The Promise of Change

by Rebecca Heflin

  The tree beneath which they sat was perched on a small hill above Blenheim’s extensive parkland, the River Glyme visible as it wound its way through the magnificent lawns, like a silver ribbon, sunlight glinting off the water. A warbler of some sort serenaded from the branches above.

  “‘I shall soon be rested. To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.’”

  “Well said, Fanny Price,” he said, his hands gently kneading her feet. “How many does that make today?”

  “I do believe that was the first, but I thought you might appreciate that particular quote, Edmund,” she replied, waiting for a response, but none came. “At least I have no Mary Crawford to distract your attention,” she teased, although something clearly distracted him.

  “Yes.” He had something infinitely more appealing to distract him, the sight and feel of her beautiful, shapely legs and silky skin. The soft moans of pleasure when he found a particularly sensitive spot and worked the tension from it.

  He massaged her feet for a few more minutes, admiring the gold toe ring on her right foot, before his hands advanced to her ankles and then her calves. Lovely, lovely, Sarah. So fit, so trim, so sexy.

  Her eyes flew open, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking intently at his hands on her bare calves.

  “Were you an athlete in school?” he asked.

  Odd question. “Yes, why?” she asked, curious, and not a little excited. His hands caressing her calves made it difficult to carry on a casual conversation.

  “Because you have an athlete’s legs . . . beautifully-muscled.” He still frankly appraised her legs.

  She gulped, blushing profusely. She sat up and removed her legs from his lap. “Thanks for the massage. My feet feel much better.” She slipped her shoes back on, and sat with her knees drawn up under her chin. So much for keeping him at arm’s length.

  Her erratic heartbeat subsided now that his hands no longer stroked her legs, leaving disappointment in its wake.

  He stood, holding out his hand to help her up. “We’d better go. I have to catch the train to London.”

  “Oh. Right.” She’d almost forgotten that he was leaving tonight.

  He obeyed the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Soft and tender, his lips found hers. She tasted of warm sunshine, smelled of sweet jasmine. He could get drunk off both.

  Taken by surprise, she nevertheless melted against him on a sigh. Raising her arms, she draped them around his shoulders, her fingers caressing his neck.

  He shivered when her fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck. Her soft moans nearly brought him to his knees. He pulled back, looked into her face, her eyes closed, expression all dreamy. “Sarah. Sarah?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.” He gave her a gentle shake.

  She reluctantly opened her eyes, a sexy smile flirting with the corners of her mouth. “Sorry, I momentarily lost all higher brain function.”

  Chuckling to cover his own similar reaction, he draped his arm around her shoulder and started down the hill. They walked in silence for a pace, each trying to recover the power of cognition.

  “What sport?” he asked, once the blood returned to his brain.

  “I’m sorry . . .”

  “What sport did you play in school?”

  “I crewed in high school and college.”

  His brows shot up in surprise. He’d expected gymnastics, or cheerleading. Something a little more . . . girly he supposed.

  “What about you, did you participate in a sport?”

  “My brother and I played rugby.”

  “Tough sport . . . I mean, I don’t know that much about it, but from what I’ve seen it looks more dangerous than American football.”

  “Yes. That’s how I got this scar,” he said, pointing to a small scar underneath his chin. “One of these days he’ll pay for it.” He wasn’t joking.

  “Your brother did that?” she asked in surprise.

  “We’re very competitive.” There was a slight edge to his voice.

  They drove back to Oxford in a subdued atmosphere.

  She wasn’t looking forward to the lonely evening ahead.

  He wasn’t looking forward to the family meeting.

  A short time later, Alex walked Sarah into the inn’s lobby. “I’m sorry I’m leaving you to dine alone. I had intended to have an early dinner with you, but we tarried at Blenheim longer than I expected—not that I minded.” He smiled, but the light never reached his eyes. “It was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon.”

  “Thank you for such a lovely day.” She hesitated, not sure what she should do. Talk about mixed messages, first he tells her not to read anything into the relationship, then he kisses her to the point of disorientation.

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Instead, he took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  Pulling back so that his face remained just inches from hers, he said, “The pleasure was all mine. Tomorrow at five.” He kissed her once again before he turned and walked away.

  Chapter 14

  “You’re late.”

  “My apologies, Grandmother, but I had a late meeting in London.” Robert Fraser bussed his grandmother’s cheek before taking a seat at the table in a small parlor reserved for intimate family meals. He shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap, while the footman filled his wineglass. “Some of us do have schedules to keep.”

  Alex ignored his brother’s dig. “Good evening to you, too, Robert. So good to see you.” Alex’s mouth turned up into a sardonic smile.

  “Boys, do try to behave, at least through dinner,” Lady Clara admonished.

  “Have you seen the latest tabloid articles? Here, let me oblige you.” Robert rose from his seat and walked to his briefcase, pulling out a newspaper, before sticking it beneath Alex’s nose.

  “I try not to read those rags. I suggest you do the same. They really are a waste of your money.” Taking the paper, Alex tossed it on the table.

  “My secretary feels an overwhelming need to keep me informed,” Robert said, taking a bite of his fish.

