The Promise of Change

Chapter 9



Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. He stood, one hand in his pocket, the other hand resting on the back of a chair, with golden oak-paneled walls serving as the backdrop. The dark blue suit deepened his brown eyes to almost black. His hair was shorter and more formally arranged, leaving very little evidence of the tousled waves that had elicited her mortifying thoughts.

There was no question it was a slightly younger version of the man she’d met last night. The engraved brass plate beneath the portrait confirmed it: Alexander Tristan Sutherland Fraser, Ninth Earl of Rutherford.

“My dear, are you quite well? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lady Clara’s look of concern forced Sarah to regain her composure. “I’m fine. Perhaps I’m just hungry.”

“Of course, my dear.” Lady Clara directed Sarah through the doorway. “How impolite of me to keep you wandering these drafty halls, when we have tea waiting for us.”

They left the gallery and returned to the sitting room where the teacart was set up.

“Did your father finally give you his blessing?” Sarah asked, resuming the story in an effort to take her mind of the disingenuous Alex Fraser.

Actor my ass, she thought. At least he hadn’t lied about his name. What on earth was an Earl doing in an Oxford pub? She gave a mental snort. Wasn’t it obvious? Trying to pick up women. The old accidental bump routine. She should have recognized it for what it was.

She returned her attention to Lady Clara. It wasn’t her fault her grandson was a jerk.

“My father relented when I threatened to elope if he withheld his consent. It pained me to put this ultimatum before my father and risk the alienation of my only parent, my mother having died when I was but fifteen. But I loved Jonathan to distraction and knew he could make me happy.”

“As luck would have it, my Jonathan had a sharp mind and became enormously successful in Leeds’ flourishing banking and finance industry.”

But Mick had asked him about his movies. Well, maybe he lied to Mick as well. Or maybe Mick was part of the game. After all, it’s hard to lie about being in a movie, or three, when a fellow countryman like Mick could check it out for himself.

“Do you take cream in your tea?”

Lady Clara’s question interrupted her internal discourse. She needed to pay attention. In spite of her current preoccupation, she was genuinely interested in Lady Clara’s story.

“Yes, thank you.” Sarah took the proffered cup of tea and helped herself to a couple of the finger sandwiches and a teacake.

“Sadly, my father died a year later, six months after my marriage. When the estate passed to me, Jonathan provided an infusion of cash needed to refurbish Rutherford Hall and reassert its place among Oxfordshire’s small, but illustrious estates. Between my drive to restore my family’s legacy and Jonathan’s acute business acumen, Rutherford Hall once again became a thriving, self-supporting estate.”

“You must be proud and pleased to see what you and Jonathan accomplished.”

“I am.” She looked melancholy. “Jonathan and I had a wonderful forty-five year marriage. He died of a heart attack three years ago, just a few days after our anniversary.”

“I am so sorry,” Sarah said, quietly. “I remember when my mother died, my father seemed so lost. We were very worried about him for a while.”

“Oh, I gave into my grief, cocooning myself in the private apartments we shared, refusing visitors and condolers for over a month. But when I emerged, I was determined to live the rest of my life with the same joy and eagerness I always had. Jonathan wouldn’t want me to just exist. He would want me to live.”

“Would you ever consider remarrying?”

“Oh yes, my dear . . . if the right man ever came along. I don’t know that I could ever love anyone as I did Jonathan, but I wouldn’t deny myself that possibility, even if I am a bit long in the tooth.”

She was thoughtful a moment. “Not a day goes by that I don’t expect Jonathan to walk into my study, kiss my cheek, and invite me for a stroll around the gardens. But I am quite happy with my situation. I am never lonely and always with some purpose or other.”

“Enough about me. I have rambled on incessantly. Tell me about you my dear. Is there a special person in your life?”

It was a mild afternoon, so they’d moved to a terrace overlooking the rolling green hills of Oxfordshire.

“Actually, I’m divorced . . . eight months ago.” Sarah smiled wanly. Divorced. A word that seemed synonymous with failure.

Lady Clara colored. “I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to bring on unhappy thoughts.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, the trip to Oxford . . . ”

“Initially it was the result of an intervention of sorts by my best friend, Ann, and my sister, Becca.”

“How so?”

“Tired of my moping, they showed up at my door one day and told me to snap out of it and start living. That’s when they gave me the information on the Oxford program, with a warning that they would not accept any excuses for not going, including cost.” Sarah shook her head at the memory. “They’d even spoken to my boss and cleared my vacation time with him.”

