"You will keep a guard on her at every hour of the day and night, you must do this personally, Barton, I cannot trust anyone else with her," Charles stressed that point once again, "She is not to be compromised, and should you have any suspicious you are to send someone else for myself or Mr. Pembroke immediately - under no circumstances is she to be left alone," Charles finished, the possibilities of harm coming to Sarah racing through his mind as they seemed to do so often lately.

Barton gave his word to look after Sarah, and like the good butler he was, never once commented on her lowly status or Charles' bizarre attachment to her. Charles was thankful for that, at least he admitted as he left Barton for his study. The sound of a card game being played traveled down the corridor to meet him, and he moved a little quicker. His mother's guests would only remain another week, he reminded himself with a cringe. But he longed for them to be gone this very moment. What if one of them would see her? Recognize her? Inform Warwick?

Charles was still in this thread of contemplation when he entered the study, but stopped short at the sight of Sarah standing with her back to him, gazing out the windows.

She was lovely, he admitted involuntarily. The loveliest woman he'd ever met, and the one thing he wanted more than he wanted anything else. Henry's words returned to him; the existence Lady Sarah Amesbury had become his dearest, most fervent wish.

But would she have him?

He wavered in confronting her, in revealing his knowledge of her identity, for this reason alone. If he were to do so and she did not accept him...

But here and now, Charles was under no obligation to share her company with others, to adhere to stiff social propriety, to keep his distance. No, this was the other reason he hesitated to end her ruse. He would lose this closeness the very moment her true name became known, and should she deny his offer of marriage ... he would never be able to regain such a relationship with her again.

It would be better, he'd concluded just this morning, for him to gain her trust, to play along for just a few days more. When he was sure of her affection, sure she would stay with him - then he would bring to light the truth of Sarah Stanhope. The thought made his chest swell in hope and anticipation.

"Sarah," he called in greeting, moving to join her at the windows, nearly merry at the prospect of a few uninterrupted hours with her. But then he reached her side and still she did not look at him, instead gazed out the window, and there were streaks of tears on her cheek.

"What has happened?" he asked sharply, grabbing hold of her by both arms he turned her to face him, searching for any injury but seeing only sadness.

"It is nothing," she answered in a voice void of her usual spirits, she would not even look at him.

"Has someone hurt you?" he demanded, still holding onto her, but wanting to pull her close instead.

"No," she answered in a clear tone, with a shake of her head, but that seemed to produce a stronger wave of tears. Charles dropped his hands to his side again and a moment of silence passed between them.

"You are unhappy here?" he asked finally, his tone one of resignation, but his gaze searching for her denial, "I will find you a different position if you wish it," his offer was genuine, though he hoped she would deny it. He would send her to his Aunt and Uncle in Norfolk, he could guarantee her safety there.

"Mrs. Green suggested the very same just this afternoon," Sarah answered, looking at him sharply, no evidence of trust in her expression. Charles wondered what Mrs. Green would've meant by such an idea without his permission.

"Is that what you want?" Charles pressed again, searching her face, his eyes resting on her full lips and stray strand of golden hair, swearing to himself that he would let her go if she chose to do so.

"No," she answered finally, crossing her arms against herself and looking away from him again. Charles let out a breath of relief, though still curious as to what had upset her.

"Is there something else you want? Someone who has frightened you? Offended you?" he scrambled for an explanation, for some way of mending her.

"I am fine, Charles," she interrupted his string of offers, sharply cutting him off. But he smiled, for Sarah Stanhope had again called him by his first name alone, a liberty a childhood friend might assume, but never a life long servant. Charles cleared his throat over that satisfaction, and produced a handkerchief for her instead.

"Then I should tell you, I do not have time for poetry today," he said, as she accepted his offer and began to tidy her face. Sarah looked up at him disappointedly, and it gave him hope, "I would very much like your opinion of my plans to repair the estate instead."

Sarah did not say anything, but she followed him to the table that stood to one side of the room where he had laid out several maps and plans for the cottages, repairs to the Great House and the crops for next year. Charles began with his plans for the repair of the cottages, from the smallest detail to the much larger projects that would not begin until next Spring.

"We'll have to wait for it to warm before we replace their chimney completely," he commented, "But O'Connell agrees that something can be done in order to make the winter more bearable for the family this year."

"And what of the windows and door?" Sarah finally spoke from beside him. Charles turned to see her, hovering just at his shoulder, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Yes," he responded, clearing his throat and turning back to the plans, "We could work harder to have those insulated to counteract the damage to the chimney this winter," he said.

"Do they have any children?" she murmured her question, and he could not resist turning to look at her again. Now a frown dominated her expression, and that same errant strand of golden hair had fallen from her cap yet again. His clenched his fist to keep from brushing it away.

"Three, I believe," he answered, unable to break his stare.

"Then we shall have to send a man down to them each time it snows to ensure they do not take ill," she insisted with an authority no housemaid could've mustered.

