Page 31 of Yours Always
“Do you love him?” His question wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t loud. It was quiet, and it was devastating.
“Maybe I do,” she lied, breath trembling. “But why do you care?” His eyes locked on hers, unrelenting, but still he said nothing. Sarah stepped toward him slowly. Carefully. They were just inches apart now.
Her fingers brushed his. His breath mingled with hers. She was drawn forward by the fire she could see burning just beneath his silence. It was there, it always had been. “Why can’t you just tell me, Matty?”
A beat passed, just long enough for her hope to fracture. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. She stepped back, her hands falling to her sides. “You already did.”
Sarah didn’t look back as she opened the door. She simply slipped into the corridor, closing the door behind her, leaving him standing in the quiet, surrounded by all the words he still hadn’t said.
______________________
The early morning fog clung low to the city, a thick gray veil that dulled the clang of carts and muffled the cries of passing merchants. The boarding house was quiet, tucked off a narrow Kensington street, the fire had only just begun to chase the cold from the air. Matthew sat at the back table, elbows braced against the worn wood, a chipped cup of coffee cooling beside him. He hadn’t touched it.
Benjamin slid into the seat across from him, tossing his gloves onto the table and shaking off the damp from his coat. “I hope you have something stronger than coffee,” he muttered, tossing his gloves onto the table and studying Matthew’s face. “You look like death froze over.” Matthew gave a humorless laugh. “That would be an improvement.” Benjamin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So, her reception was less than warm, I take it?”
“She handled it exactly as I deserved.” Matthew scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t tell her everything. I only tried to offer some apology for our last conversation.” Benjamin’s brow furrowed. “And?”
“She was angry. Hurt. And rightfully so.” He exhaled, slow and heavy, the weight of the night before still pressing against his ribs. “I pushed her too far, and the worst part is, I knew I was doing it and I did it anyway. I can’t take that back.” The fire cracked behind them, a low pop breaking the silence.
“I’m in it, Ben,” Matthew said finally, voice low and almost reverent in its weariness. “Truly, I have nothing left.” Benjamin straightened. “I thought you said you bought back your business.”
“I did.” Matthew’s mouth twisted. “But I had to empty all my accounts and sell my townhouse to do it. Every penny I had is gone, and the business isn’t worth half of what it used to be. Rumors are already starting, clients are pulling out, suppliers are questioning whether we can meet demands. No one wants to tie themselves to a man who’s fallen from polite society.”
Benjamin stared, the weight of Matthew’s confession settling between them like smoke. “Mr. Datchbury’s is letting me stay here in exchange for bookkeeping and fixing broken shelves.” Matthew continued, tone flat. “I patch the roof when it leaks. I sweep the floors when the porter’s too drunk to stand.”
“You didn’t tell me it had gotten that bad,” Benjamin said quietly. Matthew shook his head, gaze fixed on the table. “What would have been the point? I swore to you, and to myself, that if I came back, I would tell her everything. That I would propose.” He laughed then, bitter and hollow. “But how can I if I can’t provide for her, or protect her? What kind of man asks the woman he loves to choose ruin?” Benjamin’s eyes narrowed, his expression sharpening. “You think she cares about that?”
“She should.”
Benjamin leaned forward. “Then why did you come back?” Matthew looked up, eyes raw and unguarded. “Because I missed her. Because I couldn’t stay away. I told myself I was only returning to gather the last of my things, and earn what I could before running off somewhere where I could disappear. But the second I saw her, I knew.” he broke off, shaking his head. “I can not stay another day.” The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It brimmed with a kind of grief that had no name. “Leaving isn’t love,” Benjamin said finally.
“It’s what’s right.”
“Is it?” Benjamin’s voice was calm, but it cut through the quiet like a blade. “You think love is about ease? About giving someone a perfect life? Do you really think she would choose a title and an estate over the man who would burn the world for her?”
“She deserves better than what I am now.”
“No.” Benjamin stood, planting both hands on the table. “She deserves you, but only if you fight for her.” Matthew looked up sharply, and Benjamin held his gaze. “You are still the best man I know. Don’t let the worst of your days convince you otherwise.”
Benjamin gathered his gloves and turned, pausing at the door. “I will see you tonight.” Matthew’s brow furrowed. “What is happening tonight?” Benjamin flicked a glance toward the door as he pulled on his gloves. “The Duke’s Christmas party.”
Matthew froze. “I wasn’t invited.”
“You were,” Benjamin said. “His Grace asked me to extend the invitation personally, out of respect for everything you have been to this family, and to her.”
“I am not going.”
“If you run now,” Benjamin said, straightening his collar, “you will be confirming every rumor Society is already whispering about you. That you are too proud to face them, you’re ashamed, and you’re finished.” Matthew shook his head. “I have nothing to wear, and nothing left to prove.”
“Then come to say goodbye,” Benjamin said softly. “If you’re really going to disappear, if you’re really going to walk away for good, don’t let it end with slammed doors and broken things. Give us one last Christmas.” Matthew didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. They both knew he wasn’t strong enough to simply walk away.
Benjamin stepped back, lingering for the briefest moment in the threshold, and then he was gone, leaving Matthew alone in the quiet hush of the tavern.
Chapter 19
The Duke’s townhouseglittered with Christmas splendor. Evergreen garlands draped the staircase in graceful loops, their dark needles catching the golden glow of hundreds of candles burning in crystal chandeliers overhead. The scent of pine and roasted chestnuts hung thick in the air, laced with orange peel and cinnamon. Everywhere, laughter mingled with the soft strains of carols played by a string quartet near the hearth. It was beautiful, festive, and magical. Sarah could hardly breathe.
She moved carefully through the crush of velvet and satin, Nathaniel, the Duke, at her side as attentive and composed as ever. He guided her with practiced ease, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back as they greeted guests, his voice always even, always measured.
