The Promise of Change

Chapter 11


“There, I think that’s everything.” Sarah sighed as she collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. She’d just finished packing the clothing that would be shipped home. The remainder would go in her checked luggage for her stay in Atlanta.

Aside from short walks around Knightsbridge, it was the most physical activity she’d had in almost two weeks. If packing a couple of suitcases exhausted her, what would an international flight do, she wondered in frustration.

“Are you happy to be going home?” Alex turned from his own luggage to look at her.

“Well, it’s not exactly home, but I am looking forward to finishing in Atlanta and getting home to see Becca and Ann. I’ve really missed them.” She’d spoken to them both every day since the accident, texting or e-mails not enough for them, they had to hear her voice. Not that she minded. She just cringed when she thought of the phones bills at the end of the month.

He smiled indulgently. “It must have been very difficult to be away from them all this time. You three are extremely close.” He sounded a little envious. He and Robert had had another heated exchange on the phone the day the tabloid article came out.

Sighing, she turned back to her luggage so he couldn’t see the concern on her face. As long as Alex remained grist for the gossip rags, Alex’s relationship with his brother would be a troubled one.

Attributing her sigh to cabin-fever, Alex wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips nuzzled her neck as he whispered in her ear, “How would the invalid like to go on a real outing, not just a walk around the block?”

She spun quickly in his arms. “Really? Where? Oh, it doesn’t matter. I think I’d be happy to go just about anywhere at this point.” Her words poured out, thwarting any attempt on his part to answer her questions.

He laughed. “How would you like to meet my mother?” he asked a little hesitantly.

Her eyes widened. Meet his mother? Wow. That sounded like one of those next steps. An enormous one. She was torn between excitement and worry. What if she doesn’t like me? she fretted. What if they couldn’t find anything to talk about? Of course that was silly. They would have Alex as a popular topic of conversation.

She needed to answer him before he recognized her apprehension. “That sounds great.” Did that sound plausibly enthusiastic?

“We have a short window of time before she jets off on some other adventure. Besides, I haven’t seen her since the spring, and knowing her, if I don’t see her now, I might not see her again until next spring. We can drive up to Leeds tomorrow morning and return tomorrow evening.”

“Great.” She hoped she’d left something in the closet that was suitable for meeting the Countess.

Sarah fidgeted in her seat, unable to get comfortable. If she didn’t stop, her clothes were going to look like she’d slept in them by the time she got there. Having been involved in the running of her father’s clothing store, Emma, or rather Lady Rutherford, would likely be attentive to clothing details.

Alex chuckled. “Will you please stop worrying? She’s going to love you. Besides, we’re almost there.”

She pulled the visor down once more, anxiously checking her hair and makeup in the mirror for the umpteenth time.

Going for a classic look that she thought matched Alex’s taste-level, she’d pulled her long hair back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, tied with a paisley silk scarf that complimented the plum of her sleeveless mock turtleneck. She finished off the outfit with a pair of black trousers. Nothing too dull, but nothing too hip either.

“You look beautiful as always.” He didn’t even take his eyes off the road to look at her. It simply wasn’t necessary to make this observation.

They turned onto a wide, tree-lined lane. It was the first time she’d noticed her surroundings, too focused on practicing what she would say when she met Alex’s mother to even appreciate the scenery along the way.

“Emma moved from Rutherford to a one-bedroom flat after my brother and I were grown. With all her traveling, she’s quite happy with a small home base.”

They pulled up in front of an apartment building not unlike those in the States. “Are you ready?” He turned to look at her with an understanding smile. “You look more like you’re going to a hanging. Smile.”

Apparently her attempt at a smile failed.

“We’ve got to do something about your acting skills,” he muttered as he got out of the car.

Ringing the door buzzer, Alex wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her close. The door opened momentarily and the woman on the other side was nothing like Sarah had expected.

