The Promise of Change

Part II

Chapter 1

As much as she dreaded returning to the job search, she found she was fortunate to have something to take her mind off Alex, if only for a while. It had been almost two weeks since she’d left England, but he proved difficult to forget, even though four thousand miles separated them. In Guy’s words, she’d fallen ‘arse over tip’ in love with Alex.

She knew now that what she’d taken for heartbreak after her hapless marriage to Adrian ended had only been wounded pride, a deflated ego, and of course the shame of having failed. What she suffered then paled in comparison to what she suffered now. This was the real thing.

Subtle reminders taunted any attempt to put that perfect week behind her: the faint scent of his cologne that lingered on her clothes when she’d unpacked; the cheesy Jane Austen replica cross he purchased for her in Lacock; other small, inconsequential souvenirs like the program from As You Like It; the notorious hair clip; and of course the photos of them from the trip.

Stop, she admonished herself. She promised herself she would close the door. Alex would get over it. He’s a handsome, charming, sweet, sexy . . . . Stop! Someone with an open heart, minimal baggage, and a strong constitution for public attention would come along and make him forget about her.

She was confident he would get over it, but would she?



“Do you want to get together this weekend, maybe do a little shopping?” Ann asked with her usual buoyant enthusiasm, but Sarah knew she was just trying to cheer her up.

“Sure,” she said with feigned interest. “Where should we go?” she asked, idly flipping through a catalog that sold books, videos, and other gifts.

“Let’s go to the new outdoor shopping center. It’s supposed to be enormous.”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

Both she and Becca had been poking and prodding her into various social activities. After finally breaking down and telling them about Alex, they’d been especially solicitous, but also extremely meddlesome.

They were hurt at first that she hadn’t fully disclosed all the details of her vacation. Then they couldn’t understand why she refused to contact him again; get over her fear of public scrutiny, and apologize for leaving him. Wasn’t he worth overcoming her trifling social anxiety disorder?

She finally had to put her foot down and threaten that if they didn’t stop nagging her, she would stop talking to them altogether. And it wasn’t social anxiety disorder. It was simply an aversion to public attention.

Ann rambled on about the kids and Rob. Even though she felt guilty about it, Sarah only listened with half an ear. Suddenly, there it was: Alex’s movie, Jude the Obscure. Sarah’s heart skipped a beat and her eyes welled with tears.

“Sarah . . . Sarah . . . are you there?” Ann’s insistent voice yanked her back to the present, reminding her that she was still on the phone.

“Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” Sarah hung up before Ann could answer.

Was Mansfield Park also in the catalog, she wondered? She flipped quickly through the pages. After turning a few more pages, she found it. His handsome face graced the cover of the DVD. He was attired in Regency garb, facing the actress who she assumed played Fanny Price, his arm around her waist. She felt an irrational stab of jealousy for the actress. She flipped a few more pages. Tess of the d’Urbervilles was also in the catalog.

She hadn’t forgotten that his movies were likely available, but some vestiges of self-preservation had prevented her from tracking them down. Now, out of the blue, here were all three.

On a whim, she went to her computer and ordered them, paying the excessive cost for two-day shipping, so she would have them by the weekend. So much for self-preservation.



Lying on the couch, still in her pajamas yet having never gone to bed, Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes. She’d just finished watching Jude the Obscure . . . for the second time.

Seeing Alex in the romantic period costumes was agony, hearing his beautiful voice, the flowing lines spoken in his clipped accent, torture. Yet, she couldn’t help herself. She’d already watched the other two movies twice each.

Her doorbell rang. Reluctantly, she went to see who it could be. Ann. She groaned. She’d completely forgotten about their shopping date. Shame-faced, Sarah opened the door.

Before Sarah could apologize, Ann blurted, “Why aren’t you dressed? Are you sick? What’s the matter?”

She held the door wide for Ann to come in. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot . . .”

“You look like something the cat dragged in,” she said without mixing her metaphors for once. “And you’ve been crying.”

She plopped down on the sofa, pulling Sarah down with her. That’s when she saw the DVDs on the coffee table.

“Is this him?” she said picking up the cover for Mansfield Park and examining it. “Oh my. He is gorgeous! I’m sorry, that slipped. Isn’t it unusual for an Earl to have a . . . profession? I mean, shouldn’t he be, I don’t know, managing his Earldom?”

“Flogging his serfs, conspiring to usurp the crown, locking virgins in the tower?” Sarah shook her head. “You’ve been reading too many bodice-rippers.”

Ann swatted at her. “No but, it just seems weird that he would be an actor.”

“Many titled men and women have professions outside their estates, from publishers and journalists, to broadcasters and artists.” Sarah sniffled. “Oh, Ann. I miss him so much.”

“Honey, why are you doing this to yourself?” She took Sarah’s hand in hers. “I’ve already told you I think you should call him, but if you’re standing by your stubborn refusal, why are you torturing yourself this way?”

“I don’t know.” Sarah looked down and a crystal teardrop fell on their hands. “Maybe I just need to get him out of my system, and this is the final cleansing self-flagellation.”

“Ah. Come here.” She gave Sarah a big hug. “My Aunt Bertie always said, ‘When life throws you a curve ball, make lemonade.’ I’m still not sure what that means, but it seems appropriate.”

Sarah laughed out loud. It felt good. “Thanks.”

“What are best friends for, if not to make each other laugh?”