Page 22

“You don’t need to thank me. I am your husband.

It is my duty and my pleasure to help you in any way,” Christopher had said.

The words kept rolling around in Sarah’s mind as Nelly tugged her hair with her brush and smoothed the back into a chignon.

Sarah had never expected her husband to voluntarily help her.

Even if she’d married the Marquess of Ingress or a different suitor.

A wife was not considered to be a husband’s equal in law or in marriage.

A husband was the master in all ways. He could do with her what he pleased, treat her however he wished—even, sadly, beat his wife to “correct her behavior.”

Papa hadn’t physically injured Mama, but he’d been controlling in every other way.

He’d wanted to know where she was at all times and whom she spoke to.

Aunt Venetia had said that Papa had loved Sarah’s mother greatly—but it wasn’t love.

It was obsession. If Mama was asked by a duke to waltz at a ball, her father wouldn’t let her receive visitors for a week.

If Mama spoke well of a footman or a groom, they were immediately dismissed.

Her father had even been jealous of the attentions Mama had shown Sarah.

He didn’t like when her mother had focused on any person other than him.

That was the reason he’d sent Sarah to school at the age of eight despite Mama’s tears and pleadings.

And the more her father had tried to control every aspect of her mother’s life, the more Sarah had grown to hate him.

She knew what her parents had fought over that fateful night when Mama had disappeared.

Papa had used Sarah’s dowry to pay off his gambling debts of honor.

There was not even a farthing left of the thirty thousand pounds that had been set aside to ensure his daughter’s future—money that had come from her mother’s portion.

Mama had been beyond livid. Sarah had never heard her raise her voice before, nor fight with Papa, despite the restrictions he had made on her every movement.

It was only when he’d diced away his daughter’s security that Mama had broken all of her rules.

She’d yelled at Papa and told him that she would never forgive him.

Then she’d left the house to go on a ride alone, something that Papa had never let her do.

Mama was a capital rider. There had been no reason for Sarah to be worried, even after Mama had been gone for several hours.

She often rode to release her frustrations.

She’d once told Sarah that on the back of a horse was the only place that she felt weightless and free.

“There,” Nelly said, tugging on a curl. “All finished. You’re as pretty as a picture, Sarah. You’ll have Mr. Moulton eating out of your hand.”

“Like a horse?”

Nelly chuckled but then sobered. “I am glad you married him, even if he’s not from the same class as you. I have missed you more than I can say. Manderfield Hall isn’t home without you.”

Turning in her seat, Sarah said saucily, “Yet you refused to come with me to Westbrook Park. Could it be that no place is home without a certain footman named Guy?”

Her old friend colored, which wasn’t like Nelly at all. “He finally proposed to me last night.”

Sarah placed a hand on Nelly’s arm. “The stocking-throwing worked. Would you like to borrow my wedding gown, or shall we go into the village tomorrow and purchase some cloth from the shop?”

“I can’t wear your dress. What will people in the village say?”

Sarah pinched her friend lightly. “Mr. Robinson will say that you are the most beautiful bride, but I should warn you that he says that to everyone and not to let it go to your head.”

Nelly chuckled again. “Are you sure, Sarah?”

“Entirely,” she said. “Shall I tell Cook to start doing the sugar-icing work for the wedding cake?”

Her lady’s maid straightened the lace of Sarah’s collar. “You may after the first banns are read on Sunday.”

“And do I get to break the cake on Guy’s head? My Aunt Venetia claims it is a local wedding custom.”

Nelly gave Sarah a little push. “If anyone’s breaking cake on Guy’s head, it’ll be me. Now, off you go, and teach those spoiled termagants some manners.”

Sarah gave her old friend a mock curtsy, as if she were a queen and not a maid; then she left her room and met Christopher at the top of the stairs.

He was dashing in his evening dress. The tailor had fitted his coat perfectly to his frame.

Her husband would not have looked out of place at a St. James Palace levee.

The corners of his lips tilted up, and he offered his arm.

