Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(52)

“What has made you so sensitive?” he asked in astonishment. “It’s not like you to take offense easily. I must say it’s not an attractive side of you, Sara, not at all!”

Now that she had begun to let the barricades down, she felt an immense relief at being able to speak her mind. “Oh? Well, I don’t find it attractive when you let your mother needle me like that. And what’s worse, you expect me to swallow it with a smile!”

Perry’s face turned sullen. “I don’t wish to argue with you, Sara. We never have before.”

Her eyes began to sting. “That’s because I thought if I was understanding and long-suffering enough, you would finally be moved to propose to me. I’ve had to wait four years, Perry, hanging all my hopes on your mother’s approval. Well, she’s never going to give her blessing to a marriage between you and me.” Impatiently she brushed away a few angry tears. “You’ve always asked me to wait, as if we had time in abundance. But time is too precious, Perry. We’ve wasted years, when we could have been with each other. Don’t you understand how much even one day of loving each other is worth? Some people are separated by distances they can never cross. All they can do is dream about each other for a lifetime, never having what they want most. How foolish, how wasteful to have love within your reach and not take it!” She damped her teeth on her trembling bottom lip to steady herself. “Let me tell you something, Perry Kingswood—it would be unwise of you to assume that I’ll be happy to wait forever!”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, stunned by her tirade.

She stopped and faced him squarely. “If you truly wanted me, you wouldn’t be able to stand being apart from me. You wouldn’t let anyone come between us. A-and you would have seduced me by now!”

“Sara,” he exclaimed, staring at her in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you like this. You’re not yourself. What happened to you in London?”

“Nothing. I’ve just been taking stock of things.” Regaining control of herself, she gazed at him with a mixture of resolve and longing. “I’ve made a decision, Perry.”

“Oh, you have,” he said, the sulky curve of his lips deepening. “Well, I won’t be dictated to, my girl!”

“I hope that’s true. I’m afraid you’ll let your mother’s wishes guide you in this. You know as well as I that she has done her best to stand in our way. I have always tried to avoid making you choose between us, but I can’t see any other way to resolve this.” Sara took a long breath. “I want to marry you, Perry. I want to take care of you, and be a loving helpmate. But this ‘courtship,’ or whatever it is that has been going on for the past four years, must end one way or another. If you don’t propose to me soon—very soon—I will end our relationship for good.”

His face turned pallid. They stared at each other in silence, both of them amazed that such forceful words had come from her. Sara read the dawning anger and hurt in his eyes, but she continued to stare at him resolutely.

A breeze cut through Perry’s shirt and vest, and he shivered. “I’m cold,” he muttered. Without another word, he turned and left her, hurrying back to the manor where his mother waited.

As always Sara felt soothed by the sight of her family’s cottage, perched at the top of a gentle hill. There were four rooms in the little house, a privy with a thatched roof in the garden, and a combination stable and cart shed. Her elderly parents had lived there for nearly forty years, after inheriting it from Sara’s grandparents. No matter what troubles befell them in the outside world, home meant safety and peace.

As she approached the cottage, Sara saw that the small rectangular windows were glowing with light. The silhouettes of many heads showed plainly. Visitors. Her heart sank. Sometimes her parents’ elderly friends would stay for hours, socializing over countless cups of tea. Sara didn’t want to face a crowd at the moment, but there was no way to avoid it. Pulling her lips into a halfhearted smile, she opened the front door and walked in. As she had expected, every piece of worn furniture was filled with guests…the Hughes, the Brownes, and Archie Burrows, a recent widower.

“Sara, you’re back early,” her father, Isaac, exclaimed. He was a short man with broad shoulders and a shock of silver-gray hair. His leathery face creased with an infectious smile. He patted the cushioned footstool near his chair. “Have one of the delicious cakes Mrs. Hughes brought.”

“No, thank you,” Sara said while her mother helped to remove her cloak. “I believe I’ll have a rest after my walk.”

“Why, look,” Mrs. Browne exclaimed. “The poor girl’s cheeks are all red from the cold. The wind has a vicious bite today, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does,” Sara murmured, declining to explain that it was emotion, rather than cold, that had brought the color to her cheeks.

“How is young Mr. Kingswood?” one of the elderly ladies inquired, and they all watched her with great interest. “As handsome as ever, isn’t he?”

“Oh, very.” Sara managed to give the group a strained smile before she retreated to the privacy of her room.

Sitting on her narrow bed, she folded her hands in her lap and stared at the picture on the wall, a water-color landscape that had been painted by one of her friends years ago. The artist was Mary Marcum, a friend exactly her age who had married the local blacksmith and was now the mother of three children. A wave of self-pity came over Sara. She had never felt so much like a spinster. Gritting her teeth with frustration, she wiped her dampening eyes with her sleeve. At that moment her mother entered the room and closed the door.