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“Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?

” the vicar repeated in his pleasant baritone voice.

“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” Mr. Robinson was a very welcome replacement for the elderly and often crotchety Mr. Stephens, the previous vicar.

The young man was pleasant without pushing.

His sermons were thought-provoking but not so theological that his audience did not understand them.

Sarah looked at Christopher expectantly.

He only needed to speak two little words and their bargain would be complete, but he did not utter a syllable.

His focus was on the stained-glass window above the vicar.

With her free hand, Sarah smoothed out a tiny wrinkle in her skirt.

She felt lightheaded, and there was a tightness in her chest.

What should she do?

What could she do?

Nothing.

A shiver of panic crawled up her spine as she stood with her head held high; her face grew hotter with every second of silence.

Had he changed his mind? She dared not look at the young vicar or her cousin, who was likely grimacing worse than ever, nor at anyone else but Christopher Moulton—the man she was supposed to marry.

She swallowed. She could not allow her plans to fail now.

Sarah needed him to marry her so that she could return to Manderfield Hall.

She had to be there if— when —her mother came home.

She swallowed a second time; her throat was dry and gummy.

She forced her strained mouth muscles to form the largest and brightest of smiles.

Hopefully it would encourage him to come to the point.

“I will,” he said at last.

In relief, Sarah’s grin faltered, and she released the breath she was holding.

Mr. Robinson pronounced them man and wife.

They exchanged rings. Then the vicar led them over to a table and had them sign the marriage license and then the parish register.

She signed her name twice, and it was done. She was now the wife of a stranger.

Christopher avoided her gaze, so she turned to see the small audience. Margaret’s eyes were focused on Mr. Robinson, and her cheeks were tinged a pretty pink. Sarah guessed that she found the vicar attractive—she was not the only young woman in their parish to think so.

She glanced at her family. Uncle Oscar gave her a half smile and a reassuring look.

He took the quill from the vicar and signed his name as a witness, then gave it to his son.

Her cousin scratched his signature onto the paper and dropped the quill as if it were on fire.

Ralph then folded his arms, and his expression was not unlike a petulant child caught in the larder.

Two tears slid down Aunt Venetia’s cheek, and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief.

Aunt had once told Sarah that crying at weddings was fashionable.

“If only Louisa could have been here,” she said, coming to Sarah and enfolding her into her arms.

Sarah did not wish to think about her mother now or the fact that she had missed another important day in Sarah’s life.

Mama had been absent for many of Sarah’s accomplishments at school.

Not that it had been her mother’s fault; Papa wouldn’t let her visit Sarah.

All she’d received from her mother were letters.

But she hadn’t received even one note from her father.

Sarah sometimes wondered if he forgot about her very existence.

She’d tried to be an ideal student and perfect young lady to impress him.

It hadn’t worked. Papa had only two loves: his wife and the dice.

Everything else was secondary. Mama had no choice but to obey him.

A wife was little more than the legal property of her husband—and now Sarah herself was a bride.

“She would have been so—”

Ralph, thankfully, cut off his mother. “Felicitations, Sarah. Or should I call you Mrs. Moulton now?”

She half-wondered what her aunt was going to say.

Sarah didn’t know if her mother would have been pleased by her marriage.

Like Aunt Venetia, she probably would have pushed the suit of the Marquess of Ingress.

She’d wanted Sarah to make a grand match.

Mama had been disappointed that Sarah hadn’t received an offer of marriage in her first Season and had insisted that she would receive several in her second—only, her mother had disappeared before they could go to London that year.

Sarah might not have married a man with a title, but she still had a title of her own.

“Lady Sarah, if you would, Cousin . Like your mother, I retain the title I was given at birth.”

“I suppose there will not be any wedding cake,” Aunt Venetia said, shaking her head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a wedding where there wasn’t cake.

When I was a young girl, we used to put pieces of cake underneath our pillows so that we would dream of our future husbands.

At my dear sister Louisa’s wedding, we broke the cake over the earl’s head and hers.

Some sort of local custom, I believe. I wouldn’t mind breaking a little cake over his head now.

