And that future she had imagined? Being a vicar’s wife, always doing the same thing: visiting the poor and infirm, arranging flowers at the church, callers at all hours of the night, absolute silence as he wrote his sermons, day after day of the same thing. Looking at Charles, Sara could easily see her life in five, ten, even twenty years from now and it all looked the same.
Safe. Predictable. Boring.
No adventure.
She saw Charles’ mouth move. She couldn’t hear over the persistent hum in her ears. The vows, she thought dully, he must be repeating the vows. I am next.
When had she last been happy? Cloverfields. It wasn’t hard to determine that. What was shocking, however, was her realization that in the years leading up to Cloverfields she had not been happy at all. People thought she had been, including herself, but that was due to her mother’s training her to project the correct serene image. Even as a governess—people assumed she enjoyed teaching, especially as she was a member of the Governess Club, but it wasn’t true. Dealing with the likes of Henry Copeland every day? She hated it. She had simply never said anything so as to not cause any fuss.
Sara thought again. Cloverfields had been where she was happy. Why was that? Was it Nathan? He most certainly contributed to, but she didn’t think he was the full reason. He had encouraged her to be herself, to take what she wanted and to not apologize for wanting it. That extra serving of dinner? Take it. Want a second scone? Help yourself. Want to swim, sleep in, stay up late, drink spirits? Do it all and don’t feel guilty afterward.
Cloverfields was the one time she had taken what she wanted and what an adventure it had been!
That thought froze her.
She had taken what she wanted and it had been an adventure.
She had taken what she wanted. It had been an adventure.
Sara blinked, realization flooding through her. She had taken what she wanted and the result had been an adventure. Her brother had taken what he wanted and was living a life full of adventures. All of the explorers in Hakluyt’s writings had taken what they had wanted and found adventure.
Adventures don’t simply come to people; people go to find adventures.
She blinked again, things becoming clearer and clearer. She hadn’t been happy at Cloverfields because of Nathan or even because he let her do things she had never done before. She had been happy because she was finally doing something that she had wanted to do.
Sara looked at Charles who was waiting, an expectant look upon his face. Vicar Warren cleared his throat. “If you please, repeat after me.” He said it such a tone that she realized he was repeating himself.
She looked at him and then back at Charles again. A smile covered her face as confidence and assurance settled over her. A cleansing sigh released from her, and Sara reached out and took Charles’ hand, giving it a small squeeze.
“I am sorry Charles, but I cannot marry you.”
A lone gasp broke the silence in the church. Sara looked over the congregation, all wearing stunned expressions. Claire’s eyebrows had shot up to her hairline and Bonnie’s jaw hung open. Jacob and Stephen both looked uncomfortable.
She looked back at Charles, whose face had paled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sara stopped him. “You are a kind and considerate man, Charles, but I do not love you the way you deserve. We will not make each other happy and our attempts to do so will only serve to cause us misery. It’s not simply that I cannot marry you, but that I actually don’t want to because I am in love with another. And you do not deserve to marry someone who will not give you all of herself.” She slipped off his mother’s ring and handed it back to him. “I wish you all the best in your life.”
Sara turned on her heel and marched down the aisle alone. Smiling into the shocked silence and stepping into the bright sun, she walked to the carriage where Rogers was waiting. “To Windent Hall, please, as fast as you can manage.”
Rogers grasped her hand to help her in. Sara paused with one foot on the step. “May I drive?” she asked, a wide grin on her face.
“Have ye driven before, miss?”
“No.”
“Then if it’s fast ye want, it’s best if I handle the reins.” Rogers returned her grin with a toothy one of his own and she settled in nicely. “Hold on to yer bonnet, miss,” he said, sitting on the perch and setting the carriage into motion, his own hat tucked safely under his bottom.