Lady Sarah's Secret

XXXVI. Mr. Young

Three days later, she still had not reached out to him, and Charles was becoming more frustrated by the hour. Especially now, as he watched his wife twirl across the dance floor of the Thorton's ballroom with Nicholas Young. All the things he questioned about her, all the doubts that wracked him, in one moment he could put them aside, know that he loved her and want nothing but to truly begin marriage with Sarah. The next, he was standing against the wall in the overly warm crush of people, watching her dance with another man, and that small memory of the beloved soldier tugged at his pride and fear, jealousy thrumming through him with surprising strength. Had he not heard the tremor in her voice, seen the tears on her cheek that night she'd confessed her nightmare, Charles might've believed she hated him. She'd been skittish around every corner of the London house, speaking to him in polite and subdued tones, avoiding his gaze. But despite how bizarre the truth had been, Charles believed her explanation of her fear for his death, and clung to that as hope that she could come to care for him.

"What kind of husband are you, that you will not rescue your wife?" Amelia snarled as a greeting, Charles saw her join him from the corner of his eye. She'd been exceptionally sour since Henry's departure, leaving him to again believe Sarah's explanation for her dislike of his friend.

"She accepted him," Charles gave as an excuse, but his jaw clenched as he watched them.

"Only because you did not intervene," Amelia insisted a sharp edge to her voice.

"It's not as if she's given any indication that she would welcome such an offer," Charles reminded his sister, feeling a bit on edge himself as Amelia's mood seemed to infect him.

"She believes you dislike her," Amelia said the words very slowly and pointedly, and Charles turned his entire attention to his sister.

"And why is that?" Charles' demanded a little too loudly.

"Am I to solve everything mystery for you?" Amelia replied dryly.

"She cares for another," Charles persisted.

"Does she?" Amelia gave a bored impression of interest and a disdainful look, "Pray tell, who might that be?"

"Someone from her past, a soldier that she loved," Charles found that it pained him to say these things, even to Amelia. She was watching him through slitted eyes, her fan retracting with a snap. He grew uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"Has she told you his name?" Amelia asked quietly.

"She mentioned him, before, when I believed her to be a housemaid. But she would not tell me the truth when I asked again."

Amelia remained quiet for several minutes, and Charles watch the dance at last end, requiring Mr. Young to return his bride. He did not want to contemplate the relief he felt as they drew nearer to his spot on the wall.

"Perhaps you should woo her instead," Amelia said swiftly, and then throwing up her fan she whispered only to him, "Make her forget the soldier, give her reason to." And with a glint in her eyes Amelia disappeared into the crush just as Sarah and Young reached him.

"Thank you for the dance, Lady Amesbury," the young man bent over her hand like an ostentatious clown, and kissed the back of her gloved hand. Charles wanted to break the man's fingers.

"That will be quite enough, Young," Charles heard himself speak in a subdued and bored-sounding tone. Both Sarah and Nicholas' head whipped to look at him as if he'd been a statue only moments earlier. Charles ignored Sarah but shot Nicholas a look that clearly communicated where he'd like Mr. Young to be at the moment. With one more foppish bow, the young man obliged Charles' non verbal order.

"You frighten people when you do that," Sarah said quietly as she too watched Nicholas retreat.

"Have I robbed you of your worshiper, Lady Amesbury?" Charles said, bristling.

"No, I was quite tired of the man," she explained, still in that soft ladylike tone, "But people will begin to think you are a terrible beast if you never smile in public," she admonished, dazzling him with a smile of her own.

"And what if that is my preferred reputation?" he retorted, in a miffed tone.

"I suppose it is your prerogative to choose such an image for yourself," Sarah answered with an easy shrug, then threading her arm through his she continued, "You'll never fool me, though," she said and he looked down to meet her eyes then. She was smiling at him, just him and in that same affectionate way she'd been the day they'd been in the study.

"Why is that?" he chuckled at her cheek, and her eyes lit up as if she kept a secret from him, he dearly wanted to know.

"I have known you all my life, Charles Amesbury," she scoffed with mock derision, "Surely I would have such knowledge of any beastly activities by now." Charles again repressed a smile as he waited for her to expand on her knowledge.

"Do tell, Lady Amesbury," he requested very formally, he laid a hand on her fingers, wishing to never let her go. had not he been a beast since their wedding night? But she did not seem to hold it against him even still.

"You never had a mean bone in your body, Sir Charles," she insisted just as formally, but there was a dimple appearing just at the left corner of her mouth, "Another reason I am glad to have you instead of -" but she broke off, clapping a gloved hand over her mouth, horror making her eyes go wide.

"Instead of my brother?" he finished for her, his mind racing at such a confession, "That is not something I expected to hear from your lips, Lady Sarah," he was half teasing as his eyes darted to those very lips and he wondered why she preferred him over Richard.

"I am sorry!" she whispered, her little face so very grave, "What an awful thing for me to say," she was exclaiming, her cheeks going rosy with shame.

"On the contrary," Charles teased, "I am all ears now, my dear," the endearment rolling off his tongue with ease, for that is what she would always be to him now.

"Charles," she admonished sheepishly with a shake of her head and that charming blush growing over her cheeks. He lifted a finger to brush against its heat, and felt her startle at his touch.

"Out with it," he was whispering now, as if they were conspirators, friends again even. He waited a few moments, but did not release her from his request.

"You were always kind," she said first in a nervous voice, his finger continued to trace the lines of her cheekbone, "Especially to obnoxious little girls who trailed after you, summer after summer."

"You are forgetting that I carried you up from the orchard that day you fell out of an apple tree," he said, touching the scar as he recalled the wound, both of them chuckled softly.

"A heroic rescue, to be sure," she admitted teasingly, "Not to mention the number of times you pulled my braids, hung my dolls and tossed me in the fountain," she added impishly. Charles grinned.

"For all these things, you are glad to have me as a husband?" he asked skeptically, and her blush deepened, hinting at that secret once again.

"While I am glad that you have not thrown me into any fountains yet, I am even more obliged by your good character now as your wife," she added, and Charles felt a desire to be the man she thought he was, "You did not have to honor your brother's contract to me, but you rescued me again just the same."

"I doubt very much I could have let anyone else have you, Sarah," he whispered hoarsely, suddenly very thankful for his brother's foolishness, lifting her gloved hand to his lips.

♞