The Promise of Change

by Rebecca Heflin

  “Lemonade, dear?” Lady Clara asked, as she poured a glass.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Lady Clara couldn’t help but notice that Alex kept watching the door. She hid her smile as she poured another glass.

  “It is a shame that she is leaving on Sunday,” Lady Clara nudged.

  “Yes. I wanted to speak with you about that. Do you, that is, would you mind if I asked Sarah to stay a little longer . . . here . . . at Rutherford.”

  If she wasn’t so old, she’d have danced a jig. “Oh, I think that is a lovely idea. She could have the Rose Room,” she continued. Conveniently located across the hall from Alex’s room, she thought smugly.

  Lady Clara still beamed when Sarah returned. “Here you are my dear, a lovely glass of lemonade.”

  Gratefully, Sarah took the glass as Martha came to announce dinner. Sarah hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and she was unsure whether to bring the drink with her, or leave it.

  “Come, my dear. Bring the lemonade with you.”

  Thank God. She controlled the urge to guzzle the icy drink in a very unladylike manner. Alex wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her to the family dining room.

  Dinner was a lovely affair. Sarah enjoyed watching Alex and Lady Clara interact. It was easy to see the love and affection they had for one another.

  Lady Clara, in turn, enjoyed watching the interactions between Sarah and Alex. The little gestures of affection, the dreamy looks exchanged over sips of wine.

  Alex was not immune to observations of his own. Sarah and his grandmother laughed over some Oxford anecdote, and he was reminded of his own mother’s interactions with his grandmother. The two women genuinely enjoyed one another’s company. He hoped his mother would feel the same when she met Sarah.

  “Oh, my dear, I never will forget how beautiful you looked at the final dinner,” Lady Clara gushed.

  Alex smiled at the praise. “You should have seen her Wednesday evening. She put heaven’s stars to shame.”

  Sarah blushed at the profusion of compliments.

  “Grandmother! Where are you?”

  “Heavens! You’d think these boys were never taught any manners. In here, Robert.”

  “Robert? What the hell is he doing here?” Alex’s face grew thunderous.

  “Now, now,” Lady Clara placated.

  Robert? Alex’s brother was here? Sarah’s blush turned into a blanche. Her mouthful of food went down like a rock.

  The man Sarah had seen on television just this morning entered the room. He paused when he saw her, then nodded his head before grazing his grandmother’s cheek and stalking past her to stand beside Alex’s chair, where he threw a pile of tabloids onto the dining table with a thwack, making Sarah flinch and the dishes clatter.

  “Hello, Robert. So good to see you again.” Alex’s voice was sarcastic as he raised an eyebrow at his brother.

  Robert didn’t bother with a greeting. “This,” he said pointing his finger at the papers on the table, “this is exactly what I was afraid of. This,” he stated, pointing again at the papers for emphasis, “is my worst nightmare!”

  Sarah’s first impression was correct. Robert definitely had a taste for the melodramatic.

  Alex started to brush the papers aside when the photo caught his attention. Picking up the paper, the thunderclouds returned. He shifted his eyes to Sarah, and then back to the paper he held. His mouth flattened out into a frown.

  “Your worst nightmare, what about Sarah?” he said, indicating her presence.

  Sarah? What did this have to do with me? she wondered.

  Robert didn’t even bother to look in her direction. “Sarah isn’t running for parliament on a conservative ticket. Supermodels, actresses . . . that singer, your playboy lifestyle is going to crush me,” he growled.

  Dramatic flair or not, she winced at the bitterness in his voice. Still confused over what this had to do with her, she reached for the paper Alex discarded.

  Something about the grainy photo looked familiar. She continued staring at it until it dawned on her with sickening clarity. She and Alex lying beneath an oak tree in an intimate embrace she remembered only too well. The caption read, ‘Port Meadow Picnic.’ She didn’t bother to read the story below the fold that accompanied the photo.

  Her hand flew to her throat as her face grew ashen.

  “My dear.” Lady Clara laid a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, are you okay?”

  Sarah’s ears buzzed, the room grew dim, as everyone around her seemed to recede into the background. Memories of the knowing looks and snide public comments about Adrian’s affair and their divorce flooded her brain. Reminded of the article about Adrian earlier in the week, Sarah also recalled her fears of rushing into a relationship with Alex. A relationship which could plainly have another very public end.

  Alex was remarkably calm as he rose from his seat, glancing at Sarah with concern. “Robert, do you ever think of anyone besides yourself?”

  “I’m supposed to sit back and watch my political aspirations go down the toilet just so you can cop off with this woman?”

  Sarah snapped back to the present. She didn’t need a translation to understand the insult. Everything happened so fast after that.

  Alex drew back his fist and punched his brother in the stomach.

  Sarah gasped as Robert doubled over with a strangled groan.

