Page 2

Breaking out of Nelly’s hold, a sense of rightness settled over Sarah.

She walked back into the house and entered the sitting room.

All the original furniture remained; like the paintings, her father had sold them with the house.

Sarah had already packed all the knickknacks, and without them, the room appeared barren.

Her old harp stood in the corner, looking sad and neglected.

She had decided to leave it at Manderfield.

She had not played it since her mother’s d—she hadn’t played it in years, and it would have been cumbersome to move and store.

Sarah paced back and forth the length of the room, glancing out the window. When would the man arrive? She did not care what he looked like or how old he was. She was going to marry Mr. Moulton. Manderfield Hall would be hers, and no one could ever take her home away.

A few minutes later, the butler, Mr. Wigan, brought in the tea tray. He was a short man with a swarthy complexion and thick dark eyebrows. Sarah told him to put the silver service on the coffee table. He bowed low, a hint of a smile on his lips. Wigan had always been her ally.

She lowered her chin to him. “Thank you, Mr. Wigan. I do not know what I would do without you.”

The butler bowed again before leaving. Sarah turned back to the window.

Where was that dratted Mr. Moulton?

Her mouth felt dry, and her stomach was like an empty pit.

Sarah fastened and unfastened the top button of her crimson pelisse.

It was a fashionable piece of clothing with puffs at the tops of her sleeves.

She had improved upon it by adding braided ribbon and matching tassels.

Her fingers moved to the closest tassel, and she pulled on it nervously.

At last, she saw a man ride up on a brown mare.

She had been expecting a post chaise, but still, if Mr. Moulton could afford to purchase Manderfield, he was no pauper.

He wore a plain black coat and a black hat.

She couldn’t discern any of his features from the angle of the window.

Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly and sat on the sofa, tucking one foot behind the other.

She folded her hands demurely in her lap and put on her best smile. She was going to need it.

Mama’s words repeated in her mind: A lady is only as beautiful as she believes herself to be .

Sarah had always thought it was a rather unfair phrase, for her mother was naturally beautiful and Sarah had to work very hard at it.

A few minutes later, Mr. Wigan opened the door and announced, “Mr. Moulton, Your Ladyship.”

Sarah stood gracefully, turning slightly to show her best side, her left.

Mr. Moulton strode into the room, a cane in his hand.

He paused when he saw her and took off his hat.

If the man had suffered from smallpox, his face was not pocked.

In fact, he was the most ruggedly handsome man Sarah had ever beheld.

His features looked as if they had been carved roughly from stone.

He was tall with broad shoulders and a muscular chest. She was uncertain of his age but guessed him to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty.

He had thick blond hair that curled slightly at the ends, with sideburns that connected to a tidy beard that emphasized his strong jaw.

His cold gray eyes peered at her penetratingly.

Other ladies might have quaked in their boots from such a stare, but not Sarah. The nervous tingles in her hands and toes stopped. Her mother had taught her that she was descended from royalty. She did not cower before anyone. Not even the new owner of Manderfield Hall.

“Thank you, Mr. Wigan,” she said to the butler. “I will pour the tea, and you may go.”

Mr. Wigan bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sarah gave Mr. Moulton a polite smile and, tipping her head, pointed to a chair. He sat stiffly on the edge of it, and she took her own place on the settee.

Picking up the teapot by the handle and spout, Sarah poured two cups of steaming tea. She handed the first to Mr. Moulton across the table. His gloved hands were large. They had probably known physical labor, unlike those of any of the gentlemen she had previously claimed as suitors.

He accepted the tea with a firm “Thank you.” There was a roughness in his manner that Sarah found quite intriguing and not at all unattractive.

She picked up her own teacup and sipped delicately. “I suppose you are wondering why I am still here.”

“I understood from my solicitor that the hall was vacated,” Mr. Moulton said and added a gruff, begrudging, “my lady.”

Sarah liked the sound of his deep voice and cockney accent. She felt herself flushing. “I stayed to ensure that everything was in order for you, sir. And I hope you will find all at Manderfield Hall to your satisfaction.”

Mr. Moulton looked around the room. “I am sure I shall.”

“May I ask an impertinent question?” Sarah said, taking another sip of tea.

