Page 28 of Yours Always
He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Sarah managed a small, quiet smile. She wanted to believe that in time the ache would fade. That she could learn to want what she was told she already did.
They returned to the drawing room together, arm in arm. Victoria’s eyes found them first. She beamed, her entire frame lighting with triumph. She rose swiftly and clasped Sarah’s free hand in both of hers, her voice thick with emotion. “My darling girl,” she whispered. Robert stood as well, offering the Duke his hand and congratulations with calm approval.
Grace and Benjamin came slower. Sarah met their eyes and lifted her chin, daring them to say aloud what she would not letherself think. But Grace only pulled her close, arms tight, voice thick with love. “I love you, Lizzy. Always.”
“Thank you,” Sarah whispered, calm and steady, but inside, something trembled. Because even now, even as her hand rested on the Duke’s arm and her family embraced the future unfurled neatly at her feet, her heart strained toward the man who was no longer apart of it. And toward the part of herself she feared he had taken with him.
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Grace had gone. Her mother and Benjamin had long since retired. But sleep refused to come. Sarah wandered without a clear purpose, fingers trailing the wainscoting, steps soft as breath, her nightgown whispering against the floor with every slow turn around corners she could have walked blindfolded.
She paused outside her father’s study. The door was ajar, spilling a wedge of amber light into the corridor. Inside, Robert Weston sat at his desk, reading glasses low on his nose, a glass of brandy at his elbow, and a neat stack of correspondence before him. The fire crackled low behind him, painting the dark paneled walls in flickering gold. He looked up when he heard her. His smile was quiet, unhurried. “Come in, Sarah,” he said, voice warm. “No need to lurk like a ghost.”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her with care. He rose, folding his reading glasses and setting his papers aside. With a gentle gesture, he beckoned her to the settee. She sat and he joined her with a low sigh of comfort, patting her hand where it rested between them. “You have made your mother very happy tonight,” he said softly. “Quite a triumph.” Sarah gave a small smile. “I know.”
“And you, my darling girl?” he asked after a moment, his tone unchanged but more searching. “Are you happy?” Sarah hesitated. The word sat on her tongue like something too heavy,too final. “I am content,” she said at last. Robert studied her face, the candlelight catching every flicker of doubt behind her eyes. “You have never been content, Sarah,” he said quietly. “Not truly. You used to dream of adventures—of pirates and princes and slaying dragons.”
A breath of laughter escaped her, soft and laced with something like sorrow. “I remember.” He turned toward her fully. And in that moment, she didn’t see the esteemed gentleman that her mother proudly introduced in every drawing room. She saw only her father—the man who once hoisted her onto his shoulders in the orchard, who taught her how to hold a sword made of sticks and believe it could fell giants.
“You’ve grown into a remarkable woman,” he said, pride deepening the lines around his eyes. “But I wonder if you’ve forgotten how to dream.” Her eyes welled, shining with unspoken things caught on the edge of her lashes. “You deserve to be loved, Sarah. Not just respected, or protected, but truly loved. You deserve to feel that love for someone else in return.”
Sarah’s breath faltered, just for a moment, and still he caught it. “You don’t have to prove anything,” he added. “Not to me. Not to your mother. Not to anyone.” She nodded, blinking quickly, still unable to speak. Robert stood, then reached for her hands and drew her to her feet.
When he folded her into his arms, it felt like safety. The press of his jacket against her cheek, the steady beat of his heart beneath it familiar, and anchoring. She closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of tobacco, ink and the faintest trace of sandalwood. For a moment, she was still. When she finally pulled back, she offered him the brightest smile she could manage. “Thank you, Papa.”
He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek with the care of a man who remembered her as a little girl. “Whatever path you walk,” he said softly, “you have my blessing.”
Chapter 17
October 1854
Mayfair - London, England
The drawing roomwas awash in the soft light of early autumn, filtering through tall windows draped in pale blue silk. The faint scent of sweet biscuits and tea left to turn cold hung in the air. Sarah sat very straight on the velvet settee, her gloved hands folded primly in her lap, an untouched cup sitting on the table before her. Across from her, Lady Adeline, elegant as ever in seafoam silk, sat beside her newly affianced Lord Rutledge, a gentleman of quiet manners and even quieter confidence. He said little, but the way he watched Adeline pour tea made his feelings unmistakable.
“The first ball of the Autumn Social Season is to be held at Langley House, is it not?” Adeline asked, lifting her cup with practiced grace. “It promises to be quite the event. Though—"she paused, her gaze falling on Sarah and the Duke who sat quietly beside her. “I daresay, many will be far more interested in who attends together than the music or flowers.” Sarah managed to offer only a faint smile.
“Of course…” Adeline went on, her tone gentle but pointed, “...certain pairings will set the room alight with anticipation.”
“Adeline,” the Duke said quietly, his voice low with warning, though a faint trace of indulgence softened the edge. She dipped her head with a soft laugh. “Forgive me. I only meant that some occasions carry more weight than others. It would be a very elegant setting, should any formal announcement wish to be made.” Nathaniel turned to Sarah then, his gaze steady above the rim of his teacup, still unreadable, still calm and waiting.
Sarah was spared the necessity of a reply by the sudden arrival of Lady Charlotte, who swept into the room like an ocean squall. At fourteen, she was all dark, wild curls and unchecked commentary, her slate blue gown slightly askew, one glove tucked into her reticule rather than worn. “I thought you all would be dreadfully boring, and I was right,” she declared, flopping beside Sarah and grabbing a biscuit.
“I cannot possibly spend the next hour discussing muslin and orchids. Did you know Lady Lytton fainted during the cotillion last night? They said it was the heat, but I think she just wanted Lord Merrick to carry her out.”
“Charlotte,” Adeline said mildly, though her tone held quiet authority. “Your gloves.”
“They’re on my person,” Charlotte replied breezily. “That should suffice.”
Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose, caught between amusement and exasperation, while Lord Rutledge looked like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or flee. Sarah blinked down at her tea, grateful for the disruption. Charlotte’s chaos was blessedly distracting.
A few moments later, the Duke set his cup aside and leaned forward slightly. His voice was low and even, pitched only for Sarah’s ears. “Sarah.” She blinked, startled. She still wasn’t used to hearing her name from him, not so gently. They had agreed it was silly to keep using titles now that they were to be husband and wife, and yet his saying her name always felt too intimate and unfamiliar.
“Yes, Nathaniel?” she asked, reaching for her teacup, realizing too late that her hands were trembling. She set it down again, untouched. On the other side of the room, Adeline had tactfully redirected her attention to Lord Rutledge, offering privacy without pretension.
“Adeline is right,” Nathaniel continued, tone even. “The first ball of the Season might serve as a fitting moment for a formal announcement.” He paused. “With your permission, of course.” Sarah’s breath caught. The walls felt closer now. The pressure in the room, Nathaniel’s affectionate gaze, Adeline’s quiet assumptions, the gleam in Charlotte’s curious glance, all folded in around her like netting.
“That would be very grand,” she said after a beat, carefully. “Though I wonder...if we might delay the public announcement until after Grace and Benjamin’s wedding.” Nathaniel’s brows lifted. “Their wedding is not until after Christmas.”