  “That was for insulting Sarah,” Alex ground out before dealing an uppercut to Robert’s chin, opening a gash that started bleeding almost immediately. “That was for the rugby match.”

  Robert brought his hand up to his chin to staunch the blood. “You bloody-well better be prepared to fight. Let’s take this outside.”

  Sarah was so shocked she couldn’t even articulate a plea for Lady Clara to do something. No need, because Lady Clara was already intervening.

  “Boys! Enough. Will you have Sarah thinking I have two hooligans for grandsons?” She stood between them like a referee at a boxing match telling the opponents to go to their respective corners.

  “Robert, go wash up that cut and bandage it. Alex, I’m sure your hand could use some ice.” He winced when she mentioned his hand. “Now,” she urged when they continued to face off at one another. She followed Robert out of the room.

  Sarah shook with anger, fear, and the fight or flight response caused by the altercation. She’d never seen Alex so angry, so . . . violent. She heard ice rattling in the ice bucket as Alex put some in his napkin to wrap around his hand. The sound broke through her inertia.

  “Alex, is it broken?” she whispered, anxious, but afraid to touch his hand for fear it might cause him more pain.

  “I doubt it. It’s not the first time I’ve clouted my brother, Sarah, and it probably won’t be the last . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “But why did you do that?” she asked, incredulous.

  “He insulted you. Do you think I would let him get away with that?” He frowned at her, his brows knitted together. “And the rugby retribution was long in coming,” he muttered almost to himself.

  “But you could have . . . I don’t know . . . cursed at him or something . . .”

  He raised his uninjured hand to her cheek. “Sarah, it’s how we settle things.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry, later we’ll reconcile over a pint.”

  This was a side of Alex she’d yet to see, nor ever had imagined existed. Oddly, she rather liked that he stood up for her. Not being a violent person herself, this was an unexpected side of her as well. But the fact that it was his brother, and that she had been the impetus for such behavior was mortifying to her.

  Her eyes cut back to the tabloid lying on the table, a concern creasing her brow.

  “Are you okay?” Alex asked, as he pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her. “I’m sorry about the photo. I thought I’d out-smarted the guy, but apparently he has made it his personal mission to invade my privacy.”

  Sarah pulled back. “You knew about this? You knew we
were being . . . stalked by this photographer, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you, and I thought I’d evaded him.” Alex reached for her again, but she stepped back.

  “You really should have warned me, Alex. Don’t you think I had a right to know that a consequence of dating you might be to find myself in the . . . spotlight?” She picked up the tabloid again and flipping it over saw the headline “The Other Woman?”

  He grimaced at the expression on her face.

  “The other woman? Me? Am I the other woman?” Her voice rose with her hysteria. Her throat tightened and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

  If Alex was dating someone, or worse engaged . . . she felt sick. However unwitting her role as the other woman might have been, the thought of it filled her with revulsion. But no, his grandmother never would have stood by and let him . . . unless she doesn’t know.

  “No! Of course not.” Alex raked his good hand through his hair. “Listen . . . Sarah . . . you can’t believe everything you read.”

  “Then why don’t you enlighten me?” she asked, as she swiped angrily at a tear.

  Alex sat with a sigh. “I had been dating the Prime Minister’s daughter. The tabloids practically had the wedding planned.” At her horrified expression, he raised his hands, entreating her to wait. “We never had any intention of getting married, and we ended the relationship amicably.”

  Alex stood to pace the length of the room. “But that doesn’t sell papers, so they create stories out of whole cloth, with absolutely no basis in fact.” He stopped in front of Sarah, and tossing the makeshift ice pack on the table, placed his hands on her shoulders. “Sarah, you are not the other woman. You are the only woman. And I am so sorry that you’ve been thrust into the ruthless public eye.”

  This brought a fresh round of tears. In front of her stood a contrite, and no doubt sincere, man. A gentleman, who personified all her romantic notions, however silly those notions might be. But she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t live her life wondering if some tabloid photographer was snapping her photo at some inopportune moment.

  More importantly, she couldn’t bear to see her relationship with Alex reduced to a tasty tabloid tidbit.

  “Is this what your life is like?” she whispered.

  “Yes. I’m afraid it is. For now. You might not like it, but you learn to live with it.” He gave her a half smile and a slight lift of his shoulder.

  Sarah closed her eyes. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, despondent.

  Chapter 19

  The wheels of the jet touched down on the runway, startling Sarah. She didn’t even remember the flight attendant announcing their initial approach into Jacksonville. This had been the longest flight she’d ever experienced, and the eight and a half hour flight-time and five hour time difference had nothing to do with it.

  After spending the last day and a half crying, vacillating between anger, shame, heartbreak and remorse, she was emotionally and physically drained.

