Page 14 of Yours Always (The Enduring Hearts #1)

Benjamin raised a brow. “And you will be alright with whatever choice she makes?” Matthew didn’t answer.

Not directly. He just reached for Ben, slinging an arm around his shoulders in a familiar gesture, and turned them both toward the warm golden spill of the house behind them.

“If we leave Oliver unsupervised much longer,” he said, “he’ll charm every set of pearls off the ladies inside.

” Benjamin laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time. ”

Together they walked back toward the ballroom, but beneath the jokes and the easy banter, one quiet, unyielding thought remained in Matthew’s chest: Whatever path Sarah chose, he would make sure she walked it smiling. Even if it wasn’t toward him.

______________________

The moonlight slanted across the floorboards, pooling silver around Sarah's bare feet as she stood before the mirror.

Her ball gown hung limp and wrinkled now, its silk no longer shimmering with the illusions of the evening.

She turned slightly, to one side and then the other, her brow drawn with quiet dissatisfaction.

Behind her, Maria knelt silently, her nimble fingers working the row of tiny pearl buttons down the back of the gown.

She moved with practiced precision, her expression unreadable, as always.

Sarah sighed, tugging half-heartedly at a stubborn ribbon at her waist. “Three weeks in society,” she muttered, “and I’m already ready to flee to France.

Or Scotland.” Maria grunted—a low, noncommittal sound that could mean anything from agreement to mild disapproval, but Sarah had become fluent in its variations.

“I met two barons, a marquess, and a viscount tonight,” Sarah continued, peeling off her gloves and tossing them onto the dressing table.

“And not one of them could think of anything to say beyond complimenting my gown or asking if I play the pianoforte.” Maria gave a soft hum, folding the gloves with infuriating neatness.

“And then,” Sarah added, lifting her arms so the gown could slide from her shoulders, “there was him.” Maria paused for half a breath before she slipped the gown from Sarah’s frame and onto its hanger with her usual care. Sarah caught the flicker of hesitation in the mirror and smiled faintly.

“The Duke of Kenswick,” she said softly, stepping into her nightdress and drawing it over her shoulders.

“He was different. Not all empty flattery and stiff politeness.” Maria laid the gown reverently into the wardrobe without a word.

“And handsome,” Sarah added under her breath, smoothing the linen with both hands. “Painfully, dreadfully handsome.”

Maria finally spoke, her voice quiet, measured, and without a trace of indulgence. “Handsome men are like storms, Miss Weston. Easy to admire, hard to survive.” Sarah breathed a soft, amused sigh,“You’re not wrong. But he was kind, Maria. And he listened. Truly listened.”

Maria moved through the room, extinguishing candles with her usual grace.

At the last one, her hand paused. “And yet,” she said casually, “while you can’t stop talking about the Duke, your face only softens when you speak of Mr. Fenwick.

” Sarah’s breath caught, and she twisted a corner of the bedsheet between her fingers.

Maria tilted her head slightly, her tone lighter.

“I’ve known you since we were both in pigtails.

I can tell when you’re hiding something.

” Sarah pressed her palms over her face.

“I don’t know what is wrong with me.” Sarah dropped her hands and stared out the window.

“Matthew has been in my life longer than I can remember. He is familiar, and yet nothing feels like it did before.”

Maria said nothing, but the way she arched her brow slightly said everything.

“The Duke is...” Sarah hesitated. “He is everything I was raised to want. Everything I was told to hope for.” Maria paused at the dressing table, fingers poised above the final flame.

“You were also told,” she said softly, “that proper young ladies don’t climb trees or swim in ponds. ”

A laugh burst from Sarah’s lips as she blinked hard against the sting in her eyes.

Maria snuffed the last candle, leaving only the hush of moonlight behind.

“You know where home is, Miss Weston,” she said gently.

“You simply have to be brave enough to choose it.” And with that, no more and no less, she slipped silently from the room.

Sarah remained at the window, her forehead pressed to the cool glass, long after the sound of Maria’s footsteps faded down the hall.

The gardens below shimmered quiet and serene beneath the stars, but none of it calmed the storm inside her.

Every bow. Every gloved hand. Every too-practiced compliment.

Each moment of this season had been polished and orchestrated to perfection. A life she was meant to crave.

But instead of excitement, she felt weightless, and untethered.

A guest in someone else’s dream. Somewhere between the memory of a Duke’s steady hand and the ghost of Matthew’s voice in her ear, Sarah Weston realized that she was standing at the edge of two very different futures.

And her heart was no longer entirely her own.