Chapter 4 #2
Miss Lydia McCorkell was not beautiful in the classical sense, but she carried herself with the confidence that came from significant wealth.
Her auburn hair was perfectly arranged beneath a fashionable bonnet, and her pelisse was clearly from the finest modiste.
More concerning was the way Castleton's attention seemed entirely focused on her, his charming smile directed toward her pale features with unmistakable warmth.
“Lord Castleton,” Sarah managed, her voice sounding strangely hollow to her own ears. “How... unexpected to encounter you here.”
“Indeed!” Castleton's smile widened as he executed a perfect bow. “May I present Miss Lydia McCorkell? Lydia, this is Lady Sarah Abbottsford, whom I've mentioned, and... forgive me, sir, I don't believe we've been formally introduced.”
“George Montague, Earl of Hampton,” George said, his voice carefully polite as he bowed to both Castleton and Lydia. Sarah noticed that his grip on her arm had tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Of course! Hampton, yes, I should have recognized you. Your sister made quite the romantic match with Lord Skye, didn't she?” Castleton's tone was perfectly pleasant, but Sarah detected something calculating in his gaze as it swept over George's expensive clothing and bearing.
“She did indeed,” George replied evenly. “They're very happy.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. There's nothing quite like a love match, is there?” Castleton turned that brilliant smile on Sarah, and she felt her pulse quicken despite her growing unease.
“Speaking of which, Lady Sarah, I do hope you're still planning to join us tomorrow for Christmas Day? Mother is so looking forward to meeting you.”
“Yes, of course,” Sarah said, trying to infuse her voice with the enthusiasm she'd felt that morning.
But it was difficult when Castleton's gaze kept drifting back to Miss Lydia, and when the woman in question was studying Sarah with the sort of cool assessment that suggested she viewed her as competition.
“Excellent! We'll have such a merry time. Miss Lydia will be joining us as well—won't you, my dear?”
The casual endearment hit Sarah like a slap, and she saw George's jaw tighten in her peripheral vision. Lydia smiled with obvious satisfaction.
“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Lydia replied, her voice carrying just enough possessive warmth to make her claim clear. “Lord Castleton has promised me a tour of the hot house. They have blooms despite the season.”
“How... lovely,” Sarah managed, her throat feeling suddenly tight.
“Well, we mustn't keep you from your walk,” Castleton said, already turning back toward Lydia with obvious eagerness. “The afternoon grows short, and I promised to show Miss Lydia the new conservatory before tea. Until tomorrow, Lady Sarah!”
Sarah watched them walk away; Castleton's attention entirely focused on his companion as he gestured animatedly toward some distant feature of the park. Lydia laughed at something he said, the sound carrying clearly in the crisp air, and Sarah felt something crack inside her chest.
“Sarah?” George's voice was gentle, concerned. “Are you all right?”
She turned to look at him, this man who had known her since childhood, who brought her favorite pastries and remembered her every preference, who looked at her with such steady warmth that it made her feel cherished even in this moment of crushing disappointment.
“I feel rather foolish,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely carrying over the sound of winter wind in the bare branches. “All my excitement about tomorrow, about the perfect gift... He could barely remember I was standing there.”
George's expression grew fierce, protective in a way that made Sarah's heart flutter despite her distress. “Then he's a fool,” he said simply. “And you're better off knowing it now than discovering it after you've invested more of your heart in him.”
The words were exactly what she needed to hear, spoken with such quiet conviction that Sarah felt some of her humiliation ease. George had always been able to do that—offer comfort without condescension, support without pity.
“You don't think I'm being overly sensitive?” she asked, searching his face for honesty rather than mere kindness.
“I think,” George said carefully, “that any gentleman worthy of your regard would never make you feel invisible, especially in favor of someone else. Your feelings are entirely justified.”
They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes, Sarah processing what she'd witnessed while trying to reconcile it with her romantic fantasies about Lord Castleton.
The man she'd just encountered bore little resemblance to the charming suitor who had swept her off her feet at Lady Morrison's musicale.
This Castleton had been polite but distracted, his attention obviously claimed by someone else entirely.
“George?” Sarah said finally, her voice small in the vast winter landscape.
“Yes?”
“Do you think... that is, is it possible I've been seeing what I wanted to see rather than what was actually there?”
George stopped walking and turned to face her fully, his grey eyes serious and infinitely kind.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that when we want something very badly, it's human nature to interpret every small kindness as evidence of deeper feeling. But Sarah...” He paused, seeming to wrestle with himself before continuing.
“You deserve someone who sees you clearly and loves what he sees.
Someone who wouldn't dream of making you feel uncertain about your place in his affections.”
The words were spoken with such gentle intensity that Sarah felt tears prick at her eyes—not from sadness, but from a peculiar sense of being truly seen and understood.
George had always been able to do that, she realized.
He saw past her social anxieties and romantic fantasies to the person beneath, and somehow that person was enough for him. More than enough.
“You're a very good friend, George,” she whispered, though the words felt inadequate for what she was feeling.
Something flickered across his expression—too quick to interpret—before he smiled and offered her his arm again. “Come,” he said quietly. “Let's get you home before you catch cold. Tomorrow will sort itself out, one way or another.”
As they walked back toward the park's entrance, Sarah found herself stealing glances at George's profile, seeing him with new eyes. When had he become this steady, reassuring presence in her life? When had his opinion begun to matter more than social approval or romantic conquest?
And why did the thought of spending Christmas Day focused on winning Lord Castleton's fickle attention suddenly seem far less appealing than the prospect of another quiet morning in her sitting room, sharing tea and conversation with the one person who truly understood her heart?