Page 9 of Yours Always
“Sarah,” Grace said, nudging her gently. “Are you even listening?” Sarah blinked. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.” Grace leaned in, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “You’ve had that faraway look all evening. Where did your mind wander off to?” Sarah offered a faint smile. “Just the ball.”
Grace’s grin widened. “You seemed to enjoy yourself, particularly once a certain Scotsman found you.” Sarah felt the heat rise instantly to her cheeks. “I always enjoy spending time with Matthew.”
“Mmm, I’ve noticed.” Grace’s smile turned sly. “You two have been especially close lately.” Sarah straightened abruptly, panic knotting her stomach. “We’ve always been close! He’s Benjamin’s best friend. He is practically—”
“Your brother?” Grace finished with maddening sweetness. “Sarah Elizabeth Weston, Matthew Fenwick is not your brother, and you know it just as well as he does.” Sarah stared at her, speechless.
“I saw the way he looked at you tonight,” Grace said, her tone gentler now. “It wasn’t the way Benjamin looks at you.” Sarah’s thoughts reeled. She had felt something different. A tenderness in his gaze. A weight in every glance. But surely it was just the the magic of the evening.
“When he walked into the ballroom with you on his arm,” Grace said quietly, “He looked like a man holding a treasure he wasn’t sure he was allowed to keep.” Sarah opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again helplessly. She couldn’t find the words for the feelings she didn’t fully understand.
“Why are you so afraid to believe he might care for you?” Grace asked gently. “You clearly care for him.”
“Of course I do,” Sarah whispered. “But I’m not ready. I’m not ready for any of this.” Grace tilted her head. “You’re twenty, Lizzy. Many girls our age are already married, as will I soon. What is it that scares you so?” The question landed like a stone dropped into still water, rippling through every carefully constructed piece of her composure.
Tears welled, but this time she didn’t stop them. “Oh, Lizzy,” Grace whispered, pulling her into a tight, trembling embrace. “I am afraid,” Sarah confessed, voice raw. “Afraid of what comes next. Of marriage. Of disappointing everyone. Of losing myself in all of it.” She pulled back slightly, eyes brimming. “We used to dream about this, Grace. We wanted to grow up and fall in love,but it’s not what we thought it would be. It’s not beautiful. It is terrifying.”
“Because of Mary,” Grace said quietly. Sarah nodded, barely holding back the sob caught in her throat. “No one speaks of her, but I remember what it all did to her. She was so full of light, and then she just disappeared.” Grace rested a hand on her cheek, grounding her. “Mary’s path is not yours. She was hurt, but that doesn’t mean you will be.”
Sarah gave a broken laugh, hiccuping slightly. “I’m just so tired of pretending not to be afraid.”
“You don’t have to pretend,” Grace said fiercely. “You will stumble, of course, but you won’t lose yourself. I won’t let you.” Sarah closed her eyes, letting the words sink in. Letting them find the places still cracked open with grief and doubt. Maybe she wasn’t ready to face what was coming, but at least she wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Chapter 6
The gravel path crunchedbeneath Matthew’s boots as he fell into step beside Sarah. It was a clear afternoon, the air soft with the first breath of spring. Hyde Park hummed with the easy rhythm of the Season; ladies strolling in vivid silks, gentlemen tipping their hats with practiced charm, children darting after hoops and kites beneath the golden light.
Everyone was there for the same reason—to see and be seen. It was the rhythm of the season, as predictable as the turning of the leaves: strolls along the Serpentine, carefully chosen bonnets, eyes scanning the crowds for familiar faces or advantageous introductions. Even the spontaneity was rehearsed. It was all a performance, gracefully executed and charmingly contrived.
Sarah had come at her mother’s bidding, as so many young women did, urged into the afternoon light with the hope of beingadmired, approved of and chosen. Matthew, on the other hand, had arrived under the pretense of keeping Benjamin company as he chaperoned. Or at least, that was the explanation he had offered out loud.
Not long after arriving, Benjamin had been drawn toward a lively group of gentlemen near the water’s edge, leaving Matthew beside Sarah, step for step, as though it had happened by accident. Though, deep down he suspected it hadn’t.
They had been walking for some time now, their conversation light, and anchored in the kind of familiarity that comes from years spent in each other's orbit. Here amid the pleasant blur of passing carriages and strolling acquaintances, it was almost possible to pretend. Among strangers, sunlight and the practiced charm of London Society, they could believe for a moment that nothing between them was changing.
Sarah laughed at something he said—he couldn’t recall what—tossing her head so that the loose tendrils escaping her bonnet caught the sun. The sound wrapped itself around Matthew’s chest like a melody he hadn’t realized his heart needed to hear. "You’re lucky you aren’t a debutante," she said, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. "You’d never survive it. You hate small talk."
Matthew chuckled. "Aye, and you love it so much yourself, do you?" She threw him a glance so unguarded, and so fiercely Sarah, he nearly stumbled over his own feet. "I’ve gotten better," she insisted, lifting her chin with mock dignity. "I can even feign interest in someone recounting their ancestry back to William the Conqueror."
"A remarkable talent," Matthew said solemnly. "Sure to win you three proposals by the end of the month." Sarah groaned, briefly hiding her face behind her gloved hands. "Don’t even joke about that." He laughed, but the sound didn’t reach the heaviness in his chest.
He could stay here forever, walking beside her until the sun set and the city stilled. But the Season had begun, and with it came suitors who could offer things he could not. Titles. Estates. Fortunes. A place in the world she was born to enter.
He slowed as they rounded a bend, reluctant to reach the end of their path. Reluctant, more than anything, to see her step into a future that no longer had room for him. Sarah glanced up, the laughter dimming in her eyes. "You’re quiet all of a sudden." He forced a smile, folding his hands behind his back. "Just imagining you at the center of every ballroom in London, and poor Benjamin having to fend off the hordes."
She smiled, but it was softer now. "You’ll help too, won’t you, Matty? If I need rescuing?" The nickname slipped from her lips with practiced ease. Matthew’s throat tightened. "Always, Lizzy," he said quietly.
Their eyes met and held for a beat too long. Long enough for the air to shift between them. Long enough for Matthew to look away, feigning interest in the ducks gliding across the nearby pond. That was when he saw her. Victoria Weston stood beneath a cluster of trees, her posture rigid, gloved hands clasped tightly at her waist, mouth drawn into a thin, unreadable line.
Matthew went still. Her gaze was fixed on them, sharp and calculating. In the eye of the casual observer, he and Sarah could appear to be nothing more than childhood friends enjoying a pleasant afternoon stroll. But Victoria knew better. She knew the closeness they shared, and the quiet comfort between them. She knew what it meant for a young woman in the wake of her debut, to walk the park with a man who could offer no elevation or strategic gain.
Matthew offered a respectful nod in her direction. She did not return it. She turned on her heel, skirts swishing with precision, and disappeared down another path like judgmentmade flesh. Sarah followed his gaze and sighed. “Mother’s nerves are wound tighter than a spool these days.”
Matthew didn’t answer. He only offered her his arm. She took it without hesitation, her hand slipping into the crook of his elbow like it belonged there. They walked on in silence, the bustle of the park fading behind them.
Matthew told himself that whatever dreams had begun to stir in his heart must remain buried. Someday soon, the future would come to claim Sarah Elizabeth Weston, and when that day came, he would be expected to let her go.
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