Sarah took another sip of hot tea, relaxing into the large leather chair Charles had surrendered to her that first day. The fire was built up to warm her, and she was wrapped in a shawl Charles had absconded from Amelia that morning.

Sarah felt she had somehow left behind the falsity she'd been living for the last six weeks, and now found herself righted again as she watched a heavy flurry of snow fall outside the study windows. Her gaze moved to Charles, sitting just across from her, leaned back in his chair, looking completely at ease and reading their book of Italian poetry to her in a voice that made her stomach flutter.

She smiled over the brim of her teacup, as he continued to ready in a flawless stream of words. He'd been lying to her all along, and though it left a question hanging between them, she had no desire to find the answer this afternoon. No, she was too content at this moment to wonder why Charles had lied, why he'd asked her to read to him at all, perhaps she would ask him tomorrow. Sarah felt sleepy, the morning had been a bustle trying to prepare the family's visit to the tenants before the snow broke through. A cough shook through her chest at that moment and she thought again of Lottie's demand that she take rest, but she had never realized how impossible that would be for a housemaid.

"You are not to work tomorrow, I will speak with Mrs. Green," Charles commanded, poetry forgotten as he glowered at her.

"Do you believe frowning at me so will cure what ails me, Sir Charles?" she teased him, and in a flash he was grinning at her again.

"You need rest, Sarah," he added in a softer tone, a look of affection in his eyes.

Sarah felt her stomach turn, she'd been ignoring those subtle hints for over a week now. It would do him no good to grow fond of a maid, especially one who would leave him the moment she came of age. The very thought saddened her, made her chest ache in resistance, but she began coughing again before that line of thought developed more.

"I wish you would stop this," she heard Charles say, she looked up to smile at him for demanding she stop coughing to see instead that his face was more serious than she was prepared for. Sarah felt her stomach drop to her toes.

"If I could stop myself from taking ill, I assure you, I would, my lord," she answered, brushing off the panic she was feeling.

"Sarah," he murmured gently.

As their eyes connected, in that moment, she knew the woman he was looking at, speaking to, was Sarah Stanhope, not Sarah Jennings. She shot up from her seat, longing to run, but instead crossed to the window pulling the shawl tighter around herself as fear began to flood her lungs. The room was silent, the falling snow made no sound for several minutes, until at last she heard Charles rise from his chair to join her.

"Sarah?" he beseeched her, and she clenched her jaw against the desire to answer him, "Sarah Stanhope, will you marry me?"

She spun from the window in shock, to nearly run into Charles chest for he had been standing very close behind her. She looked up at him now, his face was serious, how could he be serious? He'd never wanted to marry her, had assured her in definite terms that she was like a sister, and he was glad Richard was the one bound to her.

"What?" she breathed, tiny pricks of joy and panic running through her, for she did not know which she felt in truth. He was looking at her earnestly, his brow furrowed and questioning, could he truly know who she was and still care for her? Hope bubbled up in her throat.

"Marry me, Sarah," he repeated, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "I can help you."

So that was it then.

Sarah felt like that little girl sitting on the stairs at the ball again. Here he was, just now, still the same. No, worse, she corrected herself. Now he pitied her, before she had only been unwanted. Now she was both unwanted and pitied. There was a sharp pain in her chest, right over her heart. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt the blood leaving her face. She wished she'd never come to Broadcroft.

"How long have you known?" she asked in a whisper.

"Since Warwick came looking for you," he confessed. More tears crowded behind her eyes now. It had been pity all along. Pity and protection.

"You will ruin everything, Charles," she let out in a strangled tone, as the first few hot angry tears hit her cheek.

"After we are married, you need not ever think of him again," he said it so fervently that she could no longer hold back a sob as she stared at him, wishing they could slip back into the heaven that had been these last few days.

In an instant he reached out and pulled her into his embrace, up against his chest. Sarah shook from the feeling of at long last being in his arms, of having his protection, of having him all to herself. There was no Richard, there was no Warwick, there was nothing in her way, but Charles himself. The thought of marrying him now, now that she'd fallen in love with him all over again, to marry him now for protection made her sick. Lavinia's words echoed through her head, adding to her torment. The wretch was right about one thing, Charles was an honorable man, he would marry his brother's betrothed to keep her from harm, to honor a duty. She imagined that life, that marriage, of loving a husband who was only bound to her by duty instead of love and only cried harder.

"I am sorry. We should have looked for you sooner, Little Sarah," he confessed in a near whisper before Sarah felt him press his lips to the crown of her head. She felt a fresh wave of tears at his tenderness, but that nickname. That nickname, one he'd given her a lifetime ago, what he'd called her all along since, even that night on the stairs, hearing it from his lips now was too much.

Mustering as much anger and self control she had left, Sarah braced both hands against his chest to push him away, but then she looked up into his face. He was staring down at her with concern, his arms holding her tightly, and for a moment she imagined being married to Charles, if things were different. If he loved her.

But he did not.

The thought resounded through her entire being as she gave a hard shove, separating herself from what she would never have. Charles stepped away from her in confusion.

"I will not marry you," she spoke with a calm she did not feel before rushing from the room, leaving Charles behind.