Page 32 of Yours Always
Then, just as if fate had timed it with cruel precision, they were drawn toward the fire into conversation with her father, Grace, Benjamin...and Matthew. He stood at the edge of the circle, tall and lean in his dark coat, the silver gleam of candlelight cutting across the sharper angles of his face. He looked older. Wearier. But his eyes, that deep, unguarded green, had not changed at all. He stilled when he saw her, for just a breath, then they were face to face. She was trapped.
“Miss Weston,” Matthew said with a small bow, his voice clipped and cautious. “Mr. Fenwick,” she returned, curtsying just as tightly. The silence that followed clung like frost to glass, tense, and brittle. Benjamin, ever the rescuer, launched into a story about a long-ago sleigh ride. His voice was bright, and Sarah tried to smile. Matthew rubbed the back of his neck, visibly unsure of whether he should laugh or flee the room—or perhaps the country...
When Benjamin reached the part where she had driven the sleigh into a snowbank, and blamed the horse, Matthew’s mouth twitched. “I believe you also claimed,” he said dryly, flicking his gaze toward her, “that you were conducting a scientific experiment to determine precisely how much snow it would take to bury your brother alive.” Laughter rippled through the group, real laughter, and Sarah felt it rise in her chest, startled and unguarded. She narrowed her eyes at him, teasing. “It was an excellent hypothesis. Benjamin ruined it by flailing about like a trout.”
“I was trying not to die,” Benjamin muttered, indignant.
“You would’ve survived,” Sarah replied loftily.
“And if not,” Matthew added with a crooked smile, “at least Lizzy would’ve had a thrilling paper to submit to the Royal Society. Out of all her childhood ambitions, ‘first female scientist’ might’ve been the most surprising.” The laughter deepened.For one brief, suspended moment, the world felt whole again. Warm, and uncomplicated.
Nathaniel chuckled politely. Then, with gentle precision, he rested his hand over Sarah’s where it dangled at her side. “Well,” he said, pleasant but edged with certainty, “Thankfully Sarah’s ambitions now are far more suited to her position. She will make an excellent Duchess.” His smile was sincere, but the laughter faltered. Grace’s smile dimmed. Sarah’s stomach tightened. Matthew’s hand curled into a quiet fist.
Sarah slipped her hand from beneath Nathaniel’s carefully, under the guise of smoothing her skirts. He pretended not to notice, but something in his posture shifted like he’d shrunk an inch beneath the weight of it. For the first time, Sarah realized just how much this was hurting him too.
Conversation stumbled forward, stilted and forced. After a moment, Sarah offered a quiet excuse about needing air and stepped away, out into the still hush of the marble foyer. She slipped through the front doors and onto the terrace. The cold hit like a slap. Snow fell in quiet swirls beneath a moonless sky, layering the stone railing in white. She braced her palms against the ledge, sucking in the frigid air like water to a drowning heart. Why couldn’t she be what Nathaniel needed? Why couldn’t she silence the part of her soul that had never truly belonged to someone else?
“Sarah?” Grace’s voice broke the quiet behind her, but Sarah didn’t turn to face her. Grace came to stand beside her, arms crossed against the cold, her breath ghosting into the air. They stood in silence, the sound of distant carols muffled behind the walls.
When Grace spoke, her voice was soft. “You cannot marry him.” Sarah closed her eyes, the tears burned before she could stop them. “You don’t understand…” she whispered. “I do,” Grace answered gently. “I see it every time you look at him.”Sarah bowed her head. Her shoulders trembled. “I thought I could do it. I thought if I were kind enough... careful enough... I could love him the way he deserves.”
Grace’s voice was soft, barely more than breath. “He deserves someone who chooses him without a second thought.” The words split something wide open in Sarah. “He’s such a good man, and I can’t—” she choked out. Grace wrapped her arms around her. “You deserve more too,” she whispered.
Sarah finally surrendered to every tear, every ache and let herself weep. When the tears were spent, when her hands were numb and her lungs quiet again, she knew. She would end it, tonight. There had been no public declaration. Only a private promise, and one she still had time to undo.
______________________
The warmth of the Duke’s townhouse enveloped Sarah the moment she stepped back inside, muffling the sound of departing carriages and soft goodbyes echoing through the entryway. The gathering was winding down. Laughter had softened to murmurs, shawls were being draped over shoulders, and gloves pulled snug. It was the perfect time, if such a moment could ever exist for what she was about to do.
