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His eyebrows shot up, trying to locate the voice.
“Sarah, where are you?”
“I’m over here!”
Reginald followed the direction of the voice until he came into the forest and spotted a small pond of water. There was Sarah, tugging at the reins of her horse, who had apparently got his hoof stuck in the pond.
“Oh, Reginald. I need your assistance.” Sarah appeared forlorn as she continued to tug.
Without a word, Reginald jumped off his horse and ran towards her, taking the reins from her hands. Sarah stepped back as Reginald heaved and tugged. Although it took some exertion, it was mere moments before Reginald was able to pull the horse fully out of the muck, and the creature gave a grateful neigh.
“Oh, thank you!” Sarah clasped her hands together and—it must have been instinctively—threw herself into Reginald’s arms.
The rain continued to fall on them, and Reginald noted that Sarah’s hair had come undone. The damp strands clung to her shoulders. He swooped in and took her lips, bringing his hand to the back of her neck. Her moist flesh felt warm in his hands, and although Reginald wished to do unspeakable things in the seclusion of that forest, he stepped back instead.
This was the moment that he had been waiting for.
“Sarah, I must express something to you.” He blinked the raindrops from his eyelashes.
Her jaw dropped open. “What is it?”
“I … I have been keeping a secret from you. A secret that gave me no pause at first because it brought me closer to you. But now that we both stand on the brink, I can keep the secret no longer.”
Sarah froze, unsure of how to respond to such a thing. Her chin trembled ever so slightly. “You can tell me. I … I want to know.”
Reginald couldn’t stand the distance any longer, and he stepped in, taking Sarah’s hands in his own. “Very well. Sarah, I’m not the Earl of Buckland.”
She knitted her brow as she looked up to him. “You’re not?”
Reginald shook his head, feeling the rain in his hair. “I am not,” he said softly.
“Who … who are you then?” Sarah’s voice was tiny and confused.
“My name is Patrick Day. There’s a reason why I appeared at the duke’s so suddenly. I’m a worker. In Hamel.”
How could he explain that he was a travelling worker, only having arrived in Hamel for a week? There was so much to tell her, and he couldn’t do it all at once.
“Patrick Day?”
“Please understand that for the past week, I’ve assumed the identity of Lord Reginald Simmons, even believing myself to be him in my own mind. But if you wish to speak to me from this day forth—which I will not blame you if you do not—refer to me as Patrick. For that’s how I will refer to myself for the rest of my days.”
Sarah released his hands and stepped back, staring down at the muddy ground. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You needn’t say anything. I have deceived you. You’re under no obligation to reply.”
Sarah finally looked up, distress in her gaze. “But … I love you.”
Patrick fell to his knees, feeling the mud seep into his boots. “My God, Sarah. You’ve spoken my words for me, for I love you as well.”
Sarah approached and brought her hands to the sides of Patrick’s face. Then, she put out her hands to take his and with that, Patrick got up to his feet once more and took Sarah in his arms.
“Please understand, had I not done this, there would have been no way to meet you.”
She pulled her head back. “You did this all for me?”
“Yes.” Patrick grasped her head in his arms.
It was the truth that was only becoming clear now. Patrick was reticent to carry out the rouse, but just as soon as he spotted Sarah in the haberdashery, he knew that he could go through with it—that he must go through with it. Sarah was why he remained once he already won the wager, and she was the reason he would stay on for another week.
