The Promise of Change

Chapter 18



“What would you like to do today?” Alex asked as he buttered a slice of toast, a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

Seated at a small table in the Inn’s garden, they shared a light breakfast, both clearly relaxed and at peace with their world.

Sarah didn’t know how it was possible, but he looked even more handsome today, and she wondered if she had anything to do with that.

Alex’s warm greeting this morning erased any concerns she’d had earlier. He’d taken her in his arms and discreetly whispered in her ear that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, sending shivers of desire from her head to her toes.

Yesterday’s storm had heralded a brilliant blue sky, cooler temperatures, and a whisper of a breeze. Birds sang in the trees, and the garden fountain seemed to chuckle with joy, even as Oxford’s morning traffic was underway just beyond the walled garden.

Considering a response, she sipped her tea. “I’m not sure there’s a site in Oxfordshire we haven’t seen.”

“I know one,” he replied with a smile. “You haven’t seen Rutherford.”

“I’ve been to Rutherford,” she said, a little confused. “Remember, that’s when I figured you for a liar.”

He laughed. “Yes, but you haven’t seen the grounds. Do you ride?”

She frowned. “A little, and not since college.”

“Let me guess, you played polo in college.”

Laughing, she said, “No, but I needed a basket-weaving class.”

“What does basket-weaving have to do with riding?” he replied, obviously confused.

“Nothing.” She laughed lightly. “Basket-weaving is an expression for an easy class. I wanted an easy ‘A’ my last semester so I signed up for English riding.”

“Was it an easy ‘A’?”

“It was an ‘A’, but it wasn’t easy.” She chuckled, remembering the sore knees and quads from all that posting.

“Well, it’s a shame to waste that training.” He smiled, slow and easy.

“I’m afraid I left my jodphurs and riding jacket at home,” she said with a little smirk.

“Jeans and T-shirt will suffice. I’m sure I can find a pair of my mother’s riding boots. Size thirty-six, I’d guess.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Yes.”

“Perfect.”



Sitting astride a lovely dappled gray mare, Sarah looked out over the land that was Rutherford. She was having a Jane Austen moment. Beside her on an enormous black gelding sat Alex, looking like a modern-day Darcy in his riding pants and boots.

Alex indicated the various points of interest: the ruins of an ancient castle, the caretaker’s cottage, the pond where he and his brother fished as boys, and some small caves where he and his brother often hid out playing a game of Robin Hood.

The pride he took in his family’s estate was obvious, but his was a quiet pride, that of someone who knew how easily it could all be lost, as it almost was but for the hard work of his grandparents.

“Please forgive me. I have probably bored you to tears with all this talk of my ancestors.”

“No,” she hastened to assure him, “I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Truly.” She smiled tenderly.

He turned his horse to face hers and carefully sidled up to her. Leaning from the saddle, he pulled her to him for a deep, yearning kiss.

She was the first woman he’d brought to Rutherford. After last night, and being with her today, having her by his side as he rode the grounds, he realized that he’d already made up his mind. This was not his usual fling. She was what he wanted. What he’d been waiting for. And he would tell her tonight.



“Grandmother! We’ve returned,” Alex shouted to the house.

“In here, darling,” Lady Clara called from the same room where she and Sarah had had tea.

Alex and Sarah entered the room holding hands and laughing. Lady Clara looked at their flushed faces and her old heart did a little tap dance. She knew that look, although she’d never seen it on the face of her grandson. Love.

“Grandmother, Sarah and I would like to stay for dinner if you don’t mind?”

“Mind. For heaven’s sake boy, this is your home, too. I’ll just go tell Martha,” Lady Clara said as she left the room.

“Did you enjoy today?” Alex asked, drawing Sarah into his arms before kissing her.

“Oh, yes!” she replied, breathless from the kiss. “I must confess, I felt as though I’d walked straight into the setting of a Regency novel.” She blushed a little at her confession. “And you, Lord Rutherford, you were quite dashing on your dark steed, looking every inch the lord and master.”

Alex pressed her denim-clad hips to his, the corner of his mouth tilted up at a rakish angle. “How about I throw you up on the back of my horse and carry you off to those ancient ruins and—”

“Ahem.” Lady Clara stood in the door, hands folded primly in front of her, but only to control her excitement. Perhaps she wasn’t such a bad matchmaker after all.

Sarah’s blush deepened to full-on red. Alex didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. When Sarah attempted to pull away, he kept his arm at her waist, holding her firmly by his side.

“Dinner will be served soon. You two must be parched after your long ride today. Martha is bringing refreshments shortly.”

“I’ll just go freshen up, if you’ll excuse me.” Sarah got to the door before she realized she didn’t know where she was going. “Where . . ?”

“Down the hall, my dear,” Lady Clara said, coming to her rescue. “Second door on the left.”

