Sarah startled awake as the carriage wheel hit a stone in the road. She'd been dreaming, always the same dream lately. She glanced across the carriage lit by the moonlight coming through the windows. Charles had positioned himself as far from her as possible for the journey to London. Sarah found it oddly comforting to have him about but also painful to know he hated every moment with her. Letting out a heavy sigh she rubbed at the headache she'd been nursing since they had set out that morning.

"Another nightmare?" Sarah jumped at the sound of his voice.

"I thought you were asleep," she answered, checking to see that Amelia still snored beside her. She'd hoped he was asleep, she corrected herself mentally. They seemed to be at opposite ends of a sparring match every moment they were together lately - usually ending in Charles kissing her and then leaving in disgust. Such was her marital bliss.

"We will reach the inn soon," he gave as a response. Sarah fell silent and shifted awkwardly in her seat. It was about how all of her conversations with Charles had been for the last four days since Henry's departure. His dislike of her was always just below the surface. Amelia had been no better, having had a rousing row with the jester just before he left, the girl had since closed up within herself, refusing to be drawn out or comforted by her family. Sarah knew more than anyone the devastation of Henry's second abandonment of her dear friend, and it had added to her own worry of late.

"Will you tell me about the dream?" The change in his tone surprised her, he suddenly sounded as if he were going soft, actually cared to hear what she had to say, something that had fallen away from their relationship with their daily reading of Italian poetry. Sarah was caught off guard enough to give me an answer without thinking.

"It is- it is the same one I've had for sometime," she answered with a stutter, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn't respond for several seconds and she held her breath hoping he'd drop it. But then she heard him move from his side of the carriage to the seat directly across from her, and the moonlight touched his features. He was studying her, but he didn't appear angry... yet.

"You said my name," he said evenly, Sarah blushed and dropped her gaze, "Do you often have nightmares about me?"

"Yes," she squeaked, with no idea why she'd told him the truth. She heard him growl in his throat and regretted saying anything at all.

"You needn't be afraid of me," he sounded hurt more than angry, almost penitent. How was she to explain to him that she'd spent the last five under the impression he was dead, and therefore the nightmare had more to do with her grief over losing him than anything he'd done to her himself.

"I am not afraid of you Charles," she spoke clearly to be sure he did not misunderstand. The moonlight revealed his confusion, and she jumped in surprise as he reached out to take hold of her hands that had been clasped together in her lap.

"Your hands are cold," he spoke the accusation softly, but Sarah held onto him hungrily, the shadows of the nightmare still fogging about her head. He drowned, in her dream, out at sea and she watch helpless to reach him as he sank into the dark water - usually waking herself with her own crying.

"I should've brought gloves," she admitted staring down at their intertwined hands. Charles' thumb was methodically drawing circles on the back of her hand. What did one do when finally given their heart's desire, but in such a way that made him hate you? Sarah sighed and chided herself. He was alive, and that was enough to mend her heart a thousand times over.

"Tell me about your nightmare," he said again, this time gently squeezing her hands, "Please."

"It is the same nightmare every time, it's completely foolish, really," Charles did not insist again but gently squeezed her fingers. Finally Sarah looked up into his face, and the same panic she felt each time she woke from it gripped her now even speaking of it.

"I dream that you," she hesitated, this time she was the one gripping tighter to him, "I dream that you are dead," she said finally, searching his face intently reminding herself that he was alive and well just now. Confusion creased his brow, but his skin was warm under her hand.

"Dead?" He repeated, Sarah nodded, but somehow telling him had relieved some anxiety.

"I would think you had want me dead, not fear it," he replied, bitterness touching his words, but Sarah remembered the heartache that had consumed her when news of his death had arrived, and held fast to his hands. Perhaps he would always see her as a burden and a punishment, but she would not let him believe she hated him.

"No," she whispered softly with a fervent shake of her head, "It is quite the opposite, I fear that more than anything else." She confessed, with no idea why. Now only she feared he would never love her, or that she would be more grief torn should he end their marriage and send her away.

