The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,30
vaulted corridors, taking the long way to the Meadow Building.
“But why did you focus only on your acting?”
“I’d rather be known for something I’ve worked to accomplish, rather than a fate of birth. Besides, if I’d told you I was an Earl, would you have believed me?” he asked, his expression dubious.
Sarah laughed good-naturedly. “I suppose not.” A breath or two later, she asked, “Do you think that means I have deep-seated trust issues that have only now come to light?”
He laughed, deep and rich. “Perhaps it means you have a healthy mistrust of strangers in pubs who bump into you, clumsily sloshing beer on you, before asking you out on a date.”
“I’ve seen that technique work before.”
“Have you?”
“Not on myself of course,” she said rather primly, although with a slight smile, “but certainly on other women. It even has a name: the Bump and Spill. It’s patented.”
“Hmmm. And I thought I’d invented it. Just goes to show there’s nothing new under the sun.”
The gravel crunched under their feet, signaling their arrival at her dormitory courtyard.
“How—”
“When—”
They both spoke at the same time.
“Go ahead—” Sarah said, a little flustered.
“Ladies first.”
“I saw you speaking with Trevor Byrne, my tutor, how do you know him?”
A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “Trevor and I shared a dorm in Peckwater Seven, where I believe your class meets.”
So, he was a Christ Church man. Not surprising.
“You were going to ask a question . . .”
“Did you find your experience worthwhile?”
“Oh, yes. I’d like to return next year, but, of course, my job and economics will dictate that.”
There was another pause in the conversation.
“When did you arrive? Did you spend time elsewhere before your classes started?”
“No. I arrived early to spend a day in London, but that was all.”
They’d arrived at the entrance to her dorm. “Here we are,” she said inanely as she turned to face him, her hands clasped nervously behind her back.
“Yes, well, goodnight.” He hesitated, as if unsure what to do next. He leaned forward, as if to kiss her, but then stepped back. “I’ll ring you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
She watched as he turned and wandered slowly in the direction of Tom Quad, hands tucked casually in his pockets.
She sighed, punched in her door code, and slowly climbed the five flights of stairs to her room.
Well, that was certainly an interesting evening. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Alex Fraser, Lord Rutherford, not to mention Lady Clara’s overt matchmaking. But one thing was for sure, the week ahead was definitely looking up. She pulled out the week’s carefully planned itinerary and balled it up, tossing it into the wastebasket.
That simple act was rather liberating.
Chapter 10
After checking into her room in the Old Parsonage, Sarah noticed she had a message on her cell phone. Anxious to see if it was Alex, she checked the minute the bellman left.
She groaned a bit in frustration. The first message was from Becca, not that she wasn’t happy to hear from her, but it wasn’t the message she’d hoped for. The next was from Alex.
“Good morning, Sarah, this is Alex. Unfortunately, I had a change of plans.” Instant disappointment. “I had to return to London to take care of some business. But, if you are available for dinner, I will be back in time. How does seven at the Old Parsonage sound? Ring me on my mobile and let me know, although you may have to leave a message. I hope to see you tonight.”
She slumped down on the bed. Okay, well, at least he hadn’t cancelled completely like she’d initially thought, although the potential was still there if his business took longer than expected. She would wait a bit and then call him. Why make him think she’s sitting around anxiously awaiting his call?
She unpacked and settled into her room for the week. It was a lovely room, bright and sunny, furnished in an eclectic mix of modern and antique furniture, upholstered in soothing tans and whites with punches of grape-colored accents. Two wing-back chairs sat in front of a small fireplace that likely wouldn’t find much use this time of year.
That task completed, she plopped down on the bed again, crossing her legs, and texted Becca and Ann that things were going well, classes were over, and that she looked forward to the remaining week to tour Oxford and its environs. She didn’t mention Alex. No need to stir anything up. She sent them love and kisses and a promise to update them soon.