Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Sarah arranged the delicate China tea service for the third time, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the placement of the sugar bowl.
The morning room's cheerful yellow wallpaper and abundance of winter sunlight usually lifted her spirits, but today she felt as tightly wound as a clock spring, her nerves jangling with anticipation for tomorrow's Christmas gathering at the Castleton house.
She'd been awake since dawn, mentally rehearsing conversational topics that might demonstrate her wit without appearing too forward, her intelligence without seeming pedantic. The art of captivating a gentleman was proving far more complex than any of the novels she'd read had suggested.
The sound of the front door opening made her heart leap, followed by familiar masculine voices in the foyer.
George's deeper tones were unmistakable, and Sarah smoothed her pale green morning dress with nervous hands, wondering why his visit should make her pulse quicken when she should be focused entirely on Lord Castleton.
“Good morning, Sarah,” George appeared in the doorway, looking impeccably turned out despite the early hour.
His dark hair was slightly damp from the morning mist, and he carried a package that made her stomach flutter with curiosity.
“I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I thought you might enjoy some of Gunter's finest.”
“Gunter's?” Sarah's eyes widened as he unwrapped delicate pastries that still steamed slightly in the cool air. “George, you spoil me terribly. Whatever is the occasion?”
“Does a man need an occasion to bring a friend her favorite lemon tarts?” He settled into the chair across from her with an easy smile, but Sarah caught something careful in his grey eyes, as if he were studying her reaction.
“Hardly,” she laughed, though her cheeks warmed at the realization that he'd remembered such a small detail about her preferences. “Though I suspect Alice has been telling tales about my sweet tooth.”
“Alice had nothing to do with it,” George said quietly, accepting the cup of tea she poured for him. “I've simply observed that you always choose lemon tarts when they're available at gatherings. You get this particular expression of bliss when you taste them.”
Sarah paused with her own cup halfway to her lips, surprised by the intimacy of such careful observation. “You notice such things?”
“I notice everything about—” George stopped abruptly, his jaw tightening as if he'd caught himself before saying something improper. “That is, I notice when my friends are happy. It's a habit born of caring for Alice all these years, I suppose.”
There it was again—that odd tension in his voice whenever he mentioned friendship, as if the word didn't quite fit properly in his mouth.
Sarah found herself studying his profile as he gazed out the window, noting details she'd somehow overlooked before: the way his dark lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the subtle elegance of his hands as he held his teacup.
When had George become so... handsome? He had always been this striking, but had she'd simply grown too accustomed to his presence to notice?
“Sarah?” His voice brought her back to the present with a guilty start. “You seemed miles away.”
“Forgive me,” she said quickly, heat rising in her cheeks. “I was just... that is, I've been practicing conversation topics for tomorrow, and my mind tends to wander when I'm nervous.”
George leaned forward, his expression growing serious. “What sort of topics have you prepared?”
Sarah retrieved the small notebook she'd been scribbling in all morning, grateful for the distraction.
“Well, I thought I might mention the recent exhibitions at the Royal Academy—Lord Castleton struck me as someone who appreciates the arts. And perhaps discuss the latest novels by Miss Austen, or inquire about his travels abroad...”
“All perfectly suitable subjects,” George agreed, though something flickered in his eyes. “Tell me, what else do you know about Castleton's interests? His character?”
The question was asked casually enough, but Sarah sensed an undercurrent of something—concern, perhaps?
—that made her pause. “Well, he's obviously well-educated and charming in company. He’s well read and loves poetry.
He read me some of his poems. He mentioned having spent time in Paris, and he speaks French beautifully.
And he was so kind to include me in his family's Christmas celebration...”
“Yes, about that invitation,” George said carefully. “It struck me as rather... sudden. You've only known him a month.”
Sarah's spine stiffened slightly. “Are you suggesting there's something improper about it? Because I can assure you, his mother will be present, and there will be quite a large party—”
“No, no, of course not,” George said quickly, but his frown deepened. “It's just that in my experience, gentlemen who make such grand gestures early in an acquaintance often have... particular motivations.”
