Sarah woke with a sob, her eyes shot open to reveal the darkness of her bed chamber. She lay in her twisted covers, her breath hitching as she tried to push the image of her husband's still and cold form from her mind. Tears leaked from her eyes in quiet streams, it had been such a long few days since Warwick's reappearance, and still this nightmare haunted her. It seemed now that she at last had him, she feared losing him even more.

Sarah quieted her breathing, hoping to hear if Charles stirred in the next room. With no luck she left her bed to tip toe across her dressing room floor and press an ear to their connecting door. Still, she heard nothing. She hesitated for a long moment, considering the return to her own bed or the invasion of Charles' privacy. He'd said she should come to him if the nightmare ever happened again, and should she return to bed now, she would not sleep until morning.

Taking a breath to steady her nerves, Sarah turned the doorknob, and peaked into Charles' room. The fire was banked, and the moon cut through the slits in the heavy drapery, giving her just enough light to scan the room for her husband. She'd half expected him to still be awake, had hoped that would be the case in order to avoid having to wake him. With another breath of courage she made her way into the room, her toes protesting against the cold floor boards. Sarah walked slowly through the room and over to the large canopied bed, there lay her soldier, fast asleep. Sarah watched his chest rise and fall with each breath and relief coursed through her. Leaning into one of the bed posts she considered him for another moment, wondered at what kept him from sleeping at night so often, recalled the nights she'd spent overwrought in the belief he had died somewhere far from her, never to be returned.

Sarah had not ever planned to refuse Richard in favor of Charles, she'd never concocted any sort of solution to being betrothed to the wrong brother, but then she had not needed to in the end. For Charles had sat at the top of the very stairs in this house and explained to her that she could not truly love him, not a little girl of sixteen that she was, and that he would go away and she would forget him, and that she would marry Richard instead and they would be happy. He'd promised her always his brotherly affection, chucked her under the chin, kissed her on the forehead and gone to dance with a fashionable debutante while Sarah cried herself to sleep that night. Sarah closed her eyes against the memory, a heavy sigh escaping her lips at the pain that still clung to it. No, she'd never expected Charles to be persuaded into marrying her, loving her after that. He'd gone away to the Navy some short weeks afterwards, leaving Sarah to be shoved together with Richard at a few awkward balls the next Season. And then the news had come to them of his death, she bit her lip at the very thought now. She could envision exactly where she'd been standing in her family's home when her father told her the news. She remembered exactly the dress she'd been wearing, the color of the flowers in the vase in the hall. The nightmare had begun that evening, and had haunted her ever since, of her soldier forever lost to her, drowned and taken by the sea.

But was he not still taken from her? Henry had claimed he would never be returned to her, though he could not know that Charles' mere life was a small kind of returning in itself. Sarah wondered more now if Charles would ever truly heal from his time at war, if he would be unreachable at times, or if he would continue to grow warmer as he had these last few days they'd spent together in London. He'd been attentive, charming and affectionate, all of the things her young girlish heart had yearned for. But would he sink back into the darkness she'd found him in upon his arrival at Broadcroft only two months ago?

"Sarah?" She jumped at the sound of his voice, and covered her heart with one hand.

"I did not mean to wake you," she explained, her cheeks blushing at the ideas he must have of her watching him while he slept.

"Have you had the nightmare again?" he asked, his voice deeper with sleepiness as he rose and wrapped himself in a dressing gown.

"I did not mean to disturb your sleep, I can go back -"

"Come and sit with me," he beckoned her to the settee before the fire as he worked to build the flame up again. Sarah fell silent and took the seat he'd directed her to, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill.

"Now," he continued in that sweet groggy tone as he brought her a blanket and took his place beside her, "Tell me of the dream."

"It is the same, still," Sarah shrugged him off, but her eyes hungrily took in his face, the blood in his skin and the light in his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked sleepily, his hair sticking up in alarming directions made her smile. Without thinking, Sarah leaned closer and reached out a hand to his face. Charles stilled instantly under her touch, his sleepiness leaving him as he watched her.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered sadly, speaking more to herself than to him, "But here you are now instead," she concluded with a soft smile.

