintly in his. “You are insinuating something,” she said, her chin lifting. “But if you’re hoping for a revelation, I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer at present.”
He lowered his voice. “You’ve grown quite skilled at saying all the right things.” Her eyes met his, sharp and wounded. “And you’ve grown quite good at asking questions with knives tucked behind them.”