Your father ought to have been here. He should not have abandoned you for that vulgar Mrs. Yardley. ”

Aunt Venetia’s well-meaning but tactless words cut at Sarah’s already thin skin. Her father had left her alone. He had not cared for her at all, nor for the home of his ancestors. He’d squeezed every farthing from Manderfield Hall and then sold it.

Uncle Oscar picked up Sarah’s hand and kissed it. “The earl’s loss is our gain. I have never seen a lovelier wedding. I wish my own dear daughters’ weddings had been as simple.”

Aunt Venetia touched her cheek with her hand. “That reminds me: at my daughter Mary’s wedding, they broke the wedding cake and threw it into the crowd. Another local custom. And at Arabella’s—”

Ralph interrupted his mother again. “Sarah was at both of those weddings, and I daresay her memory is as good as yours. We had best get back home, Mama. Sarah’s new family is waiting for her.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Sarah saw Christopher and Margaret standing a little apart from them and watching. Bridging their two worlds was going to be tricky.

Aunt Venetia raised her handkerchief to her eyes once more and dabbed at imaginary tears.

She gave Sarah another embrace. “I will throw a party for you and your Mr. Moulton. And I will have Cook bake you a wedding cake. I feel that you need a proper wedding cake, Sarah, even if Mr. Moulton is a cit. And all of your friends and neighbors will expect to be given a slice of cake as well.”

“I am sure they will all be delighted to receive it, my dear,” Uncle Oscar said.

“A wedding party is a wonderful suggestion, Aunt Venetia,” Sarah said and kissed her aunt on the cheek.

Then she hugged Uncle Oscar and would have embraced Ralph, too, if his arms hadn’t been folded across his chest. At least he’d been willing to stand as a part of the wedding party.

She touched the side of his arm. “I’m sure that I will see you soon, Flames. ”

His features softened a little. “Take care of yourself, Freckles.”

Smiling, she released her hold. “I will. And everyone else.”

Shaking his head, Ralph smirked. “The poor Moultons have no idea what is about to befall them. I suppose when I next clap eyes on them, the entire family will be unrecognizable. No one loves a project more than you do.”

Sarah laughed at the truth of his sally and turned to face Christopher and his beautiful sister.

Ralph hadn’t been far off. Sarah meant to help her new husband and sisters fit into higher Society.

That would require better manners and new wardrobes.

Sarah didn’t think she would have any difficulty marrying Margaret off to a member of the ton .

She had the freshness of a country girl with her blonde locks, wide blue eyes, and petite mouth (how Sarah wished her own mouth were smaller!).

And, luckily, Margaret was possessed with good manners, albeit a bit too shy.

Sarah would have to bring her out a bit more.

The girl did not have much countenance, but Sarah could teach her that.

Her mother had once said, “It is amazing what a large dowry can fix.” And she was certain that Christopher would give his sister a considerable portion.

“Well, Husband,” Sarah said in a rallying tone. “Shall we go home?”

“Yes, of course,” he said and began to walk out of the church.

He should have offered Sarah his arm. She quickly linked her arm with Margaret’s and said in a falsely cheerful voice, “We are now sisters by law, and you are stuck with me.”

Christopher shook hands once again with Mr. Robinson at the door and thanked him for performing the ceremony.

He was not completely without manners, but he did lack social niceties.

Sarah would have thanked the vicar as well if Christopher hadn’t opened the door to the carriage and all but lifted her inside.

Then he assisted Margaret in. He sat across from them, silent.

Was he already harboring regrets? His current silence reminded Sarah of the ceremony, when he’d kept her in suspense of his answer.

It did not raise him in her esteem. She looked at Margaret’s lowered gaze. Sarah did not like silence.

“I hope you do not mind, Christopher,” Sarah said, forcing him to pay attention to her. “I instructed my aunt Venetia’s servants to send over my possessions. I believe they will arrive before we do, or, Margaret, I shall be obliged to borrow a dinner dress from you and possibly a nightgown.”

Margaret blushed again and assured Sarah that she was welcome to any of her dresses.