Page 15 of Yours Always (The Enduring Hearts #1)

The morning sunlight spilled gently across the drawing room floor, pooling in golden slants along the pale blue carpet and dancing off the edges of polished wood. A rare hush lingered over the house, soft and expectant, the kind of silence that wrapped itself too tightly around your ribs.

Sarah sat by the window, her embroidery forgotten in her lap, the needle caught mid-stitch.

Her gaze wandered, unfocused, toward the gardens in the full bloom of spring.

She didn’t see the tulips or the daffodils.

She saw the soft light of dusk, the curve of a smile, and the weight of a hand slipping away too soon.

Something had shifted, and though it had happened softly and quietly, she didn’t quite know what to do with the ache it left behind.

Sarah heard the distant sound of a knock at the door and voices in the hall.

She glanced at the clock. Who would be visiting at this hour?

Her father had returned from Somerton that morning, but Matthew wasn’t scheduled to meet with him regarding the estate accounts until later that afternoon.

Before she could rise, Maria appeared in the doorway, her cheeks flushed and her voice carrying an unfamiliar tremor of urgency.

“Miss Weston,” she said, offering a brisk curtsy.

“The Duke of Kenswick has arrived. He requests a word with you.”

Sarah’s fingers tightened around the embroidery hoop, then came the unmistakable sweep of silk and perfume.

Her mother entered the room with practiced grace, her eyes already measuring the moment.

“There you are,” she said softly. “Stand, darling. Straighten your gown. And do try to smile.” Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but there was no time.

The footman appeared and bowing low to announce the Duke of Kenswick.

He looked unchanged from the night before; dark hair brushed back, perfectly tailored coat, his pale blue eyes were almost unnervingly calm.

He bowed first to her mother, then to her father, who had entered quietly and now stood beside the hearth, silent.

"Your Grace,” Victoria said sweetly, gesturing to the chairs.

“Won’t you sit?” But the Duke remained standing, his posture composed, and his gaze steady.

“I beg your pardon for calling unannounced,” he said.

“But after last evening, I could not allow the day to pass without making my intentions known.” Sarah’s breath caught in her chest. “Intentions?” Victoria repeated, her voice light, though her eyes gleamed like cut crystal.

“I respectfully request permission to pay court to Miss Weston,” the Duke said, his tone unwavering.

“If she is agreeable.” A silence followed that stretched thinner with each heartbeat.

Victoria’s smile blossomed, controlled, delighted, and victorious.

Robert remained still, his eyes fixed on Sarah.

Sarah did not look at either of them. She looked only at the Duke.

He was offering her everything she had been raised to want.

A future of order, a name of power, a life carved out with certainty.

There was no flaw to find in him, but the ache had returned, sharp and silent.

A memory rose, unbidden: Matthew’s hand at her back, his voice low with teasing warmth.

The way her name sounded when he said it, not like a prize or a possession, but like a truth.

Her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “I…” Her voice faltered, then steadied.

She looked up and met the Duke’s gaze. “I would be honored, Your Grace.” His expression softened, just enough to make her wonder what he might be thinking.

“You honor me, Miss Weston.” Victoria’s breath left her in a hush, long and quiet, as if it had been waiting.

“What a joy,” she murmured, already lifting her hand to ring for tea.

The Duke inclined his head. “I shall not stay. I wished only to speak plainly. Thank you for receiving me.”

He bowed again, and for a beat longer than necessary, his eyes lingered on Sarah before he turned and followed the footman from the room. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

“My darling girl,” her mother whispered.

“All of London will be talking. What a perfect beginning.” Sarah said nothing.

Her fingers found the embroidery hoop again, clutching it like an anchor.

Robert came to her side and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“If this is what you want,” he said quietly. “I will support you.”

Sarah looked down at the half-finished stitching, the thread as tangled as the thoughts she couldn’t quite unknot.

She was supposed to feel triumphant, but instead, she felt like a girl inside a story someone else had written.

The Duke had made his intention clear, and Matthew had led her to him and quietly watched her go.

Sarah drew in a breath hoping to still the flurry in her chest. She raised her chin toward the sunlight and told herself to be grateful. She threaded the needle again with steady hands. She told herself this was the right path. She hoped that it would be true.