  “You should be happy. My relationship with Clarice is over. No more potential for tainting the Sutherland bloodlines with a Lib-Dem.”

  His brief relationship with the Prime Minister’s daughter had ended, much to his brother’s relief. Of course, if her father had been from the right side of the aisle, quite literally, Robert would likely have encouraged the relationship. The rags were having a heyday with the story of their ‘break-up,’ prompting Alex to take an unplanned holiday in Oxford.

  The morning he and Sarah went to Stonehenge, he’d told her he’d run into an old friend, but actually, he’d run away from a tabloid reporter. Although the relationship had ended amicably, that didn’t prevent the tabloids from making up all manner of stories about their ‘tumultuous relationship.’

  “What would make me happy is for you and your . . . girlfriends to stay out of the tabloids.”

  “Do you think I go around waving my arms at tabloid photographers and reporters saying ‘please, write more rubbish about my life?’”

  “Of course not. But your career choice and your penchant for high-profile women make you a favorite target.”

  “Yes, Robert. You’d be much happier if I buried myself here on Rutherford and came out only for occasions of state.”

  “Don’t be obtuse. Grandmother, may we take Brandy in the study?”

  Lady Clara looked between her grandsons, “Whatever you like.”

  “Yes, by all means, let’s get this family meeting underway. I have to be in London tonight for an early call tomorrow morning.”

  “Your tailor?” Robert asked snidely.

  “No, your advisors. They’re trying to determine how to make you more agreeable to voters.”

  “Funny.”

  The insults continued until they were settled in the study.

  “W
ell, Robert. You called this meeting. Let’s have it.” Alex stood in front of the window overlooking his grandfather’s rose garden, his back to the room, a frown playing across his features.

  After their father died, Alex and his mother had protected Robert. Sometimes to a fault. Alex tried to assume the role of father, but a lenient one. Robert had taken the death of their father especially hard, and bitterness in one so young was especially painful to observe.

  When Robert took an interest in estate matters, Alex was only too happy to oblige. For one thing, it made Robert happy in a way he seldom was, and for another, it gave Alex time to pursue his own interests.

  After Robert read for the law and took a position as a barrister in London, Alex had to assume the reins again, choosing to hire a manager to handle the day-to-day tasks of estate management.

  Over the years, Robert had come to resent Alex’s hands-off approach. His brother felt he neglected his duties as Earl to pursue an acting career, which in his eyes was synonymous with playboy. It didn’t matter that the estate and all its interests were meeting, and in some cases, exceeding expectations. From vineyards to media companies, from shipping to publishing, the diverse portfolio greatly reduced the risk and provided a steady income to the estate.

  “I’m planning to run for Prime Minister.”

  Ah. There it was. The true reason for Robert’s disapproval of Alex’s life. His political ambitions.

  Proud of her grandson, Lady Clara rose and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “That’s wonderful. Your father would be so proud.” But Alex knew her enthusiasm was tempered by the additional animosity she realized this course of action would inevitably cause between the brothers.

  “And?” Alex turned to Robert.

  “And, what?”

  “We’ve known this was coming. This announcement is no great revelation. There must be more.” Alex poured himself another two fingers of Brandy, before tossing it back.

  Damn, he thought, he wanted to be proud of his brother. He wanted to clap him on the back and congratulate him. Drink to his brother’s success instead of to steady his own temper. If Robert wasn’t so damned sanctimonious.

  “Your career is a detriment to mine. I’d like to ask you again to reconsider. Take up full-time residence once more at Rutherford as the Earl.” Robert took a deep breath, and dragging his fingers through his hair, faced his bother. “And if not, I’m asking you to relinquish the title. To me.”

  Alex heard his grandmother’s sharp intake of breath.

  Before Alex could respond, Robert continued. “It would greatly help my chances, and you’ve never wanted it . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “I am the Earl of Rutherford!” Alex’s booming actor’s voice resonated in the wood-paneled room.

  “Then start behaving like it!”

  “Fine. I’ll begin by asking you to leave. Now.” His voice subdued, he turned back to the window.

  “You don’t mean that—”

  “Yes. I do. Please leave.”

  Lady Clara rose and quietly asked Robert to leave. She would call him later. “It is for the best,” she told him.

  Alex waited a beat or two, until certain Robert had left. “Do you have concerns about the financial stability of the estate?” He didn’t turn to look at his grandmother.

  “No.” Lady Clara walked up behind Alex and reached up to put her hands on his taut shoulders. “But Robert is right,” she said quietly. At Alex’s sharp look, she clarified, “Not about relinquishing your title. I will speak with him about that.”

  “But you do have a duty to your family and to your title. Stop all this nonsense and direct your inimitable skills to sustaining our heritage . . . your heritage.”

  Alex turned to look at his grandmother, his face grim. “Grandmother, you of all people should know the importance of following your dreams.”

  “You’re right. I followed my dreams and married the love of my life, but I also did my duty and saved this estate from going to the highest bidder.”

  She sighed. “I’m not going to tell you who you can marry, but find an agreeable woman, and if you’re madly in love with her, so much the better. Settle down.” A mischievous smile smoothed her knitted brow. “Sarah Edwards would make a lovely countess.”