His words rattled through her head again: “You don’t need to thank me.

I am your husband. It is my duty and my pleasure to help you in any way. ”

She placed her hand on his arm and felt the strength there. “You are looking very handsome, Husband.”

“As you always do, my wife.”

Sarah thought she heard a slight emphasis on “my,” and surprisingly, she rather liked it. Christopher didn’t wish to own her or control her—he wished to help her. She smiled as they walked down the grand staircase together. His sisters were already in the dining room.

Deborah turned from where she was staring out the window and gave them a begrudging “Good evening.”

Sarah still needed to win over the younger sister.

Chaperoning her husband’s sisters and ensuring they made good marriages was all that Christopher had asked of her in return for their marriage.

He’d already kept his promise of making her the mistress of Manderfield Hall, and he was trying to locate her mother.

He was doing more than she could have hoped for. Sarah needed to try harder.

After a delicious dinner, but with stilted conversation, Sarah stood.

The Moulton sisters also got to their feet.

Custom said that a man drank a glass after dinner by himself or with other men.

The last two nights, she had not seen Christopher after the meal.

She didn’t know where he’d gone or how he’d spent his time.

He was her husband, and she wished to get to know him better.

She had to get to know all of the Moultons better.

They needed to become a true family. Sarah wondered what her mother would have done.

Christopher clearly loved his sisters, but he was not close to them.

Margaret was reserved, and Deborah resented her elder sister’s influence almost as much as she despised Sarah for marrying her brother for Manderfield Hall.

Sometimes it made Sarah want to hide like she was still a small child.

That was it.

“Christopher,” Sarah said as they reached the door. “Do not linger too long over your port. Your sisters and I will be hiding on the ground floor, waiting for you to find us.”

“You wish to play hide-and-seek?” Deborah asked mockingly. “Isn’t that a children’s game?”

Sarah shrugged. “Are you afraid you will lose?”

“Never,” Deborah said, pushing past Sarah and through the door.

Sarah winked at Margaret and lifted her skirts to make a dash for it.

She heard Margaret’s laughter behind her echoing in the marble entry hall.

Sarah knew precisely where she was going to hide.

Even though she was a great deal larger than when she had been six years old, she could still fit into the blue cabinet in the sitting room.

Closing the double doors, her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.

A bubble of laughter grew in her chest, but she suppressed it.

She could not make a noise, or Christopher might find her first.

Several minutes passed, and Sarah started to worry that he wasn’t playing the game.

She hadn’t even asked him to. She’d told him.

Placing her hand on the cabinet door, she was about to take a peek of the room when she heard footsteps.

She moved her hand to her mouth to keep in her silent laughter.

She heard Christopher check behind the tables, the furniture, and even the curtains, like her mother always had.

Then he opened both doors to her cabinet, and Sarah jumped in surprise, laughing.

And then her serious husband began to laugh too.

They laughed together, and that small moment seemed to create a bond between them.

A memory to build their new relationship upon.

Christopher held out his hand to her and helped her out of the cabinet.

Sarah stepped onto the carpet, but he did not drop her hand.

Like earlier that day in his study, Sarah discovered that she enjoyed holding Christopher’s large, strong, and callused hand.

“Shall we find the girls together?” she asked, tugging him along and out of the room.

Together they found Margaret in the nook behind the main staircase and Deborah behind a sofa in the library.

Deborah dusted off her dress as she got to her feet. “It is not fair. Sarah has lived here all her life. There are no spots that she doesn’t know about.”

“You’re right,” Sarah agreed. “How about this time only one person hides on the first floor and everyone else comes to find them and then joins the person in their hiding spot?”

“You should hide, Sarah,” Margaret said. “You know all the best places.”

Reluctantly, Sarah let go of Christopher’s hand. “Count to one hundred.”

Picking up her skirts, she dashed up the main staircase and past hers and Christopher’s rooms. She would be found too easily there.

Out of breath, she also avoided the sisters’ rooms and did not stop until she reached the farthest guest room.