She was about Sarah’s height, so it was clear that Alex’s height must have come from his father, but when she smiled, Sarah could see Alex’s coffee-brown eyes crinkled at the corners and his dimples in her cheeks.

She could even see his soft brown wavy hair in her short-cropped locks, now salted with gray, but she was dressed like she was going on an outdoor excursion, complete with hiking shorts, Teva sandals, and T-shirt. Not a stitch of makeup, not an ounce of hairspray. She was . . . earthy.

“You must be Sarah,” she said in a softly clipped accent. “Please, come in.”

Alex’s hand was reassuring on Sarah’s back, guiding her into the small entrance.

Emma stepped forward and gave Sarah a motherly hug. “I’ve heard so much about you from Alex.” She stepped away, holding Sarah at arm’s length. “You were right,” she said, turning to Alex, “she’s a stunner.”

“Mum, you’re embarrassing her,” he chided as he kissed her cheek.

“What are mothers for if they can’t embarrass their son’s girlfriends? I looked like you once, playing the role of countess, but I found that weeks in the wilderness of New Zealand or the canyons of Utah were not conducive to make-up. I simplified my life.” She shrugged, indicating her appearance.

Lady Rutherford may have come from the working-class, but her manners were polished and her accent cultured. Neither of which fit her appearance. It finally occurred to Sarah that so far all she’d done was stand there like a mute. Where were her manners?

“Lady Rutherford, it is such a pleasure to meet you. Alex speaks of you often and fondly.”

“He’s a good son,” she said absently as she took Sarah’s wrist, pulling her into the small living room. “You must call me Emma.” She turned to Alex. “Now go find an occupation so Sarah and I can talk. Sit here.” She indicated the sofa, sitting facing Sarah like they were best girlfriends.

Alex smirked at the look of alarm on Sarah’s face, his expression apologetic.

“Your brother will be here in an hour—”

“What? Why?” His brows pulled down, and Sarah could see the storm clouds gathering.

She gulped. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for another encounter with Alex’s brother. Talk about trial by fire: meeting the mother with the disapproving brother looking on.

“There’s a silly question. Does he have to have a reason? Are you two fighting again?” she asked, tilting her head to the side in a way that reminded Sarah of Alex. She waived him out of the room, and although he looked a little concerned with leaving Sarah alone with his mother, he did as he was asked.

“Those two . . . they’re always fighting over something. As toddlers it was toys, as teenagers it was sports, and as men it’s politics, and Alex’s career. Opposite ends of the spectrum.”

Alex had never been vocal about his politics, but her statement confirmed what she thought: Alex would not vote for his brother.

“My mother-in-law, Lady Clara, has been a very vocal supporter of yours.”

Emma was very direct in her address. Sarah had no doubt that she would know where she stood with her at the end of their visit. She was sure the same would be true of Robert, politician or not.

“Yes. Lady Clara and I had the opportunity to become well-acquainted last year when I attended classes with her at Christ Church.”

“And that’s where you and Alex met, at one of his favorite pubs,” she said, her face intent. Sarah could see where Alex got his intuition. It felt as if she could read her face as well as he could.

So he’d told her about that. “Yes.”

“Now then, Sarah, tell me about yourself.”

Alex sat in the kitchen then, paced a while, before making a pot of tea and settling at the kitchen table. He looked around the small, but cozy flat. Though she was Countess, his mother wouldn’t turn her back on her more humble roots. He respected that. He often thought that’s where he got his reticence to play the Earl.

Laughter erupted from the sitting room, relaxing the muscles in his neck that he hadn’t realized were knotted. With all the reassurances he’d given Sarah, he’d been nervous as well. He didn’t need his mother’s approval, but he wanted it just the same.

He and Sarah had some thorny issues to resolve, but resolve them they would. He wanted Sarah in his life, and if that meant moving to the U.S., he would go. If it came to that, he would even consider relinquishing his title to his brother.

