Page 24 of Yours Always
“That is actually why I’ve come,” she said softly. “Sarah... at least, I assume that is who you would refer to as your favorite?” Matthew’s heart twisted. Instantly alert, he leaned forward. “Is Sarah alright?” he demanded, his voice sharper than intended. Victoria held his gaze, then gave a soft, sorrowful smile.
“Oh, Matthew. Yes. She’s perfectly fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” The air rushed from his lungs, leaving him dizzy. He sagged back into his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Anna reappeared with the tea tray, setting it down in silence before retreating once more. Matthew didn’t even glance at it, instead he leaned forward, his voice low, steady.
“Mrs. Weston, the last time you came here, it was to beg me to offer Mary my hand.” Victoria looked away, her gaze flicking to the windows, to the light shifting against the pane, anywhere but him. “And now,” he went on, quieter still, “with Sarah very near an engagement to a Duke, I assume this visit has a very different purpose.”
Victoria flinched, but she didn’t deny it. “Matthew,” she began, “you know how deeply I care for you. How much gratitude I owe you for the love you’ve shown Benjamin, and Sarah, even Mary.” Matthew didn’t speak. He simply waited for the blow he knew was coming.
“But...” she said, voice soft, “I find myself concerned.”
There it was.
“I fear,” she continued, “that your relationship with Sarah, your closeness, is starting to be misinterpreted.”
“By whom?” Matthew asked, his voice cool. “By society,” Victoria said carefully. “And by her suitors.” She looked almost embarrassed, but Matthew knew better than to assume the emotion reached her heart. “You must understand,” she pressed, “Sarah is at an age where attachments are formed, and marriages are arranged.” She took a breath, and Matthew felt the need to brace himself against the inevitable blow. “She has received a proposal, Matthew.”
He gripped the arms of his chair to steady himself. He had known it was coming, but hearing it spoken aloud ripped through him like a blade. “From the Duke,” he said flatly. Victoria nodded, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “He would offer her everything she deserves,” she said. “Security. Comfort. A name beyond reproach. And yet...”
“She hasn’t accepted him?” Matthew asked almost hopefully. Victoria lifted pleading eyes to his. “Because she still has you,” she said softly. “Whether she realizes it or not, a part of her heart belongs to you.”
Matthew dropped his head into his hands, elbows digging into his knees barely keeping the strength to sit upright. “You want me to step aside,” he said hollowly. “I want her to be happy,” Victoria whispered. “And free to choose the life she deserves. A life you...” she hesitated, pained, “may not be able to give her.”
Matthew drew in a breath and let it out, uneven and tight. He stood slowly, crossing the room to his desk. He opened the drawer and withdrew the cursed letter that had been burning a hole in his soul since the night of the ball when the messenger had pulled him away from Sarah’s side.
Without a word, he dropped it into Victoria’s lap. She picked it up gingerly, confusion clouding her features. “My aunt died,” Matthew said flatly. “Weeks ago. While sorting her things, they found an old will.” Victoria’s eyes widened in realization.
“It was my uncle’s will,” Matthew continued. “And it named a son born of an affair as sole heir. Not me.” Victoria’s hands tightened on the letter. “So, your father’s company?” she whispered. “It is not mine anymore,” Matthew said quietly. “If the will is upheld, I will lose everything.”
The study fell into thick, heavy silence. Victoria set the letter aside without reading it. “So you see then,” she said gently, almost pityingly. “I am right.”
The words cut through him like a blade. “What?” Matthew’s hands fisted at his sides, his whole body vibrating with barely restrained fury. “You raised me like your own son,” he said hoarsely. “I spent more time in your home, at your table than with any of my own family. I have bled for your son. I have protected your daughter. And the moment I tell you that I have lost everything, you do not comfort me, but tell me I am not good enough to love her.”
“Matthew, I love you as if I bore you from my own body...”
“But you didn't,” he cut her off, his voice heavy not with anger, but the weight of betrayal. “That makes your love for me conditional. And now that I have absolutely nothing to offer except for the air in my lungs, you have realized that you don't want me as part of your family. Not truly.”
The tears streamed freely down her cheeks now, her gloves twisting helplessly in her lap. Matthew crossed to the window, his fists pressed against the glass, watching the young saplings along the walkway bending in the fierce wind outside—clinging, fighting, and surviving just as he had, all these years. But now it felt as though the very roots that had once held him secure had been wrenched from the earth, leaving him adrift.
Without turning, he said quietly, “You have nothing to fear, Mrs. Weston. I am leaving for Scotland soon, and whether I return...” he shook his head, voice breaking, “...is unlikely.”
Anna reappeared at the door, sensing the silent storm in the room. Matthew didn’t look back. “Anna,” he said calmly, “please see Mrs. Weston out.” He felt Victoria’s gaze on him, felt her heart breaking, but he did not move. He had no more words left to give her.
The door clicked softly shut behind them, and Matthew stood alone in the ruin of what had once been his family.
______________________
Matthew stood by the tall windows of Robert Weston’s study, the early light filtering through gauzy curtains to cast pale ribbons across the floor. The rest of the house was likely finishing breakfast by now, which meant Robert would be along soon. Matthew had come to tell him about the letter and about Scotland. Unless of course, Victoria had already done so. He doubted it. To tell the story truthfully, she would’ve had to admit to her visit and what she had said to him, and that wasn’t something she was likely to do.
His stomach gave a low growl. He hadn’t eaten before leaving his house, and the idea of sitting at the Weston’s table was unbearable. How could he look at Victoria and pretend nothing had happened? How could he look at Sarah and pretend everything hadn’t nearly happened? The truth was, he wasn’t ready to face her. He still didn’t have the words, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.
“Matty?” As if summoned by the very thought of her, she appeared. Sarah stood just inside the study, her hands clasped in front of her. Her expression was painfully composed, not cold, but like someone who had spent days deciding how she ought to feel.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she said quietly, her gaze flicking briefly to the windows before settling on him again. “Are you here to see my father?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have something to discuss with him. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not,” she said quickly, and then she paused. “You missed breakfast.” The offer hovered, not an invitation, but more of a test. “I wasn’t hungry.” Sarah’s eyes searched his face, unreadable. He ached to know her thoughts, but some part of him knew that if he were to learn what she was withholding, it would tear down the fragile walls he had spent the last few days constructing.
Matthew tried to offer a faint smile as she leaned against the window in front of him. The light caught in her hair, made the gold glint like threads of fire, and warmed the soft curve of her mouth. Her lips looked impossibly soft. He shouldn’t be thinking about her lips, but if this was the last time he would ever see her, maybe he could allow himself that one indulgence.
