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Christopher had survived the social calls two days ago—barely.

He’d met only one gentleman, a Mr. Wentworth, who was older than his father.

The man was bluff and genial but not the sort of friend Christopher wished for.

He supposed he would meet Mr. Robinson again at the garden party tomorrow.

He was not looking forward to the event, but his sisters were.

Every time he saw them they were speaking of it or preparing for it.

Margaret had told him that Sarah was remaking Margaret’s dress so that it would be the prettiest at the party.

He was not one for fashion, but that did not make him unobservant.

He’d noticed slight alterations to all of his sisters’ clothing over the last pair of days.

But the greatest change was to their hairstyles.

He could see Sarah’s hand in every aspect of his sisters’ appearances, and he was certain he had made the right choice.

Sarah had even invited the Lake sisters over for tea that very day to allow them to become better acquainted with Margaret and Deborah.

He had simply sipped his tea, but he’d watched how Sarah drew out not only his sisters but their neighbors.

By the end of it, Margaret was leading Miss Lake through the gardens and Deborah and the two younger girls were playing a game of tag.

He’d never seen his sisters so relaxed before. So happy.

Exhaling, he wondered if he had not been a very good brother.

He had provided them with a good education and fine clothing, but he had not spent a great deal of time with them.

He was nearly ten years their senior and had already left home by the time they were in leading strings.

He loved them, and he was fond of them, but he wasn’t certain he truly knew them.

Breathing in, Christopher realized that he’d never asked Margaret or Deborah if they even wanted to make grand matches.

Or live in a fancy estate like Manderfield Hall.

It had been their father’s dream, but was it theirs?

There was a quiet knock on the door of the room he’d chosen to be his study. He set down his papers. “Come in.”

The door swung open, and Sarah entered the room. He hurriedly got to his feet. He’d been expecting a servant. “Sarah. Is there something I can do for you, dove?”

The endearment had slipped out, but she didn’t seem to mind it. His wife’s cheeks turned a pretty pink.

“Nothing, dear Christopher,” she said, and he wished that he were dear to her.

That their marriage were more than a bargain for social advancement.

“I am only here to inform you that we have been invited to dinner by the Wentworths next Sunday evening, and before you frown, Mrs. Wentworth has assured me that she has included Mr. Brian Robinson and Mr. Harry Whitman in the invitation. I know Mr. Wentworth speaks only of his port, but both of his young male guests graduated from Oxford University and are good conversationalists. I am sure you will enjoy their company.”

How had she noticed that he missed male friendship? Sarah was uncommonly perceptive when it came to people’s thoughts. After only one day in his sisters’ company, she’d taken their complete measure. He wondered how many of his own secrets she’d already discovered.

Christopher frowned. He did wish to enjoy other men’s company, only he was afraid that he would not.

He had not gone to university, nor had he attended a public school like Eton or Harrow.

Most of his learning had been on the job, and he did not wish for these young men to find him ignorant. “What a thoughtful invitation.”

Sarah came closer to him, and he caught a hint of the lovely honeysuckle scent that she wore. She leaned against the side of his desk. “For someone who wishes to join local Society, you don’t sound particularly pleased by the invitation. Are you worried about the forks?”

He gulped in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Which fork to use. In our dinners together, I have seen that you are not always certain which utensil is the correct one for the course. You needn’t be embarrassed; we can go over them together.”

If Christopher wasn’t embarrassed before, he certainly was now. His wife proposed to teach him how to use the correct fork, like a child.

Sarah continued. “A little utensil trick my mother taught me is to go from the outside in. The farthest fork or spoon first.”

His toes curled and his chest tightened. “I do not need your help with forks.”

She bit down on her lower lip. “If not forks, then friends. You are worried about how you will fit into the neighborhood.”

Christopher had a twitchy feeling in his extremities and would have left the room if it hadn’t been his study. “You are treating me like a child, and I resent it greatly.”

Sarah surprised him by taking one of his hands in her own. “Do you fear that they will scorn you for your lack of formal education?”

He clenched his teeth. She’d even gotten the words in his head right.

Never before had he felt so foolish in another person’s presence.

He was the boss. No one had ever questioned him like this.

Knew him intimately like this—and in such a short time.

His bride had seen through his facade as if he were as transparent as a newly glazed glass window.

He could have dug his own grave and covered himself in dirt rather than face his new wife.

She looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for his answer.

All Christopher could manage was a curt nod.

Sarah sat on his desk, still holding his hand. “You silly man, don’t you realize that they are worried too? You are a famous and wealthy businessman from London. You are older and more experienced in the ways of the world. If anything, they will be nervous to meet you .”

Christopher hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps his difficulty in making friends stemmed not so much from his lower-class background but from his own reticence. He squeezed her hand and attempted a joke. “Am I such an intimidating figure?”

With her free hand, she brushed his hair from his brow.

His pulse leaped. “You are the strong and silent type. People will assume that you are uninterested or even rude. Mr. Brian Robinson, for example, is newly graduated from university, and this is his first position in the church. His knowledge is all theoretical; I am sure he would be grateful for the perspective of a man of the world.”

“And Mr. Whitman?”

