Page 8 of Yours Always
Sarah blinked, startled, and then let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. He wasn’t defending Mary. Nottonight. A lump rose in her throat. “You were always coming to her rescue,” she said, the words sharper than she intended. Matthew didn’t flinch, but she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes before he turned them back to her. “She was young,” he said. “We all were.”
Sarah looked down at their joined hands. “Do you miss her?” The question escaped before she could stop it, and she immediately regretted asking it. She didn’t want to know the answer, not really. She didn’t want to know if some part of him still pined for the girl who had nearly broken them all.
Matthew was quiet for a moment then he gave her hand a soft squeeze before letting go. “Not as much as you do,” he said gently. Sarah exhaled, blinking back the unexpected sting in her eyes. Maybe it was the corset. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the way Matthew always lowered her defenses before she even realized she’d raised them.
He stood and dusted off his jacket, though there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. He was always tidy; always composed. Always perfect. “Enough of this dreary talk,” he said, trying to ease the weight that had settled in the cool night air. “I, for one, come to balls to have fun.” He extended his hand and bowed in an exaggerated flourish. “Miss Weston, may I have the honor of the next dance?”
Sarah rose, her lips curling into a smile despite the ache in her chest. “Mr. Fenwick, I thought you would never ask.” She slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed around hers, and she tried to ignore the feeling of her heart pressing against the walls of her chest. He guided her back toward the golden glow of the ballroom. As they stepped into the light, he leaned closer. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m just not used to this much wine,” she said, forcing a smile. He nodded as if he believed her, but his eyes lingered. The music swelled around them as they stepped onto the floor.
It had to be the wine.
It couldn’t possibly be anything else.
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The music had faded. The candles had burned low. The ballroom was nearly empty now. Only a few footmen remained, moving quietly through the space, gathering discarded gloves and sweeping away the remnants of the evening. Matthew stood alone in the center of it all, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the terrace beyond the open doors.
The night air slipped in gently, rustling the gauze curtains and carrying with it the soft sound of Grace’s laughter. She and Benjamin were just outside, sharing a private moment after the flurry of celebration. The soft golden glow of the sconces caught in Grace’s hair as she tilted her head back, smiling. Benjamin’s hand found hers with the ease of someone who had always known how to find it.
Matthew looked away. The echo of the last waltz still pulsed faintly in his bones. He should have left already. He should have offered his congratulations, said his goodnights, and slipped off into the dark without another glance back. But his feet wouldn’t move.
His gaze drifted to the far wall, where the ivy-draped archway led back toward the rose garden. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah and the way she had looked when he found her alone in the garden; eyes tired, shoulders tight, her breath just barely steadying. She had tried to hide it, but he had known. He always knew.
When she had smiled at him, when she had leaned just a little closer as he made her laugh, it had been like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Was it just relief? Just the comfort of familiarity? Or was she finally beginning to feel, too?
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. He’d spentyears trying to ignore it, to push it aside as childish infatuation or misplaced loyalty. But he wasn’t a boy anymore, and this wasn’t a passing thing. It was her. It had always been her.
“Late night for a man who claims to detest society gatherings.” Matthew turned as Robert Weston stepped into the room, his coat open, cravat slightly loosened, a glass of port dangling lazily in one hand. “I stayed much longer than I meant to,” Matthew said lightly. Robert glanced toward the terrace where his son and future daughter-in-law stood silhouetted in the moonlight. “It was a good evening,” he said. “For all of us, I think.”
Matthew gave a faint nod. Robert took a slow sip of his drink, then cast him a glance from beneath his brow. “Sarah seemed much steadier after you found her.” Matthew didn’t respond right away, as he couldn’t quite trust his voice. Robert continued casually, “She’s been bracing herself for this Season for years. I know she won’t say it, but I worry sometimes that she is going to try too hard to become what the world expects her to be.”
Matthew’s chest tightened. He knew exactly what Robert meant. “You have a way of helping her remember who she is,” Robert added. “You always have.” Matthew exhaled slowly, eyes fixed somewhere just beyond the terrace. “I’m sure it has more to do with the memories I bring back than anything I’ve done.”
“Maybe,” Robert said after a beat, gentler now. “Whatever the reason, your presence seemed to calm her tonight.” There was nothing pointed in his tone. No implication. Just quiet observation. But the words landed in Matthew’s chest like a stone. Robert gave a small smile and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “You’ve always taken care of her, Matthew. I’m grateful for that.” Matthew tried to return the smile, but it faltered. “It’s nothing.”
Robert raised a brow. “No, I don’t think it is.” Then, with the grace of a man who knew exactly when to end a conversation,he tipped his glass in farewell and walked off toward the terrace. Matthew stood rooted to the spot, the echo of Robert’s words ringing in his ears.You’ve always taken care of her. You have a way of helping her remember who she is.
He’d come tonight thinking he could keep his distance. That he could watch her walk through this new glittering world and believe she would be better off without him. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He looked toward the terrace doors again, where Benjamin and Grace were swaying slightly to some memory of music, her head resting on his shoulder. And Matthew, for the first time, let the truth rise fully in his chest. He didn’t want to keep his distance. And that terrified him more than anything else.
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Sarah slipped quietly up the stairs, her slippers silent against the polished wood. The air of the house had changed. The laughter was fading, the music had stopped, but her thoughts still churned like a tide that refused to settle. She longed for quiet, stillness, and the sanctuary of her room. But when she pushed open the door, she found Grace already waiting.
She was curled on the window seat, her ball gown pooling around her like a sea of silk and dreams come true. Stray tendrils of dark hair had fallen from her once-perfect style, softening the elegance that still clung to her like moonlight.
Sarah hovered in the doorway. “You are going to make the most beautiful bride,” she whispered. Grace smiled and patted the cushion beside her. It was a smile Sarah had known since childhood, quiet, sure, and full of more understanding than most people ever offered.
Sarah hesitated only a moment before crossing the room and sinking down beside her. Outside the window, the gardensshimmered beneath the hush of spring. The pond glowed faintly beyond the trees, still catching the last glimmers of the night. “You looked beautiful tonight,” Grace said gently. Sarah leaned her forehead against the cool pane of glass. “I was terrified.”
Grace looped her arm through Sarah’s and rested her head on her shoulder. “You hid it well. Half the gentlemen in the room were utterly besotted.” Sarah huffed a laugh. “I could hardly breathe. The corset, the conversations, the endless expectations; it all felt so heavy. Like armor strapped to my bones.” Grace didn’t speak right away. She just squeezed her arm.
When Sarah turned her head, her eyes finding Grace’s, they were warm and steady, threatening to undo the careful composure Sarah had kept in place all evening. She blinked fast, trying to swallow the tightness rising in her throat. They sat there in silence, the scent of roses and lavender drifting in from the gardens below.
Finally, Grace shifted, tucking her legs beneath her as she began recounting the night—Benjamin’s terrible jokes during their conversation with the vicar, Mr. Colton’s uncanny ability to step on every hem in the ballroom, the towering pile of pastries that had collapsed onto Lady Ainsworth’s gown. Sarah smiled, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the garden. Back to the steady warmth of Matthew’s hand wrapped around hers. How empty her hand had felt when he let go.