He set his teacup on its saucer and placed it on the coffee table. “I do not know why you are still here.”

“I want to know why you have bought Manderfield Hall,” Sarah said, ignoring his previous comment and bad manners.

The stranger grunted. “I don’t know what business it is of yours.”

“Are you married?”

“No, I—”

“Do you mean to enter local Society?”

He gripped his cane tightly and said through clenched teeth, “My business is my business.”

Shaking her head, Sarah smiled. “Do you mean to join the ton in London as well? I suppose you must, for you have bought a fine house and estate.”

She took a long sip of her tea and watched Mr. Moulton’s face as he struggled to answer her civilly. If he had held his teacup as tightly as he did his cane, he would have shattered the delicate porcelain.

“Your Ladyship,” he said at last, “I promised my father I would find good matches for my sisters, and I mean to keep my word. If that requires entering local or London Society, then I will do so.”

Sarah nodded and nibbled a biscuit. She chewed it slowly before saying, “Wealth and a fine estate will take you only so far, Mr. Moulton. What you really need is noble family connections, which I have in abundance. I am the daughter of an earl and the granddaughter of a duke, with the additional benefit of being related to half the aristocracy of England.”

“Bully for you.”

She crossed and then uncrossed her legs; her hands were jumpy in her lap.

“I propose we marry. I will be a perfect chaperone for your sisters, and I can introduce them to the highest members of Society. I can even ensure they are presented before Queen Charlotte—my mother was one of her ladies-in-waiting. No door in London, nor all of England, for that matter, is closed to me.”

His expression changed from shock to incredulity, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.

Sarah took a long breath and then released it. Glancing at the door, she knew that she could not afford to lose her nerve now. Mr. Moulton examined her with a familiarity that she would have resented in any other circumstance. Her neck felt hot. She hated when people found her flaws.

Rubbing his beard, he said, “I do not know what to say, Your Ladyship. I do not even know your name.”

She tried to smile but faltered. “My name is Lady Sarah Denham, and you need not answer right away. Actually, I would prefer that you didn’t. One should not make such an important decision without some thought.”

He nodded and then looked at her again with those penetrating gray eyes. “Why me?”

“Why do I wish to marry you?” Sarah clarified.

Mr. Moulton grunted. His free hand curled into a tight fist.

Sarah’s heart beat rapidly as she bounced her knee. “I want Manderfield Hall. It is my home, and I love it. You and your sisters wish to enter good Society, and I can make that happen. It seems like a good bargain on both sides. We both get what we want.”

He tapped his cane against his boot for a few awkward moments before saying, “I will consider your offer, Lady Sarah Denham. But I make no promises. I never planned on making a grand marriage for myself.”

“Your consideration is all I ask,” Sarah said, getting to her feet.

She wished she could slow her heartbeat and stop her limbs from shaking.

“I will be staying indefinitely with my aunt, Lady Venetia Randolph, at Westbrook Park. It is a little more than a half hour’s coach ride away.

You are welcome to call on me at any time convenient. ”

Mr. Moulton stood as well. At least this uncouth man had some manners.

Sarah held out her trembling hand. “I will go now. Thank you for your time, Mr. Moulton.”

He took her hand in his own large one and bowed over it. “Lady Sarah.”

She found that despite his brusque manners and his size and strength, he made her feel safe rather than intimidated.

When her hand hit her side, she realized he had let go.

She gave him a small smile and attempted to retrieve her dignity.

She left the room with her head held high and asked Mr. Wigan to call for the carriage.

“I already have, Your Ladyship.” The butler walked with her to the front of the house. “Mr. Phipps will be here with the carriage any moment.”

“Mr. Wigan, should—should anyone come looking for me,” Sarah said, her voice unsteady, “will you let them know where to find me?”

The butler gave her a sad, pitying look underneath his dark eyebrows. “Of course, Lady Sarah.”

She heard the sound of clomping hooves. “Goodbye, old friend.”

He assisted her inside the carriage, and the vehicle began to shake as it propelled forward. Sarah released a breath. She placed her hands on her chest in an attempt to slow the rapid beating of her heart. She had just proposed marriage to a complete stranger.