Across the room, Nathaniel stood near the hearth, the golden firelight reflecting in his dark hair. He looked composed, dignified, and utterly unaware that his world was about to change. As she approached, he turned. His expression brightened, a smile blooming, soft, genuine, and full of hope. Sarah’s heart twisted. He deserved so much more than what she was about to give him.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve. “Your Grace,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the murmured carols, “might I have a word?” There was thebarest flicker of hesitation, so brief she might have imagined it, but then he nodded. “Of course,” he said gently.
He offered his arm, but she did not take it. Instead, she turned and led the way toward a small antechamber off the main hall. The door remained slightly ajar, for propriety, but once inside the hush of the empty room closed around them like a seal. Nathaniel remained by the door, his posture easy but alert, hands clasped loosely behind his back. There was patience in the set of his shoulders, but also the stillness of a man who already suspected what he was about to hear.
Sarah’s hands trembled. She had rehearsed the words over and over, but now that they pressed at the back of her throat and she felt as if she were unraveling. “I owe you the truth,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. He inclined his head, the gesture small but generous, granting her the space to speak.
"You are everything a woman could hope for,” she said, breath catching. “Kind. Honorable. Steady.” She swallowed hard. “And you deserve someone who chooses you fully without question, and without hesitation.” The silence that followed was vast, and aching. Too wide to cross without damage. Nathaniel’s shoulders shifted, not sharply, but perceptibly. Enough to mark the wound. “I cannot marry you,” she said, each word splintering something inside her.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Only the soft ticking of a distant clock broke the stillness, each beat striking like a blow against the quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, devastatingly calm. “I see.” It didn’t rise, but something in it fractured. “And when,” he asked, “did you come to this realization?” Sarah’s eyes dropped to the floorboards. “I think...” Her voice faltered. “I think I have always known.”
He closed his eyes, just briefly. Like a man receiving a blow he had braced for and still found unendurable. “And yet,”he murmured, “you let me believe I had won your heart.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “I wanted to,” she said. “Please, believe me when I say I truly wanted to return every affection you have shown me.”
Nathaniel stepped forward, slow and composed. His hands rose, not in anger, not to plead, but to touch. His fingers softly traced the length of her arms, pausing at the crooks of her elbows. Sarah shivered. “You wanted to,” he said again. “But you could not?”
“No,” she whispered.
One hand lifted, brushing a loose curl from her temple with aching tenderness. Then, with infinite gentleness, his palm cradled her cheek, tilting her face toward his. For one suspended heartbeat, Sarah thought he might kiss her, and some fractured, aching part of her almost wished he would. Perhaps if he kissed her, she could silence the ache. Perhaps she could forget the one who haunted her every breath.
But Nathaniel only looked at her steadily, almost mournfully, until he spoke. His voice was quiet, resolute, and utterly shattering. “I hope the one you cannot forget, is worth what you have lost.” He let his hand fall before he bowed and walked away.
The doorway yawned behind him, silent and hollow. Sarah didn’t move. A moment later, Benjamin appeared, not with a crash of concern, but with practiced intuition. He paused just outside the threshold, his eyes searching her face. “Sarah?” His voice was gentle. He crossed to her in two long strides. “What happened?” he asked softly.
Sarah shook her head, blinking rapidly, fighting the sting behind her eyes unable to find the words. “Sarah,” he said again, quieter still, “tell me.” She managed a thin, brittle smile. “I called it off.” Benjamin’s face held steady, but behind his eyes, something gave way into something that looked an awful lotlike relief. He didn’t ask questions, scold, or fill the silence with words. He simply opened his arms, and Sarah stepped into them without hesitation.
He held her close, strong and steady, shielding her from the unraveling world. For a little while, she let herself stay there and let herself be small and broken. When she finally stepped back, her voice was low and hoarse. “You must promise me not to tell anyone. Not yet.” Benjamin hesitated, but when he saw her face, pale and trembling, he nodded. “You have my word.”
He gave her hand a quiet squeeze and tucked her gently to his side, guiding her down the corridor. As they disappeared into the hush of the glittering house behind them, Sarah clung to the fragile hope that she had done the right thing. But deep beneath the silence and the sorrow, she something inside of her knew:
