Page 21 of Yours Always (The Enduring Hearts #1)

Rigby House - London, England

The chandeliers of Rigby House blazed overhead, casting a glittering net of light across the ballroom.

Music spun through the air, violins and harps weaving golden threads above the steady hum of conversation and laughter.

Sarah moved through the crowd like a vision.

Her pale silk gown caught the candlelight with every step, her laughter rising light and warm above the din. At her side was the Duke of Kenswick.

Matthew stood near the refreshment table, nursing a glass of brandy he barely tasted, his eyes fixed on her.

She was radiant tonight. Smiling. Poised.

Effortlessly charming. Everything a young woman ought to be when dancing toward a perfect future.

Everything Matthew should want for her, but it hollowed him out from the inside.

“You look like a man about to throttle a bishop,” Benjamin muttered at his side.

Matthew snorted into his glass. “Maybe I should.” Benjamin followed his gaze to Sarah and the Duke, his expression tightening.

“You did this to yourself, you know,” he said, his voice heavy with more compassion than accusation.

“You gave her away without ever giving her the truth.” Matthew didn’t respond.

He only drained the last of his drink and set the glass down with a soft clink.

Grace appeared beside them, eyes sharp, missing nothing. “You are spiraling…” she said flatly. “...and it is pitiful to watch.” Matthew didn’t miss a beat. He summoned the most charming smile he could manage. “Then I suggest you look away, Lady Rockwell.”

Matthew didn’t know if it was the Duke’s momentary absence, or the brandy that finally loosened the knot in his spine, but before either Benjamin or Grace could say another word, he was crossing the floor.

The crowd blurred. The music sharpened, and suddenly Matthew was in front of her, bowing low, arm extended.

“Miss Weston,” he said, voice steady. “May I have this dance?”

Sarah froze, only for a moment, but it was long enough for her smile to flicker before she caught it, smoothing into something poised and practiced.

“Of course,” she said quietly, placing her gloved hand in his.

The orchestra shifted into a slower waltz as he led her onto the floor.

His hand settled lightly at her back, their fingers entwined as the first notes soared through the room.

He felt everything. The warmth of her hand.

The brush of silk. The scent of peppermint.

A thousand memories buried in every step.

She was devastating tonight. Beautiful, yes, but not just the gown or the candlelight in her hair.

It was the way she carried herself: gracious, polished, untouchable. It nearly undid him.

“You look well,” she offered, voice just a shade too bright. “So do you,” he said. “Even though you did look ready to bolt halfway through the third quadrille.” Her eyes flashed to his. “You were watching me?”

“Aren’t I always?”

She exhaled, half a laugh, half a breath. Then he pushed forward, too far to pull back. “And how is His Grace? I assume the engagement is progressing according to everyone’s expectations.” She stiffened, just slightly. “There is no engagement.”

“Not yet.”

“That is not your concern, Matthew.” His jaw ticked. “Is it not?” She looked away, her spine too straight, her voice too smooth. “You said yourself, he is a good man.”

“I’m not insinuating otherwise.”

They turned again, skirts brushing his legs, her hand trembling faintly in his. “You are insinuating something,” she said, her chin lifting. “But if you’re hoping for a revelation, I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer at present.”

He lowered his voice. “You’ve grown quite skilled at saying all the right things.” Her eyes met his, sharp and wounded. “And you’ve grown quite good at asking questions with knives tucked behind them.”

The music surged, the crowd pressing in around them.

They didn’t speak again until the final notes faded into applause.

Then Matthew leaned in, just enough for her to feel the weight of what he hadn’t said.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Lizzy.

” Sarah pulled away before he could release her.

Her curtsy was graceful and her smile swift.

He turned just in time to see the Duke watching from the edge of the room, his face carved in that same unreadable calm that gave nothing away.

Sarah crossed to him without hesitation, leaving Matthew alone in the center of the ballroom, breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

______________________

Matthew slipped out through the terrace doors, needing air.

Needing space. Needing anything but the crush of light and music behind him.

He leaned against the stone railing, breathing in the cool quiet hush beyond the ballroom, but it did little to steady him.

He turned at the sound of footsteps approaching, and found the Duke standing a few paces away, his hands folded behind his back.