Although possible, it would be difficult to run the estate from across the Atlantic, and it wouldn’t be fair to dump the obligations on Robert without the benefit of the title. He and his brother had their differences, but he loved him, and he knew Robert would manage the affairs brilliantly.

More laughter from the sitting room. What he wouldn’t give to know what was being said. He winced as he thought of all the stories Emma could tell of his childhood.

Like the time when he was fifteen, he’d gone skinny-dipping in the stream that ran through the estate, only to be caught by Fletcher’s daughter. She’d taken advantage of the situation to seek retribution for putting a frog in her book bag. Confiscating his clothes, she’d stashed them in a known Adder hole nearby before going on her merry way.

Alex hadn’t been too fond of snakes, still wasn’t for that matter. He’d had to either overcome his fear, however momentarily, in order to regain possession of his clothes, or walk back to the house naked as the day he was born. Encountering the snake had seemed less terrifying than explaining to his grandmother the reason for his state of undress.

He’d been forced to confess what happened, when later that night he came down with a nasty case of poison ivy on his nether regions.

Alex looked up as Sarah and his mother joined him in the kitchen.

They’d talked for an hour or more, and Sarah could see the look of relief on Alex’s face as they entered the room laughing.

“She’s absolutely charming.” Emma wrapped her arm around Sarah’s waist. “Don’t let her get away,” she admonished, making Sarah blush.

“I don’t plan to.”

Sarah blushed even deeper, as he looked up at her from his seat at the table, his eyes fixed on hers, pride and love beaming from his face.

The front door slammed and footsteps thudded down the hall to the kitchen. “Mum?”

“In the kitchen.”

Storm clouds gathered over Alex’s brow, but he was determined to give his brother the benefit of the doubt. Although they’d argued over the recent article, he was grateful for his brother’s help in finding Sarah in the chaos following the train accident.

Robert strode into the kitchen, stopping to buss his mother’s cheek. “Hello, Mum. Sarah.” He nodded briefly, then walked over to Alex and handed him a stack of newspapers. “Have you seen these?”

Alex tensed for a fight. “No. Remember, I don’t read them.”

“Well, you and Sarah are a hot item. I just thought you should know so you can take precautions for Sarah’s sake.”

Alex frowned. He had no idea what the articles said, but this was not the attitude he’d expected from his brother.

Sarah glanced at Alex, her face confused and wary. He opened his arm to her, and she joined him at the table.

“Sarah and I can handle it. But thank you for the warning.”

Emma appeared just as confused by Robert’s calm demeanor and apparent concern for Sarah, as Alex and Sarah were.

“How about a beer, Alex?” Robert walked over to the refrigerator, and without waiting for a reply, pulled out three beers, offering one to Sarah.

Sarah and Alex took what amounted to the proverbial olive branch from Robert.

Emma looked at her two sons, and then at Sarah. She didn’t know if Sarah had precipitated this change, but she was pleased to see her boys getting along for a change.

Tabloid newspapers, courtesy of Robert, were scattered around Sarah on the bed. She couldn’t believe what they said. Privacy was a thing of the past, and anyone who thinks their private life is private needs to wake-up to reality. Alex was right. Once they got their teeth in a story, they didn’t let go. Now she was shacking up with him.


Shacking up? Is American author Sarah Edwards living with Alex Fraser, Lord Rutherford? Edwards, who was one of those injured on the tube in last week’s accident has reportedly been staying with Fraser in his London flat. I don’t know about you, ladies, but I’d love to play doctor with the charming, sexy Fraser.


In another column, her time last year with Alex was revisited, as well as the fact that he was her inspiration for Christen:


The Gossipmonger has just learned that the Fraser/Edwards romance may have bloomed long before their meeting on the set. A source has come forward stating that she saw Fraser skulking out of a popular Oxford inn in the wee hours of the morning last August. We have it on good authority that Edwards was a guest at that very inn on the same date. Was she the mystery woman in the Port Meadow Picnic? I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.