Alex watched her trim figure disappear through the door. He didn’t know which was better, the elegant backless dress, or the snug jeans and riding boots.

A soft smile played across his features. Last night, he’d witnessed, and, to his extreme pleasure, experienced the passionate side that formed the underpinnings of his sweet, reserved Sarah. A side he looked forward to exploring even more.

He’d also witnessed a bit of her stubbornness earlier when he tried to help her mount and then give her a brief review of the mechanics of riding English. A smile ghosted across his face at the memory. Her eyes flashing green sparks, she’d said, with a stubborn set to her chin, “I can do it myself. Don’t help.”

“So, it looks as though you two are having a nice time,” Lady Clara said, archly. “She is a lovely girl.”

“Yes, Grandmother, you don’t need to sing her praises. You’d be preaching to the choir at any rate.”

“Oh, Martha, set the tray there. Thank you.”

“Lemonade, dear?” Lady Clara asked, as she poured a glass.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Lady Clara couldn’t help but notice that Alex kept watching the door. She hid her smile as she poured another glass.

“It is a shame that she is leaving on Sunday,” Lady Clara nudged.

“Yes. I wanted to speak with you about that. Do you, that is, would you mind if I asked Sarah to stay a little longer . . . here . . . at Rutherford.”

If she wasn’t so old, she’d have danced a jig. “Oh, I think that is a lovely idea. She could have the Rose Room,” she continued. Conveniently located across the hall from Alex’s room, she thought smugly.

Lady Clara still beamed when Sarah returned. “Here you are my dear, a lovely glass of lemonade.”

Gratefully, Sarah took the glass as Martha came to announce dinner. Sarah hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and she was unsure whether to bring the drink with her, or leave it.

“Come, my dear. Bring the lemonade with you.”

Thank God. She controlled the urge to guzzle the icy drink in a very unladylike manner. Alex wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her to the family dining room.

Dinner was a lovely affair. Sarah enjoyed watching Alex and Lady Clara interact. It was easy to see the love and affection they had for one another.

Lady Clara, in turn, enjoyed watching the interactions between Sarah and Alex. The little gestures of affection, the dreamy looks exchanged over sips of wine.

Alex was not immune to observations of his own. Sarah and his grandmother laughed over some Oxford anecdote, and he was reminded of his own mother’s interactions with his grandmother. The two women genuinely enjoyed one another’s company. He hoped his mother would feel the same when she met Sarah.

“Oh, my dear, I never will forget how beautiful you looked at the final dinner,” Lady Clara gushed.

Alex smiled at the praise. “You should have seen her Wednesday evening. She put heaven’s stars to shame.”

Sarah blushed at the profusion of compliments.

“Grandmother! Where are you?”

“Heavens! You’d think these boys were never taught any manners. In here, Robert.”

“Robert? What the hell is he doing here?” Alex’s face grew thunderous.

“Now, now,” Lady Clara placated.

Robert? Alex’s brother was here? Sarah’s blush turned into a blanche. Her mouthful of food went down like a rock.

The man Sarah had seen on television just this morning entered the room. He paused when he saw her, then nodded his head before grazing his grandmother’s cheek and stalking past her to stand beside Alex’s chair, where he threw a pile of tabloids onto the dining table with a thwack, making Sarah flinch and the dishes clatter.

“Hello, Robert. So good to see you again.” Alex’s voice was sarcastic as he raised an eyebrow at his brother.

Robert didn’t bother with a greeting. “This,” he said pointing his finger at the papers on the table, “this is exactly what I was afraid of. This,” he stated, pointing again at the papers for emphasis, “is my worst nightmare!”

Sarah’s first impression was correct. Robert definitely had a taste for the melodramatic.

Alex started to brush the papers aside when the photo caught his attention. Picking up the paper, the thunderclouds returned. He shifted his eyes to Sarah, and then back to the paper he held. His mouth flattened out into a frown.

“Your worst nightmare, what about Sarah?” he said, indicating her presence.

Sarah? What did this have to do with me? she wondered.

Robert didn’t even bother to look in her direction. “Sarah isn’t running for parliament on a conservative ticket. Supermodels, actresses . . . that singer, your playboy lifestyle is going to crush me,” he growled.

Dramatic flair or not, she winced at the bitterness in his voice. Still confused over what this had to do with her, she reached for the paper Alex discarded.

Something about the grainy photo looked familiar. She continued staring at it until it dawned on her with sickening clarity. She and Alex lying beneath an oak tree in an intimate embrace she remembered only too well. The caption read, ‘Port Meadow Picnic.’ She didn’t bother to read the story below the fold that accompanied the photo.

Her hand flew to her throat as her face grew ashen.

“My dear.” Lady Clara laid a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, are you okay?”

