The Promise of Change (15 page)

“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.

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 with 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.

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.

“Let’s go to the new outdoor shopping center. It’s supposed to be enormous.”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

Both she and Becca had been poking and prodding her into various social activities. After finally breaking down and telling them about Alex, they’d been especially solicitous, but also extremely meddlesome.

They were hurt at first that she hadn’t fully disclosed all the details of her vacation. Then they couldn’t understand why she refused to contact him again; get over her fear of public scrutiny, and apologize for leaving him. Wasn’t he worth overcoming her trifling social anxiety disorder?

She finally had to put her foot down and threaten that if they didn’t stop nagging her, she would stop talking to them altogether. And it wasn’t social anxiety disorder. It was simply an aversion to public attention.

Ann rambled on about the kids and Rob. Even though she felt guilty about it, Sarah only listened with half an ear. Suddenly, there it was: Alex’s movie,
Jude the Obscure.
Sarah’s heart skipped a beat and her eyes welled with tears.

“Sarah . . . Sarah . . . are you there?” Ann’s insistent voice yanked her back to the present, reminding her that she was still on the phone.

“Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” Sarah hung up before Ann could answer.

Was
Mansfield Park
also in the catalog, she wondered? She flipped quickly through the pages. After turning a few more pages, she found it. His handsome face graced the cover of the DVD. He was attired in Regency garb, facing the actress who she assumed played Fanny Price, his arm around her waist. She felt an irrational stab of jealousy for the actress. She flipped a few more pages.
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
was also in the catalog.

She hadn’t forgotten that his movies were likely available, but some vestiges of self-preservation had prevented her from tracking them down. Now, out of the blue, here were all three.

On a whim, she went to her computer and ordered them, paying the excessive cost for two-day shipping, so she would have them by the weekend. So much for self-preservation.

Lying on the couch, still in her pajamas yet having never gone to bed, Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes. She’d just finished watching
Jude the Obscure
. . .
for the second time
.

Seeing Alex in the romantic period costumes was agony, hearing his beautiful voice, the flowing lines spoken in his clipped accent, torture. Yet, she couldn’t help herself. She’d already watched the other two movies twice each.

Her doorbell rang. Reluctantly, she went to see who it could be. Ann. She groaned. She’d completely forgotten about their shopping date. Shame-faced, Sarah opened the door.

Before Sarah could apologize, Ann blurted, “Why aren’t you dressed? Are you sick? What’s the matter?”

She held the door wide for Ann to come in. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot . . .”

“You look like something the cat dragged in,” she said without mixing her metaphors for once. “And you’ve been crying.”

She plopped down on the sofa, pulling Sarah down with her. That’s when she saw the DVDs on the coffee table.

“Is this him?” she said picking up the cover for
Mansfield Park
and examining it. “Oh my. He is gorgeous! I’m sorry, that slipped. Isn’t it unusual for an Earl to have a . . . profession? I mean, shouldn’t he be, I don’t know, managing his Earldom?”

“Flogging his serfs, conspiring to usurp the crown, locking virgins in the tower?” Sarah shook her head. “You’ve been reading too many bodice-rippers.”

Ann swatted at her. “No but, it just seems weird that he would be an actor.”

“Many titled men and women have professions outside their estates, from publishers and journalists, to broadcasters and artists.” Sarah sniffled. “Oh, Ann. I miss him so much.”

“Honey, why are you doing this to yourself?” She took Sarah’s hand in hers. “I’ve already told you I think you should call him, but if you’re standing by your stubborn refusal, why are you torturing yourself this way?”

“I don’t know.” Sarah looked down and a crystal teardrop fell on their hands. “Maybe I just need to get him out of my system, and this is the final cleansing self-flagellation.”

“Ah. Come here.” She gave Sarah a big hug. “My Aunt Bertie always said, ‘When life throws you a curve ball, make lemonade.’ I’m still not sure what that means, but it seems appropriate.”

Sarah laughed out loud. It felt good. “Thanks.”

“What are best friends for, if not to make each other laugh?”