  Angry at herself for getting into this situation. Ashamed that she’d slept with a man with whom she should have known an ongoing relationship was nearly impossible, the tabloid photo broadcasting her indiscretion to the world like some sort of sick joke.

  Heartbroken, with only herself to blame this time. But mostly she was remorseful for having hurt Alex the way she did, and it was clear from the look on his face that she had hurt him. Let him down.

  The drive back to the inn had been the most awkward experience of her life. Thinking the tabloids might be camped out at the inn, Alex convinced Robert to drive her to Trevor’s, who would then take her to the inn via a back way. As it turned out, it appeared to be all quiet on that front.

  Surprisingly, Robert had apologized to Sarah for his crude remark, and even tried to console her in his stiff-upper lip manner. Under any other circumstances, she might have found his feeble attempts endearing, but she couldn’t get past the pain. Her heart was in tatters. Again.

  The loss of Alex was only half of it.

  Lady Clara’s goodbye had almost been more difficult than Alex’s. She’d been tender and yet subdued, trying to convince Sarah to stay at Rutherford, but Sarah refused. Postponing the inevitable would only make it worse. And it was inevitable. She saw no other alternative. She was not cut out for life center stage.

  Alex had argued and cajoled, ranted and pleaded, finally giving in with the resignation of a patient who’s been given bad news, his face wearing the same sad, shocked expression as that same unfortunate patient.

  But it was the memory of their last kiss that would never leave her. Filled with yearning, anger, sadness, regret, and loss. Whose emotions were whose, she couldn’t say.

  Her eyes welled up. She had to stop thinking about it. It was going to be hard enough to convince Ann and Becca that her red swollen eyes and lack of enthusiasm were from jetlag.

  They waited for her at the end of the concourse with broad smiles on their faces. Ann bounced up and down like an eager child. This at least brought a tremulous smile to her face. As soon as she cleared the security barrier, Ann ran over and gave her a big hug and kiss. Becca followed more sedately, but hugged her with just as much affection.

  “So, how was your trip? Did you have a great time? Did you take lots of pictures? Did you meet interesting people?” Ann’s continuous stream of questions didn’t allow for a response.

  “Ann, give her a minute to answer . . .” Becca chided.

  “Oh, sorry. I just can’t wait to hear.”

  Sarah had missed them both: Ann’s bubbly personality and her sweet, Southern accent; Becca’s sound advice and steadying influence. But she wasn’t ready to talk about the trip. Maybe if she stuck with safe subjects, like the university, the students, and the classes . . .

  “You both were right. Oxford University was a wonderful experience. I met smart, engaging people, and immersed myself in Jane Austen.” That should be safe enough. As they walked to baggage claim, she proceeded to tell them a little about the campus, her dorm room, and her classmates.

  They stepped out into the oppressive heat of a Florida summer, the weight of the atmosphere as overbearing as her misery. Sarah hoped if she stuck to her friendship with Lady Clara, an only slightly less painful topic, she would have a wealth of anecdotes that would keep them entertained for the duration of the drive home.

  Ann was very impressed that Sarah could count a “real-live Earl’s daughter” among her friends. Sarah didn’t bother to clarify that Lady Clara was a Countess in her own right. Ann proved an unwitting ally in prolonging Sarah’s tales of Lady Clara by asking lots of questions about her house, whether she’s met the Queen, and how the whole English title system worked.

  “Did you have to curtsy in her presence?” Ann asked in awe.

  “No.” Sarah couldn’t refrain from laughing. “She’s not royalty.”

  “Well, I didn’t know.” Ann said with chagrin. “I probably would have curtseyed . . .”

  “And Lady Clara would no doubt have been charmed,” Sarah said, reaching into the backseat to squeeze her hand.

  Ann and Becca helped her get the luggage in the house.

  “The mail is on your desk. You’ll also be happy to see that your plants survived in your absence,” Ann said, indicating the still-healthy plants in her study, “and that the backyard birds didn’t starve.”

  “Thanks Ann. I really appreciate it. Which reminds me, I have gifts for you both, but they’re buried in my luggage somewhere . . .”

  “You’re such a giver. That’s why we like giving to you in return,” Ann said, with feeling.

  Before Ann could return to her interrogation about the trip, Becca said, “You must be exhausted. We’ll let you get unpacked. Get some rest,” she finished, giving Sarah another hug. Ann followed suit, leaving her alone with her broken heart.

  Sarah looked around her house. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it. Tomorrow was Monday. Her telephone interview wi
th Harper Legal Consultants was at two, giving her less than a day to rest and catch up on things, before circling back to the more pressing matter of her unemployment.

  Last week had been a wonderful fantasy . . . well, up until Friday night . . . but it was time to close that door and come back down to reality. Return to being sensible Sarah. She’d get a job, put her nonsensical past behavior behind her, bury her ridiculous dreams for the future, and get over Alex. In that order.

  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.