"Never to leave you, now," he promised, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead as Sarah dropped her hand back into her lap. The two sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, sleepiness dragging at Sarah now that she had proof positive of Charles safely beside her.

"Did you send for Henry?" she asked, leaning against the back of the sofa, resting her chin on her hand.

"There's no one I trust more with your protection, Sarah," he answered her unspoken question without offense, "Though I am sorry you dislike him so much, he's a dear friend."

"Amelia is equally dear to me," she answered him, the pain she felt for her friend returning to her mind, "I will not thank you on her behalf, Henry's absence makes her dull, but her return has made her ill."

"You think so ill of him, simply because he does not return Amelia's affection?" Charles challenged gently, copying her stance.

"Because he has not kept his promise to her," Sarah defended a little more forcefully, "She waited for him, for all those years at war... now he has returned to her, but not in full. Never to keep his promises, nor return her love... no, I cannot like him," Sarah concluded in a very quiet voice.

"He reminds you very much of your soldier then?" Charles asked.

♞

Sarah's brow crumpled at his words. How he wanted to forget this piece of her heart she'd revealed to him, to touch that sweet brow with no wonder of who else she cared for. The last few days thought of the unnamed man had faded as he grew more confident in Sarah's desire to be married to him. But she spoke with such emotion for Amelia's plight, Charles suspected it was more from her own experience than mere sympathy.

"I suppose," she answered him cautiously, and he could see her physically retreating from him to the other end of the sofa. He was determined to be more gentle this time.

"And you loved him, waited for him, as Amelia did Henry?" he asked carefully, reaching for her hand and tracing the lines of her palm as he spoke.

"You know the story by now, Charles," she said quietly, sadly, staring at their hands together between them.

"Tell me," he urged gently, looking her in the eyes, trying to convince her that he would not be angry this time.

"I should never have mentioned such a foolish thing to you," she shook her head in self-disgust and pulled her hand away from him completely.

"Sarah," he began in a frustrated tone, running a hand through his hair in distress, "Can you not see that the jealousy is killing me?" he asked, reaching both palms out to her face up. She gave him another of those quizical looks of confusion.

"Why should you be jealous?" she asked him doubtfully, and he sighed and shook his head.

"The way you spoke of him that day in the study, and then again on our wedding night... I feared at first that such a man would arrive at my house to call away my favorite housemaid," he smiled at her and she returned a small smile, "Now I wonder if such a man will have your heart, will be in your thoughts, all the days of our marriage," he finished tiredly, looking at her hopefully, willing her to understand, to explain at last. But she hesitated, looked away from him with shame and he despaired of ever knowing.

"You need not tell me, Sarah," he said finally, "It is not something I wish to come between us," he added, "I only fear losing you, of never gaining your love," he confessed at last, feeling much to exposed by his own admittance.

"It is you," she stated quietly, and he looked up to meet her eyes, unsure that he had truly her heard correctly.

"How...?"

"We received word that you had died," she explained, her voice quivering, her eyes moist, but she did not look away from him, "The nightmares began then, and I did not pursue Richard's contract because I could not bring myself to..." she broke off as the first tear squeezed out onto her cheek. Charles reached up to wipe it away, his thoughts unclear as he waited for more.

"When you arrived, that day at Broadcroft, you - Sir Charles," she shook her head silently, pain clear on her face as more tears began to fall. He reached for her then, pulled her into his lap and held her there as she cried until she quieted again.

"I know I should've told you who I was, I should've left as soon as I knew I wouldn't marry you," she took a shaky breath, "But you spoke to me, you asked me to read to you, we laughed together," Sarah sighed and nestled against his shoulder, Charles felt his hardened heart crack open as his wife confessed hers in his arms.

"It was as if you had come back from the dead," she whispered, her fingers reaching up to trace the lines in his face as she spoke, "But I believed you to still be lost to me," she finished.

"I am lost no longer, my love," he answered, his voice ragged with emotion. They sat quietly for several moments, each realizing how deeply they had recovered what they'd believed to be lost.

"I love you, Sarah," he whispered into her hair.

"And I you," she answered.