Page 17

The next morning Christopher again knocked on the door that led from his apartments to hers. He would respect her space and privacy.

“Come in,” she said.

He opened the door cautiously. Sarah was still in bed, sipping a cup of chocolate. Her braids fell over her shoulders, and she was wearing only a pink silk robe.

She yawned. “Thank you for blowing out my candle. I am sorry I fell asleep before we could talk. It was rather an exhausting day, and I had awoken very early.”

Christopher shifted on his feet and focused his eyes on the fancy carpet on the ground. He felt embarrassed and unsure of himself, like a lad of fifteen and not a successful businessman of eight and twenty. “That is why I came this morning.”

“Then, let’s talk,” Sarah said with her most beguiling smile.

“Should you like to get dressed first?” he asked, still not looking at her directly.

Sarah laughed, and he heard her step out of the bed. “If you insist.”

A young servant woman came into the room. Christopher felt his face redden but glanced at Sarah, who showed no discomposure.

“Ah, Mills, would you bring both of our breakfasts to my room, please?”

Miss Mills, presumably, bobbed a quick curtsy. “Yes, my lady.”

The servant left the room, and Sarah walked to the windows and pulled back the gold brocade curtains, letting in the light.

Then she entered her dressing room and closed the door.

A few minutes later she came out dressed in a fetching white day gown with little pink flowers.

She sat down on a chair by the window and gestured with her hand to the chair on the other side of the table.

Christopher pulled at his neckcloth before sitting.

“A married lady always has breakfast in her bedchamber, but you are welcome to eat it with your sisters in the breakfast room,” she said. “Today, however, I thought it would be a trifle awkward for you to be obliged to eat with them the morning after your wedding.”

His heart thumping, Christopher pulled so hard at his neckcloth that it came untied.

“What would you like to talk about?”

Anything.

Everything.

Nothing.

His carefully prepared speech completely vanished from his mind when her beautiful brown eyes focused on him.

Her hair was still down in two braids from when she was sleeping, and they made her look younger and more vulnerable.

More like a person he could know. Like a young woman he could fancy and love.

Christopher sucked on his teeth nervously, then said, “You mentioned that you wished to introduce me to the tenants. I thought we could go today.”

She. Laughed. At. Him.

His face flushed red like Margaret’s always did when she was nervous. This high-and-mighty lady was mocking him. Sarah continued to laugh so hard that tears rolled from her eyes, and she brought a hand to cover her mouth. Wincing, Christopher had never been so mortified in all his life.

Sarah held up a hand and took a deep breath.

“Forgive my mirth. It is not directed at you, I promise, but rather at the ridiculous situation we find ourselves in. I only found it amusing to go visiting the morning after a wedding day. Particularly this early. We would be making ourselves figures of fun.”

Christopher’s face grew hotter. He had not thought of that.

She was right. A newly married couple was not supposed to be out and about in the early morning the day after their marriage.

His mortification eased to a gentle amusement.

His lips tugged upward only a little, but it was enough to send Sarah off into another peal of laughter.

She was still giggling when Mills and a footman, whose name Christopher did not remember, brought in two trays of food and set them on the sitting table between them.

“Thank you, Mills. I shall ring the bell for you should I need your assistance.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lady.”

“And thank you, Guy,” Sarah said with a bright smile, her face still glowing from her laughter. “I am sure that you can find something to do to keep our Nelly busy for a little while.”

Guy grinned back at her. “I am sure I can, my lady.”

Nelly grimaced. “Sarah.”

Christopher was not used to servants speaking with such familiarity to their employers.

His wife continued to smile. “You’re wasting valuable courting time remonstrating with me, Nelly.”

With a reluctant second curtsy, the young maid left the room, the grinning footman trailing behind her.

Sarah took off the silver lid of her tray and set it on the side of the table.

“I am sure you are wondering why Nelly spoke to me so informally. She is my oldest friend, and it is actually much stranger for me to hear her call me my lady. She’s never bothered to in the past. And I should really call her Miss Mills or simply Mills, since she has the exalted position of lady’s maid in the household. Shall we eat?”