Her tone and genuine interest pushed him on to ask her opinion of the other repairs, the crop rotation that he'd wanted to suggest as well as mending the wall that ran alongside the road leading to Broadcroft. He found himself speaking freely with her about the other concerns he had of taking over the job he had suddenly acquired.

Sarah, in turn, insisted that the irrigation system could be improved on and that Charles should hurry to add to the herd of sheep before the Spring. He listened to her in awe, the sound of her voice and the intelligence in her expression drawing him further under her influence. By the end of the next hour he could not imagine following through with their plans without her at his side. Sarah would make a fine mistress of Broadcroft.

"I wish you could see it with me," Charles said at last, sitting back in his chair. Sarah had perched herself on the arm of that chair, her feet swinging a few inches from the ground, "I am sure there are things I've misssed," he added, Sarah smiled at him. She seemed to have forgotten whatever it was that had upset her earlier, he was glad.

"You have missed one thing, Charles," Sarah said, standing to review the map of the estate once again, he followed her, completely entranced by the sound of his name on her lips.

"And what is that?" he challenged teasingly, watching her closely. She spoke with such clarity and confidence, how he'd ever mistaken her for a maid he did not know.

"The orchard," she answered, her finger landing on the very spot on the map, "It needs rebuilding."

"You are right again," he admitted with a grin. A grin? It had been many long years since he'd grinned.

"It used to be lovely, don't you remember?" she asked, her voice dreamy and far off. Charles stayed perfectly still. Had she meant to speak to him about their childhood?

"You were at Broadcroft as a child?" he asked carefully. He watched panic overtake her feature then, and she went a little white.

"Yes," she answered in a squeak, "I had family that lived nearby," she explained. Charles wished she would tell him the truth, that she would trust him, then he would be able to offer his protection. And more, another part of him acknowledged.

"So you stole into my orchard then?" he teased, relieving her anxiety immediately by accepting the tale.

"I fell out of an apple tree once," she laughed at herself, and a memory instantly rushed back to him.

Involuntarily Charles' gaze went to the scar that was just above her eye. So she was without doubt Sarah Stanhope, he concluded. For he himself a boy of thirteen had carried her back to the Great House, bloody and sobbing after the very fall she'd mentioned. He remember that cut just above her eye, now a scar confirming her identity.

"I am sure you were a right hellion in your time," he teased, remembering her as just that. She blushed prettily pulling his thoughts in another direction entirely.

"Thank you for your help with these plans, Sarah," he said, straightening from the table to face her. He knew their time together would end with the dinner bell.

"I admit to enjoying this break from Italian poetry," she said with a smile, "Broadcroft will do well in your hands, milord," she encouraged as she again looked down at their plans, he studied her in return.

"Yes, it would seem all will fall into place," he kept a steady gaze on her as he continued, "Broadcroft now only lacks a proper mistress," he finished and watched as her brows knit together in perplection.

"Is Lady Eleanor not mistress enough?" Sarah asked, Charles worked to keep his expression indifferent.

"Lady Eleanor will return to London with my sisters after the new year," he explained with apparent disinterest, still watching Sarah closely. She'd gone exceptionally quiet, still staring at him. Feeling impatient, Charles pressed her.

"I am of course, considering some of the young ladies who are visiting Broadcroft for that purpose," he continued, "Miss Croft in particular -"

"Charles -" she interrupted him, her voice alarmed. He saw the distress in her face but was most distracted by the way her hand now gripped his arm.

"It cannot be Lavinia," she stated, a sadness he had not expected in her voice and eyes, perhaps he should not have antagonized her so.

"You do not approve of her?" he asked, wondering if Sarah's scruples with the woman was one of jealousy or of good conscience.

"She is - she is not -" Sarah stumbled over her words, and Charles did not move from her grasp.

"She is what, Sarah?" he asked gently, not wanting to scare her off.

"She conniving and horrid! Do not marry her, Charles," she declared a bit desperately, "Lavinia has plans to entrap you. Please do not," she finished and a silence hung between them for several heartbeats, she'd stunned him with the strength of her hatred for Lavinia Croft.

"I am sorry!" Sarah exclaimed, her face going several shades of deep red, and she released her hold on Charles' arm in humiliation.

He watched as she threw her hands behind her back and looked toward the door as if she might run. Immediately he crossed the space between them, and reached out to cup her face in his hands. She seemed panicked, and he tried to remind himself she did not know he had already guessed her identity. He considered her for a moment, full lips, flushed cheeks and sad blue eyes.

"I will obey you," he promised, brushing a thumb across her skin, longing for her confidence.

"Besides," he added with a smile, when it seemed she would not divulge further that afternoon, "I am sure Broadcroft would do better with a mistress more familiar with its history," he stated, lifting his hand to run a finger over the scar that still rested just over her eye.

Her gaze was bewilderment, not peaceful, not reassured. Charles ran the back of his hand down the length of her blushing cheek, opened his mouth to beg her to stay with him forever - and then the gong sounded from the dining room.

"I must go," Sarah choked out, breaking away from him, bobbing a clumsy curtsy and nearly running from the room. Charles stayed several minutes longer, considering that afternoon in the orchard many years ago.