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Sarah’s mother had been only fashionably pious.

Sarah knew most of the biblical stories, but the previous vicar’s sermons had been dull enough to put the most devout person to sleep.

And he’d rarely preached of women at all, except to focus on Eve’s transgression and how Rebecca had fooled her husband into giving the wrong son the birthright.

He’d used them as examples of why women were not trustworthy.

“I know the story of Margaret of Antioch,” she said, “but I confess I do not know the story of Deborah.”

“She was a prophetess in the Bible!” Deb said loudly and then pinched her lips shut.

Raising her eyebrows, Sarah said, “A prophetess. How very interesting. What great miracles did she perform?”

She could see that Deborah wanted to tell her but was fighting her own stubbornness.

The young woman was clearly determined not to be civil to Sarah.

And, truthfully, Sarah was interested to know.

She’d been unaware that women could be prophetesses.

Deborah’s need to boast must have overcome her desire to snub Sarah. “She led an army to victory.”

This was intriguing. Perhaps a little flattery would help the younger sister put down her defenses. “Then you were named well, Deborah, for I perceive that you are brave enough for anything.”

Deborah stuck out her chin again and gave Sarah a mulish look. “Don’t think you can flatter me.”

Sarah touched her chest in mock humility. “I would not dream of it. At least, not with such a small compliment.”

Margaret stood and walked toward where the harp was, in the corner of the room. “Do you play the harp, Sarah?”

She was obviously anxious to change the conversation and perhaps prevent her younger sister from being uncivil.

Yes, Sarah did play the harp. Or, at least, she had played it when her mother was still there to hear her.

After seven years, her musical talent was probably very rusty, like an unused door.

“My mother taught me,” Sarah said at last.

Deborah walked to the harp and plucked a string, then jumped a little at the noise it made. “I’ve always wanted to learn. So has Margaret.”

This was Sarah’s opportunity to win over Deborah, and she was not such a fool as to let it pass by. Margaret, too, had spoken of her interest to learn to play more instruments on the ride to the church. “Then I will teach you—both of you—if you’d like.”

Mr. Wigan brought in the tea tray, and Sarah was surprised at just how hungry she was.

But she poured her new sisters-in-law their tea before filling up her own plate with sandwiches and biscuits.

It was no fancy wedding breakfast with her family in attendance, nor was there a cake with several tiers and sugar icing.

It was not at all the sort of meal she would have expected on the day of her marriage.

They ate in relative silence, and what little conversation they had was strictly on the weather.

It had started to rain quite hard. The drops pelted loudly against the windows.

Margaret set down her teacup and dabbed her napkin against the edges of her mouth. “I do hope the servants got all of your things inside before it began to rain.”

Getting to her feet gracefully, Sarah took a deep breath. “Shall we go see?”

“I should like that,” Margaret said and walked to stand by Sarah. “Are you coming, Deb?”

Deborah stuck her chin out again, but Sarah saw her curiosity overcoming her stubbornness. “I suppose. There is nothing else to do in the country but twiddle your thumbs.”

Sarah didn’t take them outside, but up the stairs to the mistress’s rooms. Mrs. Harmony and Nelly would have ensured that the crates and trunks were inside before the downpour.

The housekeeper also knew where all the trinkets and knickknacks had been positioned only a fortnight before.

Sarah didn’t need to oversee every little detail.

She knew it would upset the servants. They had earned their positions through their hard work.

When she opened the door to the mistress’s rooms that had once been her mother’s, she felt the familiar pang of loneliness.

How she missed her mother! Even the smell of her perfume.

The touch of her hand. The sound of her laughter.

Over time Sarah’s memories had lost the senses. Only vague images remained.

Her previous lady’s maid, Nelly Mills, was already in the room, putting dresses away in the wardrobe.

When Sarah had left only a fortnight before, Nelly had been demoted to an upper maid, but she had reclaimed her old position now that Sarah was back.

