If I Fall (2 page)

“Look how the emerald flashes blue in the candlelight!” Amanda said as she took Sarah’s hand and raised it up to the candle, eliciting more oohs and aahs.

Sarah jerked forward slightly as she was pulled, but held her ground. Tolerated her sister’s enthusiasm. Amanda could be irrepressible in a terribly kind way.

Sarah held up her other hand to Jason, fingers spread.
Five minutes
, it said.

He held his hand back in the same way.
Five minutes
, he replied.

I love you
, she mouthed, with a laughing smile, but he missed it, as he was already out the door, providing a cool rush she could feel from the other side of the room. She frowned slightly, unhappy that he was so uncomfortable that he rushed out the doors.

“Oh, when will the wedding be?” Miss Brooks pounced on her.

“And where will you honeymoon?” Miss Croft asked at the same time.

“What about the gown? And have you seen His Grace’s estates yet?”

Then again, Sarah thought, she could not begrudge Jason his speed out the door. For in four minutes and forty seconds, she would join him.

It was actually closer to six minutes, as once she had extracted herself from Amanda and her friends, Sarah had been waylaid by her mother, Lady Forrester, who had no fewer than three of the gentlemen she had been aiming toward Sarah in a circle around her. Sarah waited patiently as Lady Forrester made sure they all knew what a loss it was to them that Sarah was no longer available. The gentlemen looked appropriately aggrieved—mostly for Lady Forrester’s sake, Sarah thought privately.

But finally, finally, she made her way to the terrace doors, and greeted the cool winter air with a smile of relief.

“Winn, wait—” she heard Jason say from somewhere in the darkness of the terrace. She turned toward his voice, and narrowly missed being bumped into by a shorter lady trying to make her escape.

“Oh, excuse me!” Sarah exclaimed.

But escape the smaller woman did, slipping past Sarah without so much as a nod of acknowledgement.

Sarah’s head whipped around to follow the petite woman’s movements, watching as she quickly folded herself into the overcrowded room. There were many people here that Sarah did not know personally—her parents had decided it was far more important for
their
friends to be invited to her engagement ball than her own, and Sarah had smiled and allowed it. So it was not surprising when she did not recognize a guest. But the woman who had skirted past her, with what almost looked like tears in her eyes … she was oddly familiar.…

And then suddenly her brain placed the woman. From an editorial cartoon that had appeared in the papers about six months ago … an etching of a small woman, standing in a crowd of scandalized men, and facing down the enormous belly of Lord Forrester, Sarah’s father, as she attempted to gain admittance to one of the most exclusive learned societies in Britain, the Society of Historical Art and Architecture of the Known World.

“Was that Winnifred Crane?” Sarah asked, turning to Jason, who looked unnaturally pale in the moonlight. At his nod, Sarah could not help but smile.

“Where is she going? I so wanted to meet her!” Sarah could not help but gush. Miss Winnifred Crane’s adventures of the past summer were now the stuff of legend. She had challenged
Sarah’s father, as head of the Historical Society, to a dare—if she could prove a painting’s authenticity, or lack thereof, he would have to allow her membership. She had apparently had to run all over Europe to do so, but prove herself, she did. And even though Lord Forrester had been depicted as the obstacle in the editorial cartoon—really, the exaggeration of his belly was most unkind, her father was only a
little
fat, Sarah had groused—her father was a great friend of Miss Crane’s late father, and consequently her.

“My father told me he wanted to invite her, but didn’t think she’d attend as she’s been traveling through Europe—” Sarah continued breathlessly. But her admiration of Miss Crane was cut short by Jason’s sharp interruption.

“You knew?” he said, almost accusingly. “You knew she would be here?”

Sarah was taken aback—there were no other words for it. Jason’s normal teasing persona had fallen away as absolutely as gravity. His face—the pallor she had barely noted before began to take on new meaning.

“Yes,” she replied, cautiously, gauging his reaction. “I did not realize you were acquainted with her, however.”

She watched as red spread over Jason’s face. “Only … only a little,” he stuttered. “Her father was one of my professors at school … and then when she wanted to get into the Historical Society, I was there, and…”

Relief fell in waves over Sarah’s stiffened shoulders. For a moment, she had thought that she had seen … something else, in his frame.

“I remember now,” Sarah cried happily. “You helped her get inside Somerset House, and to her audience with my father.” Although he was not depicted in the editorial cartoon, she remembered it being mentioned that the Duke of Rayne had shown gentlemanly grace when confronted with a woman claiming she wanted entrance to the Society, reacting the only way he could—by escorting her in. Of course they were acquainted. There was nothing else to it.

So why would this unease not abate?

“I hear she’s writing a book, you know,” Sarah continued blithely. “All about her misadventures, trying to gain admittance to the Historical Society.” Her father had told her—and
while other members of the society were decidedly miffed, her father had simply chuckled and said he couldn’t wait to read it. A sudden thought struck Sarah, and she turned her inquisitive gaze to her fiancé. “Do you think you’ll be in it? You did play an instrumental part in getting her through the door—”

“No!” Jason cried, shocking Sarah to her toes. He began to pace, like a man consumed. “That’s just it! She’s writing me out of it. How can … how can someone do that?
Literally
write someone out of their lives?”

And, as he paced in front of her, his brow furrowed and his gaze at his feet, Sarah felt the earth fall away beneath her feet. Felt the cold of the air around her, chilling her to the bone. Felt her limbs turn to stone, as the still world rushed past her, and her entire being focused on the dawning truth.