  “Grandmother,” Alex said, frowning.

  “I like her. She’s got pluck. But she’s also attractive, bright, and personable.”

  As if he needed to be reminded of her best qualities. He was all too aware of her superlatives, and many more than his grandmother enumerated. But he didn’t see how it would work. Why would she abandon her life in the U.S. only to be placed under a microscope by the British tabloids?

  As if reading his mind, Lady Clara said, “Listen to me, my boy. You may be the Earl of Rutherford, but don’t think I won’t take you down a notch or two if you hurt her.” She patted his cheek just as she’d done when he was a child. “If you have no serious intentions towards her, then let her down easy, stop seeing her, and move on to your next flighty conquest.”

  “Clarice was not flighty.” She was quite smart, in fact.

  “No, but she doesn’t have the best reputation, either.”

  That part was true enough.

  “I know you mean well, but stay out of my love life.” He kissed her cheek before leaving.

  Watching her grandson leave, Lady Clara sincerely hoped that her matchmaking scheme didn’t end with Sarah’s broken heart.

  Sarah woke at first light. Again. She rolled onto her side and grabbed the pillow, hugging it to her. There were times . . . like now, when she was on vacation that she wished she could sleep in.

  She sighed, closing her eyes and hoping sleep would overtake her. After lying there a half hour, she finally got up. Her disobedient mind would not settle down, especially where Alex was concerned.

  Generally, she was happy in solitary pursuits, but last night and this morning she found herself anxious for his company. The thought of spending her day without him was daunting.

  Luckily she had lunch with Lady Clara to look forward to.

  After breakfast, she sent a text message to Ann and Becca to tell them she was enjoying herself, an understatement, and that she missed them, also an understatement. She, Ann, and Becca, saw one another at least weekly, and spoke almost daily. It was strange to only communicate by abbreviated text messages all this time.

  On second thought, maybe it was better that way. She knew if she spoke to them by phone, she would never be able to keep Alex a secret.

  Since she had some time before lunch with Lady Clara, she sat down at the desk with her travel journal and the beautiful fountain pen. She’d been somewhat faithful in keeping her promise to herself, if not writing each day, at least writing about each day.

  She discovered enjoyment in the process of capturing her daily activities, recollections, thoughts, and fears.

  Some days the entries were a sort of stream-of-consciousness exercise, where she wrote as fast as the thoughts entered her head; other days the entries were a travelogue, detailing the wonderful places she’d been, the memorable meals she’d eaten, and the history of the area. In some ways, those entries resembled a travel guide. Of course, her most recent entries included her interactions with Alex. Those resembled a lovesick teenager’s diary.

  Lady Clara was already seated when she arrived at the cafe. She glanced up and smiled as Sarah approached.

  “Am I late?” Sarah asked, concerned that she’d kept her waiting.

  “No, my dear,” she replied, as she rose from her seat to take Sarah’s hands and kiss her cheek. “I arrived a little early to claim my favorite table.”

  The table was located in a quiet corner of the restaurant, with only one other table nearby. Sarah sat down across from her as the waiter hurried over with menus. He greeted Lady Clara by name.

  “Good afternoon, Richard,” she responded cheerfully.

  As soon as the waiter left, Lady Clara leaned in conspiratorially and as
ked, “How is my grandson?”

  Sarah blushed and murmured, “Fine,” looking down at her menu as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever read.

  “Come, come, my dear.” She sat back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “I can see by the blush that he is more than fine.”

  Sarah sighed in exasperation. She knew the conversation would include a probing inquisition from Lady Clara, she just didn’t expect it before they’d even placed their lunch order.

  “Okay,” she blurted out, “he’s charming, handsome, dashing, intelligent, witty . . . and a great tour guide, as you well know.” Following her outburst, she was a little embarrassed.

  Lady Clara wore a self-satisfied expression. “I knew you two would hit it off. So, tell me, what adventures have the two of you undertaken?”

  Before Sarah could respond, Richard returned to take their orders. Despite her attempts to use the menu as a subterfuge, she’d barely given it a glance, so she just ordered the same item as Lady Clara.

  She then proceeded to give Lady Clara a synopsis of her visits with Alex to Stonehenge, Lacock, Castle Combe, the Cotswolds, Blenheim, and Woodstock, carefully leaving out the parts that involved kissing, foot massages, and other romantic activities.

  “It sounds as if you two have been quite busy,” she responded innocently.

  Why did she doubt that ingenuous expression? If she didn’t know any better, she’d think Lady Clara had some clandestine report of their activities, complete with compromising photos. She blushed again.

  Lunch arrived, so they turned their attention to the meal.

  “Alex told me that your late son purchased his clothing from his grandfather’s store in Leeds.”

  “Yes. That is how my son met Alex’s mother. Every time he traveled to Leeds on business, he paid a visit to Mr. Sheffield’s shop.”

  “I think my son fell just as hard, and just as unexpectedly in love with Emma, as I did with Jonathan.” She smiled. “Most people think love at first sight is a silly, romantic myth, but I know from experience that it’s quite real.”