“Sounds like two people who love you very much.”

“Yes, I’m lucky to have them, although there are times . . .” Sarah smiled through her exasperation.

“I’m very glad they convinced you to come to England, otherwise we never would have met, and that would have been unfortunate indeed.”

She fell silent a moment, but Sarah could feel her eyes on her.

“Sometimes it takes a regrettable event to shake us out of our complacency, and good things often follow.”

When they said good-bye, Lady Clara hugged Sarah to her and held her there momentarily. “I think it was George Sand who said, ‘There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.’ Don’t despair, my dear, it will happen.”



Pleading a headache, Sarah sought the privacy of her room after dinner.

Packing the last few items of clothing, she wondered why her encounter with Alex troubled her so. After all, they’d only just met. He didn’t owe her anything. Not even the truth. He was just another guy trying to impress a woman he’d met in a bar.

Just another guy. Right. He was an Earl for God’s sake. An Earl slumming it in a pub. One that was obviously a favorite haunt of his.

Forget him, she scolded herself. She was certain he’d forgotten her the minute she’d walked away. Moved on to his next target. What did it matter anyway? She was never going to see him again.


I am sad today. This, my last day of classes, has come all too soon. I wish I’d signed on for two weeks of classes. Next year. This has truly been an experience of a lifetime. I must remember to thank Becca and Ann for encouraging, and sometimes pushing, me outside my boundaries.


Seated at her desk in her dorm before class, Sarah recorded the thoughts in her journal, wanting to jot them down while they were still vivid in her mind.


I can’t explain what it is like walking the grounds of this venerable institution. I admit to feeling a wicked sense of superiority as I walk across Tom Quad in the early morning, where the tourists press their faces against the iron gates to catch a glimpse inside of Christ Church, or later in the day as I blithely walk through the hordes of tourists past the signs that read “Private. No admittance.”

Entering Tom’s Gate is like stepping back in time, or like Alice stepping through the looking glass, isolated from present day reality, where you can choose to ignore the real world, if only for a short time.

When I climb the stairs to Tudor Hall, where the college has served meals to Christ Church residents since 1529, I feel the indentations worn into the stone steps by the centuries of footsteps from the scholars who’d tread the same path.

Tonight is the final reception and dinner. In the morning I’ll leave these magical walls for a week alone in Oxford. It will seem all the lonelier for having spent this week in such engaging company.

But for today, I will enjoy the atmosphere of Christ Church: the sense of stillness I find in the Master’s Garden, the hush of the Picture Gallery, and the peace and tranquility within the walls of this college, not passing through Tom’s Gate into the noise and chaos of the city until I leave tomorrow morning.


Closing her journal, Sarah picked up her copies of Sense & Sensibility and Mansfield Park and headed to class, ready to make the most of her final day.



The temperature rose into the upper seventies, a heat wave by England’s standards. She’d even had to remove her otherwise obligatory cardigan while she and her classmates picnicked in the Master’s Garden.

She should be relieved it hadn’t been too warm this week since none of the dorms were air-conditioned.

Glancing at her watch, she realized she’d dawdled in the Picture Gallery too long, and hadn’t left herself much time to change for the reception. After a week of wearing conservative trousers and cardigans, she’d selected a lovely, feminine black and white floral silk sundress, with a lemon yellow pashmina, and black strappy sandals. She left her hair loose around her shoulders.

Satisfied with her appearance, she spritzed on a little Voile De Jasmin, grabbed her bag, and hurried over to the Cathedral Garden.

From the volume of voices drifting through the door to the Garden, everyone had already arrived for the reception. She stepped through the doorway, looking for her group. Almost every head turned in her direction, eyes wide, some with frank approval, some with disapproval.

Compared to everyone else in the Garden, she looked as if she were going to a garden party rather than a gathering at Christ Church. She couldn’t have stood out more if she’d been wearing a hat befitting Her Majesty and the races at Ascot.

Clearly she should have asked around about the attire for this evening. Most of the tutors wore dark conservative suits, including the women.

Unbeknownst to her, one particular set of eyes looked on with great approval. Alex watched as she stood, rooted to the spot, a becoming blush coloring her cheeks. His memory had failed him. She wasn’t beautiful; she was breathtaking.

He was pleased now that he’d accompanied his grandmother to the reception. He’d planned to offer his services as her escort for the evening, and was surprised when she beat him to the punch and asked him instead.

“Lord Rutherford,”—Mr. Phillips, the Program Director, interrupted Alex’s observation of the clearly disconcerted Sarah—“May I introduce you to Mr. George Summers, who’s visiting us from New Zealand. Mr. Sommers is the Minister of Education.”