______________________

The Westons’ stables were blessedly quiet that afternoon, filled with the low creak of weathered wood, the scent of hay and dust, and the soft rustle of horses shifting in their stalls.

Matthew leaned against a stall door, absently stroking Stella’s neck.

His posture was casual, easy, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the lie.

He had finished his business with Robert nearly an hour ago but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave. There was something calming about the low sounds of the horses and the easy familiarity of the stables, something that kept him grounded when the world outside was beginning to shift.

Across the aisle, Benjamin leaned against a beam, arms crossed, watching him with the kind of quiet patience that only came from knowing exactly what was wrong before a word was spoken. “So,” Benjamin said at last, his voice light with forced innocence, “the Duke came calling this morning.”

Matthew didn’t look up. His hand moved in a steady rhythm along the mare’s mane. “I heard.” Benjamin let out a low laugh. “Considering you’ve been sulking like a cat thrown out in the rain, I figured you had.”

“I don’t sulk,” Matthew said mildly. “No,” Benjamin agreed, “you just brood attractively in corners. It’s very dignified.” Matthew attempted to laugh, but it fell flat. Benjamin’s smile softened and the teasing gentled. “He asked to court her.”

“I thought he might.” Matthew’s voice was soft, but his jaw tightened.

Benjamin didn’t answer, he simply waited.

Matthew leaned both arms on the stall door, staring into the golden dust drifting in the sunlight.

“I have loved her for as long as I can remember,” he said quietly.

The weight of the words he had never allowed himself to say out loud lifted from his chest. “I thought if I gave her time, gave her space, she might come to see it on her own.” His fingers stilled against Stella’s neck.

“I never wanted her to feel like I was laying claim.” Benjamin’s gaze narrowed.

“You could never make her feel that way, Matty.”

“I couldn’t be sure,” Matthew said, eyes fixed on the dust swirling in the air. “If I said something too soon, if I spoke when she wasn’t ready, I might lose her completely. I would rather be at her side as her friend, always, than risk never being near her again.”

Benjamin crossed his arms tighter. “And if she chooses him?” Matthew looked up toward the slats in the rafters, the late sun streaking through like quiet threads of gold. “Then she chooses him,” he said. “And I will step aside. I will be whatever she needs, even if that is nothing at all.”

For a long moment, the only sounds were the horses’ slow breathing and the faint creak of the stable roof settling.

Benjamin pushed off the post and crossed the aisle, clapping Matthew on the shoulder with a bit more strength than seemed necessary.

“You are a fool,” he said, though the warmth in his smile softened the words. “A noble one, but still a fool.”

Matthew arched a brow, biting back a defense he couldn’t shape into words.

Spoken aloud it wouldn’t sound noble, it would sound like fear dressed as duty, and a weakness he wasn’t ready to admit.

Benjamin continued, his voice softening, trying to walk the delicate line between brother and best friend.

“The Duke is a good man. No question. He has a title, a future laid out before him like a map. Everything a family like ours is supposed to want.” He paused, his voice settling deeper.

“But you have loved her since she was a wild little thing with ribbons flying out of her hair. You have seen every version of her, and you have never looked away.”

Matthew smiled faintly. “Don’t be fooled.

She still has ribbons flying out of her hair.

” Benjamin met Matthew’s gaze and for once, there was no trace of humor, only the quiet weight of the truth.

“The Duke may seem fitting in every proper sense, but you...” His eyes stayed locked on Matthew’s.

“In all the ways that truly matter…it has always been you.”

They stood for a beat longer, nothing but the warm hush of the stables between them. Then Benjamin tipped his head toward the open barn doors, where the sunlight lay across the courtyard like an invitation. “Just something to think about, old friend.”

And with that, he walked out into the afternoon light, his boots scuffing softly on the packed earth.

Matthew didn’t follow. He stayed where he was, hand resting on the mare’s withers, gaze fixed on the line of light across the floor.

In the silence left behind, a single truth remained: He had always loved her.

The question now was whether he had the courage to tell her before it was too late.