Page 22 of Yours Always
The music surged, the crowd pressing in around them. They didn’t speak again until the final notes faded into applause. Then Matthew leaned in, just enough for her to feel the weight of what he hadn’t said. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Lizzy.” Sarah pulled away before he could release her. Her curtsy was graceful and her smile swift. He turned just in time to see the Duke watching from the edge of the room, his face carved in that same unreadable calm that gave nothing away.
Sarah crossed to him without hesitation, leaving Matthew alone in the center of the ballroom, breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.
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Matthew slipped out through the terrace doors, needing air. Needing space. Needing anything but the crush of light and music behind him. He leaned against the stone railing, breathing in the cool quiet hush beyond the ballroom, but it did little to steady him. He turned at the sound of footsteps approaching, and found the Duke standing a few paces away, his hands folded behind his back.
There was no anger on his face. No triumph. Only quiet resolve. “Fenwick,” the Duke said evenly. “Might I have a word?” Matthew nodded stiffly. “Of course, Your Grace.” They stepped farther into the shadows, the orchestra’s hum soft behind the doors.
“We’ve known each other too long, and been through too many boyhood scrapes together, for formal titles,” the Duke said at last, a wry glint reflecting in his eyes. Matthew forced a smile, more habit than feeling. “If I remember correctly, you were always the one pulling Benjamin, Ollie, and me out of more scrapes than you ever caused yourself.”
Nathaniel gave a short, quiet laugh. “I suppose I’ve always had a talent for setting people back on the right path.” He paused, the silence settling heavy between them. “Even when they seem determined to take the wrong one.”
Matthew tensed just enough for the Duke to notice. “I am not here to provoke you, Matthew” The Duke’s gaze softened but his tone remained steady. “I came to speak plainly.” Matthew folded his arms across his chest, gaze fixed ahead. Bracing. “What can I do for you, Nathaniel?”
“I care for Miss Weston,” Nathaniel said. “Deeply.”
Matthew didn’t flinch. He just waited. “I intend to ask her to marry me,” Nathaniel continued. “Very soon.” The words stretched between them, long and taut. "But first,” the Duke said softly, “I need to know whether she has already given her heart to someone else.”
Matthew exhaled, slow and low. “She has made her choice.” It hurt to say it, but not as much as pretending it wasn’t true. “Has she?” Nathaniel asked, watching him closely. “Or has no one given her a reason to believe she has one?” Matthew said nothing.
Nathaniel stepped forward, voice quieter now. “I have seen the way she looks at you, and I have seen how hard you work not to look back.” Matthew turned slightly, his jaw tight. He didn’t want to hear this. Not from him. Not now. “I have lived most of my life doing what’s expected of me,” Nathaniel went on. “Upholding tradition. Keeping my emotions contained. But when it comes to Sarah, I won’t stand on ceremony. I believe I could make her happy.”
Matthew closed his eyes, the words cut deeper than he’d prepared for. Not because they weren’t the truth, but because he knew they might be. “But,” Nathaniel added, “if she already belongs to someone else...” his voice faltered just once. “...if you have claimed her heart and simply refused to name it, then I beg you—either tell her, or step aside.”
Matthew’s hands gripped the stone railing, knuckles white. “I only ever wanted what was best for her,” he said hoarsely. “So do I,” Nathaniel replied, his tone unwavering. “Selfishly, I also don’t want to have my heart broken.” He paused, his voice softer when he spoke again. “But I won’t fight a battle that I’m not meant to win.”
Matthew turned to him fully, every inch of him straining under the weight of what remained unspoken. The Duke held his gaze. There was no anger in his eyes. Only quiet understanding,and a trace of sorrow. “Goodnight, Matthew,” he said, and then he turned and walked back inside, toward the ballroom. Matthew stayed where he was, the cool night air slicing no deeper than the truth already had.
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The ballroom spun around Sarah in a dizzying blur of gold and ivory. She stood stiffly near the refreshment table, pretending to listen to Lady Ashcombe’s endless chatter about floral arrangements, but her eyes darted restlessly across the crowd.Where was he?
She had seen him on the terrace just after their dance, and everything that had unraveled in its wake. He had been speaking with the Duke, the look on both of their faces had set her heart racing. Now, the Duke was deep in conversation with her father, but Matthew was gone as though the ground had simply swallowed him up.
A slow, gnawing panic rose in her chest. She didn’t know why she cared so much, especially when he was trying so hard to prove that he no longer cared about her. But she could see the hurt in his eyes every time he looked at her. Until she figured out exactly what it meant, she wasn’t sure she could think of anything else.
She smoothed her trembling hands over the skirts of her gown, forcing a brittle smile at Lady Ashcombe. “Forgive me,” Sarah murmured, bobbing a quick curtsy. “I must find my brother.” She slipped away before anyone could question the lie, especially as Benjamin was standing just a few paces away. She wove through the sea of silk and velvet, ignoring polite greetings, curious glances. None of it mattered. Only Matthew.
She found him at last near the east corridor, standing half in shadow, his gaze fixed grimly on the marble floor as thoughlocked in battle with something invisible and brutal. Relief, and something she wasn’t ready to admit, crashed through her chest. “Matthew,” she called softly.
He straightened at once, tension snapping through his spine. His posture turned rigid and formal. A version of him she barely recognized. “Miss Weston,” he said lightly. He offered her a practiced bow, and Sarah faltered.
Miss Weston.
Not Lizzy.
Not even Sarah. The words struck like a slap.
She closed the distance between them, lifting her chin, confusion and hurt coiling like smoke in her chest. “What is wrong?” she asked, keeping her voice steady by sheer force of will. “Nothing,” he said curtly, and too quickly to be believable. Sarah’s hands clenched at her sides. She ignored the curious glance of a passing footman and stepped squarely in front of him.
“You are lying,” she said. The corner of Matthew’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “You should return to the Duke,” he said, his voice rough now. “He is looking for you.” Sarah lifted her chin higher. “And I was looking for you.”
For a heartbeat, something raw flickered across his face. He wavered, but only for a moment, then the mask returned. “Matthew,” she whispered, her breath catching. “What has happened to us?” He shifted, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “I am not sure what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she said, her voice urgent. “You were always there, like a part of me, yet these past few weeks every time we speak it feels like...” she broke off, breath catching. Then, barely above a whisper. “Torture.”
Matthew looked away, his jaw tight. “Not every moment,” he said hoarsely. “Then why do you avoid me?” she demanded.“Why do you disappear? We can’t even finish a conversation without you walking away.”