She closed the door carefully behind her and opened the wardrobe slightly before hiding underneath the bed.

She was glad that she’d had the servants scrub Manderfield Hall from the attics to the basement, for there was no dust underneath the bed that might have made her sneeze and given away her perfect position.

Closing her eyes, Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun.

Or behaved so silly. In her teenage years, the time with her mother had been so minimal that they hadn’t played any games.

Mama’s attention had been on helping Sarah become the best version of herself so as to find a good match and secure a prominent place in Society.

Beauty and kindness were important things, but Sarah wondered how her mother had felt about so many other subjects.

Ones that they’d never had the opportunity to speak about.

Even small things, like the foolishness of having nine utensils at dinner.

What books she’d liked to read. What she’d thought about the class system and how a person’s worth was measured.

Sarah pondered what her mother would have thought of Christopher and his sisters.

Would she have seen his worth beyond his wealth?

Despite her own disappointing aristocratic marriage, Mama had wanted Sarah to marry a man with a title.

She and Christopher’s late father had possessed the same goal.

Sarah had been married for less than a week now, but she was already happier than she might have been wedded to any other man of her same rank, even the kind Lord Ingress.

Like Papa, a titled peer would have expected Sarah to obey him.

To be the beautiful wife on his arm. His political and social hostess, with no thoughts or opinions of her own.

The door to the room opened, and she saw a pair of slippers. It had to be one of the girls. She ran to the wardrobe and flung it open, only to find it empty. Then she left the room as quickly as she had entered it. Sarah had to cover her mouth again not to snigger. Her trick had worked.

A few minutes later, a pair of boots walked into the room—Christopher.

His feet moved across the room as he methodically checked every nook and cranny, even the wardrobe that was ajar.

She heard a shuffling of feet and then saw his knees before his handsome face peeked underneath the bed skirt.

Sarah couldn’t hold in a little laugh, and Christopher grinned at her for the second time that evening.

She loved how happiness softened his rugged features and filled his serious countenance with light.

“Quickly, come underneath the bed,” she whispered.

Christopher lay down on his back and wiggled underneath the bed until he was next to her.

His lips brushed her hair and her cheek.

She wondered how they would feel on her mouth again.

Her marriage of convenience was turning out not to be so convenient after all.

Sarah had only been kissed once before by Christopher, and she hadn’t known how to respond.

She had stiffened in surprise when he’d touched her, and he’d stopped immediately. How she wished he would try again.

His eyes met hers and Sarah could not look away.

It was as if some invisible bond held them together and neither could turn away from it.

Her mother had always said that love made one blind to another’s faults.

Sarah wasn’t blind to Christopher’s. He was stubborn and secretive, but he was also endearingly shy and a little lonely.

She wanted to help him make friends, but more than anything, Sarah wished to be his friend.

She could not drink with him after dinner, nor did she wish to go hunting with her husband.

None of the activities of a male friendship.

She wanted to walk with him. Talk with him. Share her secrets with him.

“Sarah, I—” he began in a soft voice, but she did not get to hear him complete his sentence, for another pair of slippers entered the room, and it did not take Margaret long to find them underneath the bed.

Sarah scooted closer to Christopher to make room for his sister.

Her arm was touching his, and everywhere their bodies met, she felt delicious tingles.

Margaret started to giggle, and her mirth was infectious; soon all three of them were laughing, and Deborah found them easily.

One by one they crawled from underneath the bed.

Sarah was the last one out, and Deborah offered her a hand to help her up.

It was the first sign of the stubborn girl receiving her, and Sarah accepted it gratefully.

“You know what children’s game we should play now?” Deborah asked.

Margaret shook her head. “What?”

“Spillikins! I saw a set in the parlor.” Deborah grabbed her sister’s hand, and they rushed out of the room with the same boisterous energy with which Deborah had entered it.

Sarah gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

Christopher held out his hand to her, and Sarah did not hesitate to take it.