She picked up her fork and took a bite of egg before Christopher took the lid off his own tray.

He was surprised and pleased that Sarah cared for her maid as a friend and, even more so, that they treated each other like equals.

Setting down the lid, he noticed the food had been arranged artistically on his plate.

It looked almost too pretty to eat, but his stomach growled, and he overcame his scruples.

The eggs benedict were cooked to perfection.

Sarah took a drink from her juice glass. “We should definitely make some calls to our neighbors after luncheon and our tenants another day. But I should like to spend this morning getting to know you better.”

A small spark of hope lit in his chest. Perhaps a lady and a canal worker could become friends. For the success and happiness of his marriage, he prayed it was thus. “I should like that.”

She shrugged and gave him a gamin grin. “Shall we start at the very beginning? Where were you born and when? I should hate to miss your birthday. Like my Aunt Venetia, I am very fond of cake, and I like making atrocious birthday hats. Be prepared for a sparkling confection.”

Christopher almost smiled as he remembered Lady Venetia’s recitation of the different local customs of wedding cakes. “The third of April 1777. In London.”

He watched Sarah tap her delicate fingers on the table, as if doing the math.

“Then you are three years older than me. I was born on the thirtieth of August 1780, and I feel obliged to warn you that I like a great deal of fuss made over my birthday. More is always better. My mother would start celebrating the week before my birthday and at least a fortnight after. Something small every day that made me feel special.”

This was the first time Sarah had mentioned her mother to him.

It was no wonder that she missed her. No one celebrated Christopher for even one day, let alone for over three weeks.

Birthdays were often marked with a small gift, but nothing special for the meal or any parties.

His own mother had grown up very poor as the tenth daughter of a carrier, and her housekeeping had been quite plain.

Christopher did not remember ever eating cake, and the only sweets had been Christmas puddings.

The food was simple and hearty. Mama had never put on any airs.

Not even when Papa had made his first fortune.

She liked her small and tidy house in London with only two servants.

A house that Christopher had never seen again after he’d been sent to work on the Sapperton Tunnel.

“I seem to have lost you,” Sarah said, watching him closely. “Have you fallen into a memory? Can you take me with you?”

His eyes fell to his plate, and he picked up his fork. “I was thinking of my own mother. She liked things plain and simple.”

“Oh dear. I do not like anything plain or simple.”

Christopher could well believe that. Every piece of clothing he’d seen Sarah wear had been ornate and eye-catching.

And nothing about Manderfield Hall was plain.

Especially not her room, which was sumptuously decorated in pink and gold.

Like a beautiful butterfly, Sarah fit perfectly in it.

If only Christopher could fit half so well in his own room of blue and gold.

He cleared his throat. “Mama led a simple life. She was never taught to read or write. She didn’t have her first servant until after my younger brother Francis was born. Papa insisted that she needed the help with the children.”

The sunlight that was in Sarah’s face dimmed.

She must have realized that Francis had died.

She reached her hand across the table and grabbed Christopher’s thick wrist, squeezing it gently.

Her delicate hand didn’t reach even halfway around it.

“Oh, Christopher, I am so sorry to hear about your little brother and your mother.”

He did not meet her eyes. “My three little brothers. A plague was rampant in the neighborhood and claimed all four of them in a matter of a fortnight. My father was wise enough to send my two sisters away from the sickness.”

Sarah did not release her hold on his wrist. “And where were you?”

“Digging a canal near Gloucester. I did not learn about it until long after. My father didn’t bother to tell me.”

She squeezed his wrist again. “How devastating. I am so sorry, Christopher. To lose so many beloved members of your family in such a short amount of time—I cannot comprehend such sorrow. What were the names of your other brothers?”

“John and Fred.”

“And Francis,” Sarah said.

She had been listening closely to what he said. Christopher nodded, his heart heavy. “My father was never the same after. He became obsessed with joining the highest echelons of Society.” For his two youngest daughters. Not Christopher. Never for his scarred eldest son.