Alex reluctantly turned his attention to the two gentlemen, but kept an eye on Sarah.

His interest in the conversation waned again as he watched his grandmother approach Sarah. Perfect. He smiled at his own good fortune.

As if sensing her discomfiture, Lady Clara had rushed to Sarah’s side, effusive in her praise of her appearance. “My dear, you look absolutely stunning—a breath of fresh air in this otherwise stuffy gathering.” She turned her considerable frown upon those with disapproving looks. “Stodgy old codgers,” she mumbled.

“Thank you,” Sarah murmured. “I certainly stand out.” A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne and she grabbed a flute off the tray and took a gulp.

As the gawkers returned to their own conversations, Sarah spoke to Lady Clara a few minutes. Just as she thought she’d recovered her aplomb, she spotted Alex speaking to Mr. Phillips and another gentleman. What on earth was he doing here?

He watched her, an amused expression on his face as he raised his champagne flute in a silent toast.

She turned away, chin lifted, pointedly dismissing him. Joining the remainder of her group who were discussing their immediate future plans, she tried to ignore his presence. Not very successfully.

While some of her classmates were returning to jobs and families in their respective countries, others were continuing their travels. Kim was going to Italy to meet up with a boyfriend, much to Sean’s dismay, while Marie was meeting friends in London for one more week before returning to France.

The gavel banged promptly at seven, announcing dinner. Sarah made a swift departure, hoping to avoid Alex. He must have come with his grandmother, but why?

Thankfully, the class would be seated together this evening, so he wouldn’t be seated with Lady Clara. Determined to enjoy the evening’s pomp and circumstance, she put him out of her mind. Almost.

Tudor Hall was regally dressed for the elaborate four-course dinner. The dark-paneled walls, adorned with portraits of such illustrious Christ Church alumni as W.H. Auden, William Penn, Charles Dodgson-a.k.a. Lewis Carroll-and John Wesley, glowed in the late summer light streaming through the stained glass windows.

Alex watched from his place at High Table as Sarah took her seat among her classmates. He noticed as his grandmother and Sarah put their heads together conspiratorially, wondering what they were talking about, and selfishly hoping it was him.

His grandmother had evidently taken a liking to Sarah. Having her to tea, sending her car for her, saving her from the effects of her grand entrance. She’d clearly been mortified, but what did she expect? She’d swept into the garden like a sweet summer breeze. Of course every red, or blue, -blooded male was going to take note.

Following the last course Mr. Phillips garnered everyone’s attention and thanked them for participating in the programs and welcomed them to return for future programs.

Students received their certificates without much fanfare, unless one counted the frequent camera flashes as people took pictures with their cherished certificates. Now they could all claim attendance at the revered Christ Church. Concluding the evening’s presentation, Mr. Phillips wished everyone safe travels, and the dinner conversation resumed.

After dinner, many of the students adjourned to the Buttery, the college’s private bar just outside the Hall, for a final night of revelry.

Sarah found herself chatting again with Lady Clara. She enjoyed her company so much, and would miss her when she returned home. Over the past week, she’d gotten to know her well, and she’d taken on an almost motherly, or grandmotherly, role to Sarah.

Sarah noticed her tutor, Mr. Byrne, speaking with Alex. Was there anyone Alex didn’t know? His warm smile reached his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. His dark gray suit and deep blue tie enhanced his regal bearing, making him look every inch the Earl.

Lady Clara noticed her slight preoccupation, and following her gaze, said, “Oh, I see you’ve spotted my grandson. He is a handsome lad, although I suppose I am biased. Would you like to be introduced?” she asked, a sly smile on her face.

“Oh. No.” Sarah said, a little too emphatically. “That’s okay.” Too late . . . he walked toward her. It seemed that every head in the room turned to watch him, and consequently, Sarah. For the second time this evening, she wished a hole would open up and swallow her.

As he sauntered in her direction, she couldn’t help but admire the way he moved, with the easy grace of an athlete. His well-tailored clothes fit his powerful frame as if made for him. And most likely they were.

“Some escort you are. You’ve left me to fend for myself all evening,” Lady Clara chided her grandson.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Yes, Grandmother, but if anyone can fend for herself, it would be you.” He smiled down into his grandmother’s beaming face. “You’d have Henry VIII himself wrapped around your finger in a moment.”

“You’re a good grandson.” She reached up to pat his cheek as she said it.