She didn’t know what had given him away—his angry speech, his mask of joviality fallen away—but it was plain as day on his face. And Sarah knew—knew as surely as she did her sisters’ names, or the color of her own eyes—that Jason, her fiancé, felt something deep and raw for the small woman who had slipped past her just a moment ago. In a few bare minutes, Winnifred Crane had provoked strong feelings in Jason … stronger, Sarah realized, than she likely ever could.

“Jason,” she rasped, unsteady, “I, ah … that is—how well do you know Miss Crane?”

To his credit, Jason tried to recover.

“I told you, when I was a student…” But his voice fell away when he saw her slowly shaking her head.

“No, I think you know her better than that.”

He was silent for a moment, met her steady gaze. She could see him turning over thoughts in his head:
Should I lie? Would she believe me? What is best?
But each question fell pitifully away as he ultimately made his decision.

“Yes, I do,” he whispered.

And suddenly, the last vestige of hope, of denial, slipped away and was lost to the cold night. Sarah felt her knees start to buckle.

“I think I should like to sit down,” she said, looking to her left and right, seeking anything, anywhere, that could buoy her before she fell.

She felt his arms come around her. She should hate him right now. She should push him away, but oddly, she welcomed his support. He guided her to a small bench, a few steps farther away from the noise of the party beyond the doors.

She caught a glimpse of his face then, as he settled himself beside her. He looked so stricken, and earnest—he knew full well that whatever pain existed now, he was the cause of it. She felt so bad for him in that moment! But,
but
, she shook herself … She had to know. Everything. And she couldn’t ask him her questions while seeing the concern on his face.

She looked away, her eyes roaming the darkness beyond the terrace, and found the strength for honesty there.

“When?” she asked in a surprisingly clear voice.

“When?” he replied, uncomprehending.

“When did you come to know”—her tongue tasted sour at the name—“Miss Crane? Was it at school?”

He hesitated. “After.”

“Before we met?” she asked. Somehow, it would be better if it was before they had met. It would not change the current circumstances, but it was better … surely.

“No,” he replied, resignation in his voice. “This summer, when I went to the Continent for a few weeks.”

And with that solemn confession, suddenly the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Jason had abruptly left town last summer, just disappeared for a few weeks of fun in Paris, he had explained. They hadn’t been engaged then, of course. He had never even spoken of his intentions, but his deference to her had been marked. And then, when he came back … something was different. The attentions toward her were the same in quantity, but—and she may have sensed something then, but could only see it now—
he
had been different. And as much as he had been everything kind and accommodating, there were times when she caught him looking out the window, or into a glass of wine, and … he was somewhere else.

And apparently that somewhere else had not been Paris. It had been cutting across Europe, as Miss Crane’s companion on her adventures.

She tried to speak, tried to ask and accuse, but the only sound that she managed to create was a small, pained, “Oh.”

“Sarah, I am going to marry you.” Jason began in a rush,
turning his body toward her, grasping her cold hand in her lap. “Don’t worry. And we’ll … we’ll be happy. What she and I have …
had
—it was a matter of circumstance. It’s over between us.”

“No, it’s not.” Sarah focused her eyes toward the light of the party. Beyond those windows, there were her family and friends, and they were celebrating
them
. They were celebrating their future.

“I have made a study of you, these past months,” she breathed.
How was her voice not shaking? How was she not crying?
“You have been my favorite subject,” she admitted, somewhat sheepishly, only now realizing that it was true. She had wanted to understand him, so very much. “And you have been many things with me—jovial, joking, pleased, content…” Those moments when his mind had been far, far away came back to her with such frightening ease that she had to wonder if they hadn’t been resting right under the surface the entire time. “But never happy. Not … not truly. Nor have I ever seen you as stirred up as you are after a mere few minutes in the presence of Miss Crane.”

Jason shook his head, desperate in his urgency. “That doesn’t mean you and I won’t—”

She pulled her hand from his, and finally sought his gaze.

“Jason, look at me.”

He did, meeting her eyes. She saw her own pain reflected back at her. Her own resolution.

She said the words she had to say.

“If you are going to break my heart, do it now. Not three months from now, after we’ve made vows. Not even tomorrow. Do it now. Have the strength to say what you want. And to go after it.”

He stood up then, looking as if he would jump away at any second. But he did not move. His face was lit by the light from within the house, his gaze entranced. He was searching … for someone that wasn’t there.

He looked down at her then, and she couldn’t help it: her breath caught. Just the slightest hitch, but it was a betrayal of all she was holding back under her well-bred mask. She stifled it … She just had to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks for a little longer…

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

It was the only sound on the cold night air.

She let out a long, unsteady breath. She felt her body ready to crumble, but she would not let it. Not here, and not now.

She heard him ask the time … She knew she responded. He asked what she would tell her parents. She replied that she would tell them in the morning. But her voice was so far away from her, dull to the ears.

She watched him take her hand and kiss it. But it was as if she could feel nothing.

She wanted, needed to be alone.

“You should go,” she whispered, putting a smile on her face. She did it to hurry him along, because if he didn’t go now, she would burst, and if he was here for that, he would not leave. But the sadness in the smile—that was real.

He turned, finally. But before he faded away into the darkness, he turned again, his voice cutting through what was left of her numbness.

“Sarah,” he breathed, his voice cracking in a way she knew she could not allow in herself, “please believe, I know I would have been terribly happy with you. If only…”

“If only,” she agreed.

And set him free.

She sat there for some minutes, alone in the dark. The coldness had begun to seep through her skin, but she could not move. She could not go in and face her family and friends yet. They would see, on her face…