"More than Warwick?" Charles asked quickly, but he resumed the tracing of her veins with his thumb. Sarah nodded, and the joy and the relief and the shock of Charles near resurrection came to her again, but with her hands twined in his she could not swipe at the tears that fell as a result.

"Sarah," he said her name as if quieting a frightened mare. Perhaps that's what she was. She quickly pulled her hands from his to sink back into the shadow of her seat, hoping he had not noticed. Silence hung between them for several minutes, but Charles did not return to his original position.

"I apologize for... mistreating you these last few days," Charles said finally, and his voice was once again that of the man in the study, kind and non threatening.

"There's no need to apologize," she insisted, swiping at the last tear and regaining her composure, "It is not as if you asked for the burden of a wife."

"That is the fact of the matter; I am your husband and I will endeavor to behave as a worthy one in the future," he promised her passionately. Sarah felt keen disappointment, for this is what she'd known that Charles was a good man who would do the right thing.

"You are a good man, Charles," she spoke quietly, still hidden in the shadows.

"I am not," he said in a tired voice, "But I suppose you are to say such things of your husband, are you not?"

"True," she said with a tiny smile, "But it helps if the husband is in fact an honorable gentleman."

"You will inflate my ego speaking like that," he teased her in a whisper, coaxing a full smile to her lips.

"Henry would not let you stay that way," she reminded him, then felt a sharp regret at her words.

"You are fond of Henry?" She heard a strange twinge in his voice and remembered with a small smile the unabashed jealousy he had displayed that day in the conservatory.

"No," she said bluntly, " Were he not your dearest friend, I would beg you to bar him entrance to our home," she stated mercilessly. She thought she heard him chuckle.

"I would much rather deny him than displease you, my dear," he said it in a almost jovial tone, and Sarah felt warm to her toes at the endearment whether he noticed he'd spoken it or not.

"I have missed these lively conversations," Sarah said with a grin as she leaned forward, back into the moonlight where Charles still waited.

"You mean to say you have missed having your way," he chided his tone indulgent, he reached to brush a stray strand of hair back into her chignon, caressing her neck as he did so, leaving her with goosebumps.

"If I had my way we would be on our way to China, not London," she remarked with mocked offense, trying to keep her voice from squeaking. He grinned at her and reached out to take hold of her hands again.

"So long as you do not go anywhere without me," he said softly, knowing how desperate it sounded, and not caring. Charles brought her fingers to his lips and Sarah felt strange shocks traveling up her arm.

"Who would polish the silver if I left?" She challenged and they both grinned then. Sarah did feel and then felt suddenly a little sad. For deceiving him, for forcing their marriage. A minute of silence passed between them, Charles kept hold of her hands.

"Will tell me why you fear me dying?" Charles asked in that gentle voice, she melted, wishing again for their friendship, but hesitating again to reveal to him her confusion in the two brothers deaths.

"You are my husband, Charles, is that not reason enough?" She answered in a tired voice. He leaned closer to her, lifted a hand to touch the strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead.

"Yes, I suppose that is enough," he said quietly, his fingers caressing her jawline. Sarah felt herself lean into him.

"Besides," she added, "I doubt I could survive news of your death again."

"Again?" Charles asked quickly and Sarah broke from the daze she'd been in to regret her words.

"I-"

But at that moment, their carriage pulled up to the inn and the lantern light poured in through the windows. Amelia stirred awake beside her and Sarah looked away from him. She'd only narrowly missed exposing her entire heart through the retelling of that misconception, and her knees felt a little shaky at that knowledge. She hurried to be the first from the carriage, and tried not to look at him again, but he caught her hand once bringing it to his lips.

"Come and wake me, should you have trouble sleeping," he said quietly enough as they rattled to a stop and a footman opened the door. Sarah only took time to nod before alighting from the carriage and into the night.