Lady Sarah's Secret

XXXVII. Warwick

Sarah watched as the broad shoulders of her husband moved through the doors of the boutique and out into the London street. She was becoming pathetic, she scolded herself, but still did not look away. Even such a small separation was too much for her since their arrival in London, which she was finding decidedly less savory than she'd remembered.

"Enjoying the view?" Amelia called from beside her and Sarah jumped in surprise, throwing a hand over her heart.

"Should you truly be spying, Amelia?" Sarah challenged, turning away from the window to rejoin the other ladies as they perused the shop.

"Simply observing," Amelia insisted, and Sarah knew she was teasing although the girl did not smile. It had been that way since Henry's departure, Amelia never smiled anymore.

"Tell me Caroline, do you like this one?" Sarah asked, choosing to ignore Amelia's prying by engaging her sister with a lovely bonnett on display.

"I like it very much, though the trimmings would never look well on me," she insisted, fingering one of the silken roses that adorned it.

"It is not my coloring either," Sarah noted politely before moving on to view the selection of ribbons.

She wandered through the millinery for several more minutes with her in-laws, barely noticing the bits of silk and satin as she touched them. Charles had been acting different that morning, ever since the Thorton's ball the night before, really. He'd been attentive, he'd held her hand, offered his arm, smiled at her. Even now, Sarah felt his brief absence. Was it possible that he could forgive her? That he could want her? Hope bubbled in her chest, as she again peered out the window, trying to spot those familiar shoulders once again through the heavy rain.

"He's only stepp over to the post, dear," Sarah jumped again as she heard Lady Eleanor's voice behind her now.

"Oh! I was just -" Sarah stuttered awkwardly, unprepared to explain her strange need to be within distance of Charles. Sarah was certain she had finally lost her mind. But that nightmare had come back again, in fact, she'd laid awake for several hours in the pale dawn light fighting the desire to go and see for herself that he lived. Perhaps it was the return to the London house that had her so anxious, the return to their last meeting before he'd left... before she'd lost him. It was as if the terrible dream might still be true, and the world in which she was Charles' wife the dream instead.

"We'll be along after you in a moment," Lady Eleanor smiled and gave a nod to the building across the street, Sarah repressed a grin as she nearly darted out the door. She just needed to see him wrinkle his brow in disgruntled confusion at her presence, needed to feel the warmth of his arm under her hand, the life in his eyes.

The nightmares were always the same, had been for so many long years.

Charles, dead at sea, lost to her, still, drowned and cold at the bottom of the ocean. She would reach out to touch his face, call his name but he would never wake. How many nights had she woken from such a dream sobbing? Many in the first months after the news had reached them of Charles' death, and then fewer as the years had passed. Perhaps she had hoped all along that he would change his mind, that he would come home, pull her into his arms and love her instead of casting her off. But with his death, so died that hope of happiness. Sarah had purposed to distance herself from the Amesbury family, hoping for the dissolution of the betrothal. How Fate had smiled on her instead she reminded herself as she picked up her skirts to hurry through the rain, to reassure herself just once more that morning. Caught up in thought, Sarah did not notice the appearance of a dark figure until the man's hand clamped around her arm and drug her backwards.

"You deceitful wench!" he growled through gritted teeth, pulling her close to himself sending a sharp pain through her wrist. Sarah winced, but then saw the face before her, felt a deep fear.

"Warwick," she whispered, holding still when she knew she should be thrashing and screaming, but she'd frozen in terror.

"Leave the house and make off for God only knows in the streets of London?" he was shouting at her now, Sarah flinched at his words, "Having Sir Charles fabricate all kinds of lies, no doubt to ruin your reputation - but I did some searching sweet Little Sarah," his menacing glance chilled her, "You were never betrothed to the second brother."

"I do not understa-" Sarah tried to make out his meaning, but Warwick gave her such a shake that her teeth rattled, and she tasted blood.

"There is no contract between you," Warwick continued, and Sarah noticed they had all the while been moving down the street away from the post and the millinery, ice was filling her veins.

"I am Lady Sarah Amesbury," she protested, suddenly frantic, Sarah began fighting against his hold on her.

"And I am Good King George," Warwick mocked as they reached what Sarah recognized as one of her father's carriages. Warwick's carriage now.

"Please, let me -"

"Unhand my wife this instant, or I shall kill you where you stand."

Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice, for she would've recognized it anywhere, but the sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back is what drew her attention quickest. She turned to see Charles, only two feet away now as he closed the distance, the pistol he held aimed on her guardian.

"A lie!" Warwick spat just at the moment Charles reached them and the pistol disappeared between the jackets of the two gentlemen.

"I would not gamble against me, Warwick," she heard Charles say it in such an icy, thin voice it made her shiver. But within an instant Warwick released her, and Sarah stumbled away from him.

"You lie, sir," Warwick insisted still as he and Charles continued to stand just close enough for Sarah to again wonder at the location of the pistol.

"Should I see you again, I will kill you," Charles replied evenly before leaving the man's side, to rejoin Sarah, the pistol nowhere to be seen now.

"Are you alright?" he was asking, he'd taken her injured wrist in his hand and Sarah tried to focus on what he was saying.

"Sarah!" he said her name louder this time and her attention snapped back to his face instead, "You are bleeding," he said it in a harsh tone, and his blue eyes were staring at her and he had ripped off his glove to wipe the blood from her lip.

"Charles," she breathed, but couldn't breathe. She was married, she told herself, she was married to Charles, so that made her safe. Charles. The memory of him and her rescue and her relief came rushing at her and she felt her knees buckle from under her. The last she remembered was Charles' look of concern, and wondered if this was the dream instead.