There was no anger on his face. No triumph. Only quiet resolve. “Fenwick,” the Duke said evenly. “Might I have a word?” Matthew nodded stiffly. “Of course, Your Grace.” They stepped farther into the shadows, the orchestra’s hum soft behind the doors.

“We’ve known each other too long, and been through too many boyhood scrapes together, for formal titles,” the Duke said at last, a wry glint reflecting in his eyes.

Matthew forced a smile, more habit than feeling.

“If I remember correctly, you were always the one pulling Benjamin, Ollie, and me out of more scrapes than you ever caused yourself.”

Nathaniel gave a short, quiet laugh. “I suppose I’ve always had a talent for setting people back on the right path.” He paused, the silence settling heavy between them. “Even when they seem determined to take the wrong one.”

Matthew tensed just enough for the Duke to notice. “I am not here to provoke you, Matthew” The Duke’s gaze softened but his tone remained steady. “I came to speak plainly.” Matthew folded his arms across his chest, gaze fixed ahead. Bracing. “What can I do for you, Nathaniel?”

“I care for Miss Weston,” Nathaniel said. “Deeply.”

Matthew didn’t flinch. He just waited. “I intend to ask her to marry me,” Nathaniel continued. “Very soon.” The words stretched between them, long and taut. "But first,” the Duke said softly, “I need to know whether she has already given her heart to someone else.”

Matthew exhaled, slow and low. “She has made her choice.” It hurt to say it, but not as much as pretending it wasn’t true. “Has she?” Nathaniel asked, watching him closely. “Or has no one given her a reason to believe she has one?” Matthew said nothing.

Nathaniel stepped forward, voice quieter now.

“I have seen the way she looks at you, and I have seen how hard you work not to look back.” Matthew turned slightly, his jaw tight.

He didn’t want to hear this. Not from him.

Not now. “I have lived most of my life doing what’s expected of me,” Nathaniel went on.

“Upholding tradition. Keeping my emotions contained. But when it comes to Sarah, I won’t stand on ceremony. I believe I could make her happy.”

Matthew closed his eyes, the words cut deeper than he’d prepared for.

Not because they weren’t the truth, but because he knew they might be.

“But,” Nathaniel added, “if she already belongs to someone else...” his voice faltered just once.

“...if you have claimed her heart and simply refused to name it, then I beg you—either tell her, or step aside.”

Matthew’s hands gripped the stone railing, knuckles white.

“I only ever wanted what was best for her,” he said hoarsely.

“So do I,” Nathaniel replied, his tone unwavering.

“Selfishly, I also don’t want to have my heart broken.

” He paused, his voice softer when he spoke again.

“But I won’t fight a battle that I’m not meant to win. ”

Matthew turned to him fully, every inch of him straining under the weight of what remained unspoken.

The Duke held his gaze. There was no anger in his eyes.

Only quiet understanding, and a trace of sorrow.

“Goodnight, Matthew,” he said, and then he turned and walked back inside, toward the ballroom.

Matthew stayed where he was, the cool night air slicing no deeper than the truth already had.

_____________________

The ballroom spun around Sarah in a dizzying blur of gold and ivory. She stood stiffly near the refreshment table, pretending to listen to Lady Ashcombe’s endless chatter about floral arrangements, but her eyes darted restlessly across the crowd. Where was he?

She had seen him on the terrace just after their dance, and everything that had unraveled in its wake.

He had been speaking with the Duke, the look on both of their faces had set her heart racing.

Now, the Duke was deep in conversation with her father, but Matthew was gone as though the ground had simply swallowed him up.

A slow, gnawing panic rose in her chest. She didn’t know why she cared so much, especially when he was trying so hard to prove that he no longer cared about her.

But she could see the hurt in his eyes every time he looked at her.

Until she figured out exactly what it meant, she wasn’t sure she could think of anything else.

She smoothed her trembling hands over the skirts of her gown, forcing a brittle smile at Lady Ashcombe.

“Forgive me,” Sarah murmured, bobbing a quick curtsy.

“I must find my brother.” She slipped away before anyone could question the lie, especially as Benjamin was standing just a few paces away.

She wove through the sea of silk and velvet, ignoring polite greetings, curious glances. None of it mattered. Only Matthew.