Sarah’s ears buzzed, the room grew dim, as everyone around her seemed to recede into the background. Memories of the knowing looks and snide public comments about Adrian’s affair and their divorce flooded her brain. Reminded of the article about Adrian earlier in the week, Sarah also recalled her fears of rushing into a relationship with Alex. A relationship which could plainly have another very public end.

Alex was remarkably calm as he rose from his seat, glancing at Sarah with concern. “Robert, do you ever think of anyone besides yourself?”

“I’m supposed to sit back and watch my political aspirations go down the toilet just so you can cop off with this woman?”

Sarah snapped back to the present. She didn’t need a translation to understand the insult. Everything happened so fast after that.

Alex drew back his fist and punched his brother in the stomach.

Sarah gasped as Robert doubled over with a strangled groan.

“That was for insulting Sarah,” Alex ground out before dealing an uppercut to Robert’s chin, opening a gash that started bleeding almost immediately. “That was for the rugby match.”

Robert brought his hand up to his chin to staunch the blood. “You bloody-well better be prepared to fight. Let’s take this outside.”

Sarah was so shocked she couldn’t even articulate a plea for Lady Clara to do something. No need, because Lady Clara was already intervening.

“Boys! Enough. Will you have Sarah thinking I have two hooligans for grandsons?” She stood between them like a referee at a boxing match telling the opponents to go to their respective corners.

“Robert, go wash up that cut and bandage it. Alex, I’m sure your hand could use some ice.” He winced when she mentioned his hand. “Now,” she urged when they continued to face off at one another. She followed Robert out of the room.

Sarah shook with anger, fear, and the fight or flight response caused by the altercation. She’d never seen Alex so angry, so . . . violent. She heard ice rattling in the ice bucket as Alex put some in his napkin to wrap around his hand. The sound broke through her inertia.

“Alex, is it broken?” she whispered, anxious, but afraid to touch his hand for fear it might cause him more pain.

“I doubt it. It’s not the first time I’ve clouted my brother, Sarah, and it probably won’t be the last . . .” His voice trailed off.

“But why did you do that?” she asked, incredulous.

“He insulted you. Do you think I would let him get away with that?” He frowned at her, his brows knitted together. “And the rugby retribution was long in coming,” he muttered almost to himself.

“But you could have . . . I don’t know . . . cursed at him or something . . .”

He raised his uninjured hand to her cheek. “Sarah, it’s how we settle things.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry, later we’ll reconcile over a pint.”

This was a side of Alex she’d yet to see, nor ever had imagined existed. Oddly, she rather liked that he stood up for her. Not being a violent person herself, this was an unexpected side of her as well. But the fact that it was his brother, and that she had been the impetus for such behavior was mortifying to her.

Her eyes cut back to the tabloid lying on the table, a concern creasing her brow.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, as he pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her. “I’m sorry about the photo. I thought I’d out-smarted the guy, but apparently he has made it his personal mission to invade my privacy.”

Sarah pulled back. “You knew about this? You knew we were being . . . stalked by this photographer, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, and I thought I’d evaded him.” Alex reached for her again, but she stepped back.

“You really should have warned me, Alex. Don’t you think I had a right to know that a consequence of dating you might be to find myself in the . . . spotlight?” She picked up the tabloid again and flipping it over saw the headline “The Other Woman?”

He grimaced at the expression on her face.

“The other woman? Me? Am I the other woman?” Her voice rose with her hysteria. Her throat tightened and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

If Alex was dating someone, or worse engaged . . . she felt sick. However unwitting her role as the other woman might have been, the thought of it filled her with revulsion. But no, his grandmother never would have stood by and let him . . . unless she doesn’t know.

“No! Of course not.” Alex raked his good hand through his hair. “Listen . . . Sarah . . . you can’t believe everything you read.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?” she asked, as she swiped angrily at a tear.

Alex sat with a sigh. “I had been dating the Prime Minister’s daughter. The tabloids practically had the wedding planned.” At her horrified expression, he raised his hands, entreating her to wait. “We never had any intention of getting married, and we ended the relationship amicably.”

Alex stood to pace the length of the room. “But that doesn’t sell papers, so they create stories out of whole cloth, with absolutely no basis in fact.” He stopped in front of Sarah, and tossing the makeshift ice pack on the table, placed his hands on her shoulders. “Sarah, you are not the other woman. You are the only woman. And I am so sorry that you’ve been thrust into the ruthless public eye.”

This brought a fresh round of tears. In front of her stood a contrite, and no doubt sincere, man. A gentleman, who personified all her romantic notions, however silly those notions might be. But she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t live her life wondering if some tabloid photographer was snapping her photo at some inopportune moment.

More importantly, she couldn’t bear to see her relationship with Alex reduced to a tasty tabloid tidbit.

“Is this what your life is like?” she whispered.

“Yes. I’m afraid it is. For now. You might not like it, but you learn to live with it.” He gave her a half smile and a slight lift of his shoulder.

Sarah closed her eyes. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, despondent.