The Promise of Change

Chapter 5



The location chosen for Wilcox Manor was a former abbey built in the mid-seventeen hundreds. The central block with its temple-like portico flanked by two sprawling wings was constructed of weathered creamy Headington Stone, a type of limestone common to Oxfordshire. The façade was lined with Palladian windows, which provided spectacular views of the grounds.

The thousand acre parkland, all that remained of the original three thousand acres, featured the rolling lawns and extensive views out to isolated groups of trees, typical of the famed landscaper Capability Brown. The effect made the landscape seem even larger. The grounds also boasted beautiful formal gardens complete with Greek temples of the same soft limestone as the house.

“May I join you?”

Sarah looked up with a start to see Alex standing there. She sat on a bench beneath a large maple in the garden behind the house, legs curled under her, reading the script for the next day’s shoot. The first unit filming was cut short today, because Brooke claimed a migraine. Second unit was somewhere on the grounds shooting inserts and cutaways.

“Of course.”

He took a seat at the other end of the bench, toying with a leafy twig in his hand, silent for a few moments. The détente that began in London had become a full-fledged normalization of relations in Oxfordshire. “I haven’t asked you yet, how does it feel?”

She tensed at his question. There were so many ways to interpret it. How does it feel to have run out on him? How does it feel to have to face him again? She looked up in confusion.

“To option your first book–to watch it come to life in film?”

“Oh.” She smiled in relief. “It feels amazing!” She could feel the blood rise to her face after her effusive outburst.

He turned to face her and his expression opened up. The Alex she knew suddenly returned. “I’m so proud of you, Sarah.”

She looked into his eyes and instead of cool distance, she saw genuine warmth. “I have you to thank for it. No”—she held up her hand when he would have interrupted—“listen. I need to say something and it may not come out as eloquently as I would like, but it is the truth and it is from my heart.” He waited patiently while she tried to find the words.

“Notwithstanding my cowardly retreat last year, I owe you a great deal. I’ve lived most of my life with caution and timidity. It served me well most of the time. I made it through my teenage and young adult years with my heart intact, but that’s easy to do when you don’t let anyone in. The first and only time, until last year, that I threw caution to the wind . . . well . . . as you know, it didn’t end well.” She smiled ruefully.

“I’m ashamed of my behavior. I was so afraid of opening my heart again, and then having it all become . . . so public. It was just easier to leave. It was easier to stay broken.”

She took a deep breath. “But I’ve learned that I can’t plan everything . . . that I have to take chances, even if I get hurt in the process. That’s just part of life. I’m just sorry if I hurt you in the process.”

He was quiet. She couldn’t tell if he was considering her long confession, or whether he was contemplating a response.

“I was hurt and angry, I admit, but I suppose on some level I understood. We’d only spent a week together, you were recovering from a dreadful divorce, and there I was putting pressure on you–moving too fast, and dragging you into my very public life.”

“I should never have allowed it to happen,” he continued, frowning. “I couldn’t slow down where you were concerned . . . there just wasn’t enough time. Not that I regret our night together, but I should have taken a page from your playbook and moved more cautiously.”

“You’re very forbearing.” She hesitated, confused by his kindness and understanding. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Not that you weren’t justified, but why did you react so angrily that first night in London?”

“To be honest, I was surprised by my own reaction. I was prepared to remain distant, wait for some sign from you as to where things stood, but when I saw Michael’s arm around your waist as if marking his territory, I assumed that’s where things stood. Watching his continued fawning only fueled my anger.

“When you came to apologize, I’d almost made up my mind to pull out of the project. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to watch him with you every day. But I always finish what I start.” He paused before continuing.

“Over the weeks that followed, it was very difficult. He appeared to look for every opportunity to lean in close and speak to you. But your reaction the day he attempted to kiss you gave me cause to hope . . . to hope that I could try again, but take it a little slower this time . . . allow you to set the pace.”

He took her hand in his and turned the full weight of his tender gaze on her. “Sarah, tell me . . . if you want me to leave things be, I will, but if you’ll allow me, I would like to try again.”

“I’d like that very much.” She had to look away before her eyes filled with tears. I don’t deserve him, she thought.



She returned to her room that night to find a box on her bed. Once she saw the return address, she quickly tore open the box. It was the first run of her book. She couldn’t begin to express what it was like to pull out a beautifully bound copy of her own book. If she wrote a hundred books, she didn’t think that experience would ever grow stale.

The book jacket included some of the better reviews. Not surprising, the first was her favorite:


Not since the days of Jane Austen has a novel introduced such brilliant characters, sparkling dialogue, and unforgettable romance. A must read for Austenites everywhere.


Of course, not everyone loved the book. After all, even Jane Austen had her detractors. There was one particularly scathing review she recalled, which of course was not on the back cover. She did take some level of satisfaction that the reviewer lacked originality, relying on a Mark Twain quip on Austen to sum up his critique of her book:


I go so far as to say that any library is a good library that does not contain this volume by Sarah Edwards. Even if it contains no other book.


That was okay. At least he kept her in good company with Jane Austen.

She couldn’t wait to show Alex.