“What sort of motivations?” Sarah asked, though part of her didn't want to hear the answer.
George was quiet for a long moment, studying his hands.
“Sarah, you have many admirable qualities that any gentleman of sense would appreciate.
Your kindness, your intelligence, your generous spirit.
.. But you also have a considerable dowry, and some men are more interested in a lady's fortune than her finer qualities.”
The words hit her like a physical blow, and Sarah felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. “You think Lord Castleton is only interested in my money?”
“I think,” George said carefully, “that you deserve someone who values you for yourself alone. Someone who sees your worth beyond any material considerations.”
Sarah stared at him, torn between gratitude for his protective concern and mortification at the implication that her romantic prospects were so limited. “Do you truly think I'm so lacking in appeal that a gentleman could only want me for my inheritance?”
“God, no,” George said with sudden vehemence, his composure cracking.
“Sarah, you're—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration.
“You're remarkable. Any man would be fortunate to win your regard. I simply want you to be cautious about giving your heart too quickly to someone who might not deserve it.”
There was something in his tone, in the intensity of his gaze, that made Sarah's breath catch. For a moment, the air between them felt charged with an emotion she couldn't quite name—something deeper and more complex than simple friendship.
“I... I appreciate your concern,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Truly. But surely you don't expect me to remain suspicious of every gentleman who shows me kindness?”
“Of course not,” George said, though he didn't look entirely convinced. “I simply want you to be happy, Sarah. Genuinely happy, not just... infatuated.”
The word stung, perhaps because it hit too close to the truth.
Was she merely infatuated with Lord Castleton?
His charm… His ability to flatter with flowering words…
The possibility was too uncomfortable to examine closely, so Sarah pushed it aside and reached for another pastry with determined cheerfulness.
“Well, I suppose I shall discover the true nature of his character tomorrow,” she said lightly. “And in the meantime, I have these divine lemon tarts to console me if all goes poorly.”
George's expression softened, and he managed a small smile. “In that case, perhaps we should take a turn in the park this afternoon? Fresh air might clear your mind before the big day.”
“That sounds lovely,” Sarah agreed, touched by his thoughtfulness even as she wondered why spending time with George suddenly felt more complicated than it used to.
There had always been an ease between them, a comfortable familiarity that required no effort or pretense.
But lately, she found herself noticing things about him that seemed to shift their dynamic into uncharted territory.
The way he listened to her with such focused attention, as if every word mattered. The care he took with her comfort and happiness. The subtle scent of his cologne when he leaned close to pour her tea. Small things that shouldn't matter between friends but somehow did.
* * *
Hyde Park in December was a study in elegant desolation, the bare branches of ancient oaks creating intricate patterns against the grey sky.
Sarah walked beside George along the serpentine path, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm as they navigated the scattered patches of frost that lingered despite the afternoon sun.
“I do love winter walks,” Sarah mused, breathing in the crisp air that smelled of wood smoke and distant snow. “Everything feels so peaceful, so... contemplative.”
“You find peace in contemplation?” George asked, glancing down at her with that particular expression of gentle interest she'd come to associate with their private conversations.
“Sometimes,” Sarah admitted. “Though perhaps not as much as I should. My mind tends toward excitement rather than tranquility, I'm afraid.”
“There's nothing wrong with excitement,” George said quietly. “As long as it's directed toward worthy objects.”
Something in his tone made Sarah glance up at him curiously, but before she could respond, a familiar voice called her name from across the path.
“Lady Sarah! What a delightful surprise!”
Sarah's heart performed an unwelcome leap as Lord Castleton approached, resplendent in a midnight-blue greatcoat that emphasized his fair coloring and aristocratic bearing. He looked every inch the romantic hero she'd been dreaming of—until she noticed the young woman walking beside him.