She placed her second hand on top of his. He liked the feeling of being touched by her. The shape and weight of her hands on his. The satin softness of her skin.

Exhaling, Sarah said, “Mr. Whitman’s hair is brown, but his sideburns are as red as Ralph’s curls.

He is a shy man with a little stutter that he is very self-conscious about.

I believe poor Mr. Whitman has felt very isolated in the neighborhood before now.

He is the only gentleman of Eden society in his twenties, and he is also unmarried.

He doesn’t have much in common with middle-aged married men who have children nearly his own age. ”

Christopher’s toes uncurled in his boots.

The irritation that had tightened every muscle in his body loosened.

Sarah wasn’t trying to be condescending; she was trying to help him.

And her words had lightened his concerns.

Or, rather, her perspective of him. Christopher usually focused on what he lacked: high birth, education, and formal manners.

His bride instead shined a light on what he had to offer in a friendship: experience, travel, and his reputation.

He did have something to share with these young men.

“Besides being shy, what is Mr. Whitman like?” he asked.

Sarah tilted her head to one side. “I confess, I am not well acquainted with him. I know that he has a stud farm and raises horses. I have always felt that he was fonder of the animals he cares for than of people. But he is a kind man.”

Christopher fought down the urge to smile at her wit. “And he is well educated?”

“His mother made sure that everyone in the neighborhood knew that he had received a first at Oxford and was awarded with the title Senior Wrangler. I can’t recall whether it was for mathematics or something to do with the natural sciences.

Mr. Whitman has never mentioned it himself.

He is not one to boast, nor to speak above his company. ”

Christopher sighed. The man sounded like a clever cove. Christopher was decent at mathematics, but he left most of that to his bookkeepers. And as for the sciences, he knew nothing about them at all. At the moment, he’d rather dig a canal by himself than attend the garden party or dinner.

Raising one eyebrow, Sarah said, “You’ve grown silent.”

“If I don’t speak, then they won’t know what I am lacking in education.”

She released his hand and stood up, twirling around. “The answer is right in front of you—you’re sitting in a library. If you feel that you lack knowledge, begin reading. Or ask questions. I have never met a man who didn’t wish to explain some subject to me in great detail.”

A reluctant laugh broke out of his throat.

Sarah grinned back at Christopher. “You think I jest, but the better listener you are, the better conversationalist people will believe you to be. Everyone loves to speak. Only a few people understand the value of listening.”

Christopher was a good listener. Perhaps she was right. He did not have to worry about making conversation or appearing to be smarter than he was.

Coming to his side, she put a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped a little.

“But you will have to make the first move toward friendship with both gentlemen. Even though you are new to the neighborhood, they will perceive you as holding a higher position than themselves because you are the owner of a grand estate. They will wait for you to speak to them and invite them. Don’t be afraid to make the first step toward friendship. ”

Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he felt the urge to cover it with his own.

He liked her touch and when she stood near to him.

Sarah’s presence had nearly made him forget what he’d been working on before she’d arrived.

Christopher picked up the stack of papers and flipped over the first page.

Mr. Wigan had shown him the portrait of Lady Manders.

Christopher had done a sketch of her, adding shadowing to show her increased age.

The woman would be double the age now that she was when she’d modeled for the painting.

Sarah dropped her hand from his shoulder and picked up the sketch. Her eyes searched it before she held it to her chest. “How?”

His drawing had reduced his loquacious bride to only a one-word sentence.

He’d never thought to see Sarah speechless.

She always seemed to have so much to say.

Picking up his pencil, Christopher fiddled with it.

“As a drafter, you have to make a pretty accurate map of the area for the building of a canal. I got to be rather handy with a pencil or charcoal. I thought perhaps that if I sent out a picture of your mother, we might have more success. I plan to commission an artist to carve a woodprint of it to distribute with the advertisement from the publisher.”

Silently, Sarah held the sketch out and devoured it with her watery eyes.

Christopher feared it was not good enough or that it did not accurately reflect the missing countess. “I can make another. I was merely guessing how she might have aged, from her portrait. I don’t need to send it to be made into a woodprint yet.”

Sarah took a shuddering breath and attempted to hold in her tears. He’d tried to help her, and he’d only made it worse. He knew that finding her mother was the most important thing in Sarah’s life.

“I only meant to help.”

Sarah startled him by pressing a soft kiss against his temple and placing the sketch on his desk. “It is perfect. Might I have the original after the woodprint is created?”

“Of-of course.”

She stepped back, her hands fisted. “I shall go and change for dinner. I heard from Mrs. Harmony that a tailor arrived this morning to bring all your coats in. I daresay you will be the best dressed at tonight’s meal.”

Christopher groaned and she laughed softly. He watched her walk to the door and pause when her hand touched the knob. She glanced back over her shoulder at him. “Helping me find my mother means the world to me. I cannot thank you enough, Christopher.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I am your husband. It is my duty and my pleasure to help you in any way.”

Nodding, she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Christopher’s hand moved to his temple where Sarah had pressed a kiss.

They had not kissed on their wedding day.

Only the one time when they had sealed their bargain.

But this gentle caress made him realize how much he wanted to kiss her again.