There is also some speculation that Fraser was the inspiration for the hottie Christen Hare in the upcoming movie The American and the Aristocrat, based on Edwards’ book. Anyone who’s read the book can see that they’re a dead-ringer for one another? Hello? No wonder Fraser is perfect for the part! It was written for him. Sarah, you sly girl.


She shuddered to think what else would be written about them. Aside from the exaggerated first story, the others were all true, so it wasn’t like she or Alex could claim defamation. It was good that they were flying to Atlanta tomorrow. Maybe in their absence the papers would lose interest. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Why are you reading that rubbish?” Alex stood in the doorway wearing nothing but his shorts, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his bare chest, his hair damp from the shower.

Her righteous indignation over the gossip column fled, replaced by something infinitely more desirable. All she saw was him. He sauntered over to the bed. It had been too long. She wasn’t taking no for an answer tonight.

She tossed the tabloid aside then, rose to her knees on the bed in front of him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her silky nightgown the only barrier between them. He smelled of cinnamon and citrus, and his own unique male scent.

He gave her a questioning look.

“Do you know what tonight is?” At his confused expression, she said, “It’s been exactly two weeks since I came home from the hospital. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.” He wore a provocative grin as he wrapped his arms around her waist drawing her closer.

She sighed with pleasure at the unyielding contact.

“I can return to . . . rigorous activity.” She pulled his lips down to hers, taking his bottom lip between her teeth.

“And what type of rigorous activity did you have in mind?” he asked against her mouth.

“Hmm. I thought maybe a brisk run through the park . . .” Her fingers threaded in his hair, holding his mouth to hers.

“That’s too bad. I was hoping you had something a little more . . . amorous in mind.” The scent and taste of her assaulted his senses. Two weeks of restraint with her in close proximity had been sheer torture. Tasting her now was akin to a parched man getting his first sip of cool water. It only made him want more.

Sliding the thin strap of her nightgown off her shoulder, he kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone.

Her breath shortened to shallow gasps, her pulse thickened, as the familiar warmth curled in her belly.

Lifting her off her knees, he gently pressed her back onto the bed, his free arm swiping the discarded newspapers from the bed, sending them fluttering to the floor.

“Well, I suppose this qualifies as an aerobic activity,” she murmured.

“Very aerobic.”

“Robert was very pleasant, even charming, this evening.”

“Yes, maybe those anger management classes are paying off,” Alex said, tongue firmly in cheek.

“Well, maybe he should focus more on anger management and less on your love life,” she said with disapproval.

Alex chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe he should consider hiring you as his political advisor.”

Lying in bed, luxuriating in the feel of their entangled bodies, they recounted the evening’s odd turn of events.

Alex’s fingers ran down her spine as if he were stroking a cat. It wouldn’t have surprised her if she’d started purring.

By the end of the evening, he and Robert were sitting at the kitchen table laughing and joking over a beer, regaling Sarah with stories of their tumultuous childhood relationship. Emma looked on the whole scene with an affectionate smile.

Robert was a gifted storyteller, a gift of gab being an important characteristic in a successful lawmaker. Sarah had finally learned the story behind the rugby grudge.

When Robert and Alex were teenagers, the two had been playing rugby on opposing teams, with Alex’s team ahead. Alex was running with the ball when Robert hit him with an illegal elbow to the chin, busting open a gash. The wound required stitches.

Robert admitted to Sarah that he was a sore loser, especially when it came to losing to his big brother.

Sarah and Alex were content to lie in each other’s arms for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

Sarah’s giggle broke the silence. “Been skinny-dipping lately?”

“She didn’t!”

“Oh, yes she did!”

Alex groaned, as he put a hand up to cover his face. “Did she tell you . . . everything?”

“Poor Alex. What a terrible place to have poison ivy. Let me see,” she said, as she lifted the sheet, “did it leave any scars?”

“Come here, you saucy minx.” He rolled over, pulling her underneath him, promptly ending any further conversation.