“If you believe I could ever love you any less because our incomes are not equal, then you never really knew me, did you, William?” she said, bold enough to speak, but not enough to turn and witness his reaction.
“I knew you,” he said at length, his voice thick.
Sarah watched her faint reflection in the glass. “You helped raise me.”
* * *
“Yes.” A wave of memory carried William back to the first time she touched his heart. It was pity he had felt that day for the waifish girl so alone on the dovecote bench. How could he have imagined that pity would metamorphose into love so overwhelming that he could no more imagine life without her than life without air and water?
And why was he allowing such a temporal thing as money to stand between them? Pride, he realized at once. The knowledge stung. Such a petty emotion! Instead of rejoicing that the person he loved most could have a comfortable life, he sulked because he was not the one to provide it for her.
Yet was it possible that she still managed to love him, foolish man that he was? Not only as a friend and brother, but as completely as he loved her?
“Sarah?”
She turned to face him.
“You . . . love me?” He had to ask to be sure, with reverence and wonder in his voice.
“I have always loved you, William,” she answered quietly.
They stared, then smiled at each other. And then the door swung open. Only it was Marie who thrust the upper part of her dressing-gown-clad body into the coach.
“Miss Rayborn . . . Mr. Doyle!” Her face was a frowning mask beneath the curling papers. “It is not proper for you to sit out here unchaperoned like this. Why, you are not even engaged!”
William covered Sarah’s left hand upon the seat beside him. “If you’ll give us but three minutes, Marie, I’ll try to remedy that situation.”
The maid looked at Sarah, who nodded.
“Very well,” Marie huffed, though with unmistakably less ire. “And you may have five minutes, Mr. Doyle. Not one second more.”
The door slammed shut, rocking the coach a bit. Sarah turned to him again, her face so filled with trust and affection that a lump welled in William’s throat. He pressed her formless hand against his chest. “Will you forgive my foolish pride and marry me, Sarah?”
* * *
With her gloved right hand, Sarah brushed a tear from his cheek. “Yes, William.”
“I’ll do everything within my power to be a good husband to you.”
“I know that, William.” She was as sure of it as she was that the sun would rise in the morning. Returning his smile, she said, “And I’ll strive to be a good wife.”
He caught her up into his arms and kissed her. And she kissed him back, her head feeling lighter and lighter until banging upon the coach door drew them apart.
“We’ll tell Aunt Naomi and your father tomorrow?” he asked, touching her chin.
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.
On the pavement Sarah stood next to Marie to watch the coach fade into the night. The lady’s maid turned to her. “He asked you to marry him?”
“He did, Marie. And I accepted.”
“That makes me so happy!” Marie said, catching her up into an embrace. Over her head, Sarah heard a muttered, “And it is about time!”
As she was helped from her gown into her nightgown up in her room, Sarah could not recall climbing the staircase. I must have floated, she thought. Later, settling into the nest of bedclothes and comfortably flat pillow, she talked to her Father, thanking Him for all that had happened today. And then she respectfully asked a favor. Will you please tell Naaman’s servant girl that she was a blessing to more than one household?
LAWANA BLACKWELL has eleven published novels to her credit including the bestselling Gresham Chronicles series. She and her husband have three grown sons and live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
www.lawanablackwell.com
Books by
Lawana Blackwell
THE GRESHAM CHRONICLES
The Widow of Larkspur Inn
The Courtship of the Vicar’s Daughter
The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark
The Jewel of Gresham Green
TALES OF LONDON
The Maiden of Mayfair
Catherine’s Heart
Leading Lady
A Table by the Window
www.lawanablackwell.com
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The Maiden of Mayfair Page 49