Nelly set down the dress she was holding and curtsied to Sarah and the sisters.

Sarah tried to hide a smile. Nelly had never curtsied for her benefit.

Having grown up together as friends, not as servant and mistress, their relationship was less strict than most. Nelly rarely bothered to show Sarah any deference at all in private.

Her old friend had the darkest shade of black hair that Sarah had ever seen. It was braided back and tucked neatly underneath her mobcap now. She had hazel eyes, a small but pointy nose, and a mouth with a sharp tongue.

“Miss Mills, may I introduce you to Miss Moulton and Miss Deborah?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Nelly said and went back to putting away Sarah’s clothes. If she wanted to say something to her mistress, she would wait until the others were not present. Overfamiliarity could get them both into trouble.

Sarah walked over to the closest trunk and unlatched it.

Margaret and Deborah followed and marveled at her silk stockings and the number of slippers she had perfectly tinted to match specific dresses.

She allowed herself to enjoy their praise.

Fashion was one of her favorite things, and she had an eye for colors.

Her ability to transform gowns into looking new was her greatest talent, and a crucial one for a lady with a small purse.

“I was an attendant for a girl from school last year,” Margaret said, hiding her hands in her skirts.

“After the ceremony, the bride and groom sat on the bed, and we stood at the bottom. Then we turned our backs to them and tried to throw our stockings at her. If your stocking hits the bride, it means that you will be married next.”

Her story reminded Sarah of Aunt Venetia’s recitation of local cake customs. “Did one of your stockings hit the bride? Should we start purchasing your trousseau?”

The ever-ready blush was back in Margaret’s cheeks as she shook her head.

Sarah walked over to her bed, then sat down and scooted back until she reached the upholstered headboard. “Let’s see which one of you will be married first.”

To Sarah’s surprise, it was Deborah who first went to the edge of the bed and sat down and took off her stockings. Margaret followed after her sister, her blush blooming like a rose.

Sarah sucked her teeth. “Miss Mills, you should come too. You have a beau, after all. Who knows? You may be the first of the trio to wed.”

Nelly closed the latch of an empty trunk with a click. “It’s not my place, Lady Sarah.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Sarah said. “And don’t tell me that you don’t long to throw something at me, for I will not believe you if you do.”

Nelly laughed. “Too right.”

Her maid stood as far from the sisters at the bottom of the bed as possible to take off her boots and pull off her stockings.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asked.

They all said yes.

She held up a finger. “Now, no cheating. Keep your backs turned, and on the count of three, throw your stockings at me. One, two, three!”

Deborah’s first stocking landed on the coverlet below Sarah’s feet.

Both of Margaret’s stockings landed on the pillows next to Sarah.

Nelly threw her stocking so hard that it flew over the bed and onto the floor.

Deborah tossed her last stocking, and it landed on Sarah’s lap.

Sarah picked it up. “Well, Deborah, it appears that I will require my sewing needle. Who is the lucky man?”

The younger girl laughed, and it was a charming sound. Her whole countenance changed from stubborn to happy. She smiled and took her sister’s hands. “I am to get married before you, Margaret.”

“I don’t mind,” Margaret said, but Sarah could tell that she did mind, for she didn’t smile.

There seemed to be a sort of competition between the two sisters.

Sarah had no siblings of her own, so she didn’t precisely understand the dynamic.

The closest thing she had was her cousin Ralph, with whom she was still put out.

Nelly turned her back to Sarah and threw her other stocking. It hit Sarah square in the face. Sarah laughed and lifted it up. She scooted off the bed and picked up Nelly’s other woolen stocking and held them out to her. “I will have to inform Guy of his good fortune.”

Nelly blushed and grabbed the stockings from Sarah. “If you say a word to Guy, I’ll burn a hole through your favorite silk dress. You know which one.”

This was the saucy Nelly whom Sarah knew and loved. Sarah scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. “I’d better take off my wedding dress. It appears it may be needed by any one of you in the very near future.”