Sarah tensed. Would he make reference to their meeting the other night?

“May I introduce Sarah Edwards? Sarah was one of my classmates this week.” Lady Clara turned to her. “Sarah, this is my grandson, Alexander Fraser, the Ninth Earl of Rutherford.”

“How do you do?” He took her hand, never taking his eyes off her face.

Sarah smiled tentatively.

He couldn’t resist. “You look familiar.” Her hand tensed in his. “But then again, if I had met you, I’d have remembered eyes as lovely as yours.” Her hand relaxed a little, but there was a spark of fire in those green eyes.

She pulled her hand from his, with the memory of their warmth uppermost in her mind. Was he being considerate, she wondered, or worse, did he actually not remember meeting her?

Lady Clara’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she looked between the two of them. “Ah, there’s Mrs. Talbot. I must have a word with her. Will you excuse me?” She strode off before either of them could object.

“So, we meet again,” Alex whispered conspiratorially.

His breath tickled Sarah’s face, suffusing her cheeks with warmth, and raising another blush.

“I thought—”

“I know, you wondered if I’d actually forgotten you.” He took her now-empty wineglass which she turned nervously in her hands and placed it on the table behind her. “The answer to that is of course no. But my grandmother told me of your visit to Rutherford, and I gathered from that conversation that you did not reveal our previous meeting.” He tilted his head. “I wondered why that was.”

With nothing left to fidget with, she folded her hands in front of her. “Because I didn’t want to tell your grandmother what a liar you are.”

“A liar?” He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You told me you were an actor.”

“No, you asked me if I was an actor.”

“So that makes lying about it all right? Did you lie about accidentally bumping into me, too?” Her ire was up. How dare he play semantics with her, as if that excused his dishonesty.

“No. I can assure you the collision was accidental. If I’d set my sights on meeting you, I wouldn’t have resorted to dousing you with beer. I would simply have introduced myself.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a slight grin. “As to the bit about being a liar, I can assure that I am not. I am an actor.” He turned to indicate Lady Clara’s approach. “You can ask my grandmother if you wish.”

“Ask me what?” Lady Clara asked as she rejoined them.

“Sarah expressed an interest in my acting.” Alex said, eyebrow arched in Sarah’s direction.

“Ah, his acting.” Lady Clara waved her hand as if the subject were a disagreeable fly she was shooing away.

“Grandmother doesn’t approve.” He observed Sarah’s chagrinned expression and the pretty blush that accompanied it. He must remember to make her blush regularly and often.

“It isn’t that I don’t approve of acting. I think it a noble profession. Look at Sir Laurence Olivier and Dame Judi Dench. I just disapprove of my grandson, the Earl, acting.”

Lady Clara turned to Sarah. “That isn’t to say he’s not good. I think him quite good. But you can judge for yourself. When you return to the States, you should get the BBC videos and watch them at your leisure. I’m sure they are available on DVD.”

Taking a sip of his wine, Alex asked, “When do you return to the States . . . which state, by the way?”

“I return to Florida the end of next week.” She found herself wishing again for a wine glass, something to hold so she knew what to do with her hands.

“How will you be spending the remainder of your holiday now that your classes are over?” he asked with great interest.

Before she could answer, Lady Clara interjected, “She is planning to tour Oxfordshire and the Cotswolds–all alone.”

Sarah blushed again; nothing obvious about that response.

“Did you hire a car?” he inquired, again enjoying the pink in her cheeks.

“No, I took the train from London.”

“How did you plan to tour the countryside and take advantage of all it offers without a car?”

“I planned on one of the touring companies.”

“That’s no way to see the Cotswolds,” he said, shaking his head in mock horror. “If I’m not being too presumptuous, may I offer my services as a tour guide for the week?” he replied. “After all, we are no longer strangers,” he added with a subtle grin.

Before Sarah could respond, Lady Clara declared, “Oh, I’m sure she would enjoy your company! Wouldn’t you, my dear?”

“Um, thank you. Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.” Sarah looked down trying to hide her embarrassment over Lady Clara’s transparent matchmaking.

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied warmly. “Where are you lodging after tonight?”

“The Old Parsonage on Banbury Road.”

“Ah, yes. Very nice hotel. May I call you there tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes. Or you could call my cell phone, or my mobile as you call it, in case I’m not in my room.”

“Even better.”

After providing him with her cell phone number, Sarah realized that the room was nearly empty, except for the staff who clearly hoped they would leave so they could clean up. Apparently they’d overstayed their welcome. Although she was now reluctant to leave, she indicated that perhaps the evening was at an end.

As they walked out of the Buttery, Alex offered to walk Sarah back to her dorm.

Wow! Talk about a flashback to college. She felt like she was nineteen again, and Dan Acosta had asked her the same thing. With one glaring difference: Dan had not been an Earl.

When she said good night to Lady Clara, the Countess grinned broadly. “My dear, I will be in touch in a day or two regarding our planned lunch date.”

They’d already planned to meet for lunch while Sarah remained in Oxford, but now she clearly had another motive for their lunch date. Lady Clara was worse than a teenager, but that’s what Sarah loved about her.

Alex and Sarah descended the stairs and stepped out into the cool evening. She wrapped her pashmina tighter around her shoulders, prompting Alex to offer his jacket.

“No, thank you,” she replied. “It was just the sudden difference in temperature. I’m fine.” She realized that it had been rather warm in the Buttery. Or perhaps the warmth was in response to Alex.

It was a beautiful night. The stars were visible, the air perfumed and gentle. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the night air, thinking how it was vastly different from the climate in Florida this time of year, where you had to wring out the air in order to take a deep breath.

“Where is your dorm?”

Alex’s voice gently pulled Sarah back from her thoughts. “Not far. I’m in Meadow five.”

They turned and walked slowly in that direction. The resonant tolling of Great Tom punctuated the quiet. The seven ton bell housed in Tom Tower rang one-hundred-one times each night at five-after-nine in honor of the original scholars of Christ Church College.

“What am I to call you? Lord Rutherford?” A little embarrassed by her question, she half expected him to laugh.

“You may call me Your Lordship,” he returned in his haughtiest voice, his tone dead serious.

Sarah turned to him appalled, eyes flashing.

“I’m only teasing.”

He chuckled, a warm, melodic laugh that went straight to her head like a shot of whiskey, making her woozy.

“Please call me Alex.”

“Oh.” Astonishment turned to embarrassment once more. She seemed destined to make herself look foolish in front of him. “Alex, I owe you an apology for calling you a liar and assuming the worst.”

“Apology accepted.”

They walked very slowly, meandering through the vaulted corridors, taking the long way to the Meadow Building.

“But why did you focus only on your acting?”

“I’d rather be known for something I’ve worked to accomplish, rather than a fate of birth. Besides, if I’d told you I was an Earl, would you have believed me?” he asked, his expression dubious.

Sarah laughed good-naturedly. “I suppose not.” A breath or two later, she asked, “Do you think that means I have deep-seated trust issues that have only now come to light?”

He laughed, deep and rich. “Perhaps it means you have a healthy mistrust of strangers in pubs who bump into you, clumsily sloshing beer on you, before asking you out on a date.”

“I’ve seen that technique work before.”

“Have you?”

“Not on myself of course,” she said rather primly, although with a slight smile, “but certainly on other women. It even has a name: the Bump and Spill. It’s patented.”

“Hmmm. And I thought I’d invented it. Just goes to show there’s nothing new under the sun.”

The gravel crunched under their feet, signaling their arrival at her dormitory courtyard.

“How—”

“When—”

They both spoke at the same time.

“Go ahead—” Sarah said, a little flustered.

“Ladies first.”

“I saw you speaking with Trevor Byrne, my tutor, how do you know him?”

A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “Trevor and I shared a dorm in Peckwater Seven, where I believe your class meets.”

So, he was a Christ Church man. Not surprising.

“You were going to ask a question . . .”

“Did you find your experience worthwhile?”

“Oh, yes. I’d like to return next year, but, of course, my job and economics will dictate that.”

There was another pause in the conversation.

“When did you arrive? Did you spend time elsewhere before your classes started?”

“No. I arrived early to spend a day in London, but that was all.”

They’d arrived at the entrance to her dorm. “Here we are,” she said inanely as she turned to face him, her hands clasped nervously behind her back.

“Yes, well, goodnight.” He hesitated, as if unsure what to do next. He leaned forward, as if to kiss her, but then stepped back. “I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

She watched as he turned and wandered slowly in the direction of Tom Quad, hands tucked casually in his pockets.

She sighed, punched in her door code, and slowly climbed the five flights of stairs to her room.

Well, that was certainly an interesting evening. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Alex Fraser, Lord Rutherford, not to mention Lady Clara’s overt matchmaking. But one thing was for sure, the week ahead was definitely looking up. She pulled out the week’s carefully planned itinerary and balled it up, tossing it into the wastebasket.

That simple act was rather liberating.