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A garden party is nothing to be nervous about , Christopher assured himself.

If anything, it was less formal than a ball or a dinner.

It was just the sort of relaxed outdoor atmosphere that would be ideal for meeting new people.

His hand moved to his cravat, but then he remembered that it had taken his batman no fewer than four tries to get the folds correct.

Both Harris and Sarah would be upset with him if he mussed it up.

He also hated riding in a stuffy carriage.

It reminded him of the two worst days of his life: being locked in the cupboard and when his father had come to collect him after his mother’s and siblings’ funerals and the carriage had driven through the night.

The trip had taken several days, and Christopher had felt like he was in a cage.

He couldn’t get out. He couldn’t cry. When his eyes had begun to tear up as he’d received the news, his father had told him to be a man.

Men, it would seem, did not cry. And gentlemen rode in carriages to garden parties.

Christopher met Sarah and his sisters in an antechamber. He watched as Sarah straightened Deborah’s bonnet and retied the bow so that it was swept fetchingly to one side. Next, she moved to Margaret and said, “Forgive me,” before she pinched her cheeks.

His little sister yelped, but her usually pale face was no longer pale. A little more color was becoming to Margaret’s complexion.

Sarah turned to face him with the smile that always set his pulse racing.

He held up both of his hands as if surrendering. “Please don’t pinch my cheeks.”

Deborah snorted with laughter, and Margaret giggled.

It was only a small joke, but Christopher realized that he never teased or joked with his sisters.

Particularly after the death of their father, Christopher had taken his responsibilities toward them seriously—perhaps a little too seriously. Laughter was good for the soul.

“I have no intention of pinching your cheeks,” Sarah said, coming closer to him so that the skirt of her day dress touched his boots. “I know how to add color another way.” She tiptoed and kissed one of his cheeks and then the other.

Christopher’s face, neck, and entire body warmed. He did not doubt that his cheeks were suffused with color.

Deborah snorted again. “A kiss works better than rouge.”

Sarah winked at her. “Our little secret.”

Without waiting for him to offer his arm, Sarah tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Instinctively, he covered her hand with his opposite palm and smiled down at her. He had never been one to show his emotions on his face, but in Sarah’s company, he found it difficult not to.

“I have a little surprise for you, Christopher,” she said and led them out of the house and onto the gravel pathway.

He heard the sound of horse hooves and expected to see the formal, closed carriage.

Instead there was a landau with no roof.

It appeared to be considerably older than the barouche, but he didn’t care.

He was not going to be trapped inside a moving vehicle.

He had ridden in a carriage with Sarah only twice before, but she must have noticed that he did not enjoy it.

Nothing went unseen by her watchful eyes.

She tightened her hold on his arm, and he felt her touch all the way to his heart. “Girls, pull out your pretty parasols. It is time to show them off to admiration.”

Christopher helped Sarah up and was not surprised to see her open a lacy parasol that appeared to be more fashionable than functional.

Paired with her yellow pelisse and bonnet trimmed in yellow and white flowers, his wife looked like a picture on a fashion plate.

He still could not quite believe that this beautiful woman was his wife and that she cared enough to notice that he didn’t like to ride in closed carriages.

He helped his sisters in and took his seat by Sarah.

Again she placed her hand on his arm in the place that seemed to be made just for her.

His sisters opened their parasols, and Christopher asked Mr. Phipps to begin their drive.

He half expected Sarah to give them a lecture on how they were to behave or what not to say in company, but her only remark was on the scenery.

“I know it is unfashionable these days to prefer formal gardens over the picturesque wildness of a landscape, but I must confess, I love the order and symmetry of Manderfield’s gardens. ”

“What about Capability Brown?” Margaret asked.

He was the famous garden architect known for designing the landscapes of many prominent estates.

He liked smooth grass and clumps of trees or bushes.

And, like Sarah’s uncle, Mr. Lancelot “Capability” Brown created many artificial, serpentine-like lakes by damming rivers.

The fashionable gardener had once compared the structure of a garden to that of a sentence: “There I make a comma, and there, where a more decided turn is proper, I make a colon; at another part, where an interruption is desirable to break the view, a parenthesis; now a full stop, and then I begin another subject.” Christopher’s father had tried to use Mr. Brown’s philosophies in the creation of his canals.

He had wanted them to add beauty to the landscape as well as a convenient way to move supplies and goods over a great distance in a short time.

Sarah spun her parasol. “He believed in improving on nature. I do not think anyone could improve upon Manderfield’s formal gardens, but I will own that Mr. and Mrs. Robinson’s landscape is delightfully untamed, unlike my poor uncle Oscar’s style of gardening, which is nature at its most pretentious.

We will have to explore the grounds of Westbrook Park farther the next time we are there. ”

“And when shall we go there?” Deborah asked.

Sarah stopped spinning her parasol’s handle. “I received a note from my aunt this very morning. She has already sent out invitations for a party to celebrate our wedding in a month.”

“Why so far away?” Deborah demanded.

Christopher had wondered as well, but he’d been taught his entire life not to question his betters.

His wife, however, did not seem at all discomposed.

“Aunt Venetia wished to invite the entire family and thought some might need a little more time to make the journey. But never fear; she has tasked her cook to begin making different cakes so that the most superior-flavored one will be chosen for the wedding cake.”

Christopher’s hand moved to his collar, but he stopped himself once again from pulling it.

He contented himself with rubbing his trimmed beard.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to meet all of Sarah’s grand relations.

He was just getting used to being married to a lady.

He did not wish to be surrounded by lords and ladies and dukes and duchesses.

Nor did he want his sisters to see how his grand relations treated him.

He expected the same cool condescension he’d received from the Honorable Ralph.

He knew that Deborah would fly to his defense and Margaret would be disappointed.

He could only pray Sarah’s toplofty family would be kind to his sisters.

Margaret wrinkled her nose. “One would not wish for an inferior flavor of sponge for a wedding cake.”

Sarah grinned. “I don’t know why the flavor matters at all. Aunt Venetia wants to break the cake over Christopher’s head and my own. Supposedly it is a local custom and a superstition for good luck.”

Dropping her parasol, Deborah shook her head. “You are pulling our legs.”

His wife held out her right hand solemnly. “I assure you that I am not. And you will see for yourselves at Nelly and Guy’s wedding in three weeks.”

Christopher thought these names sounded familiar, but everyone in the neighborhood of Eden was still new to him.

Deborah closed her parasol with a snap. “You mean to attend your maid’s marriage?”

Sarah leaned a little against Christopher’s shoulder. “I hope to be asked to be her attendant. Nelly Mills is my oldest friend. I would not miss her wedding for any reason. And I am sure the entire village will come out to celebrate. Both Guy and Nelly are very popular amongst the younger set.”

“The footman,” Christopher said out loud as he realized who the groom was.

His wife nodded against his shoulder.

“We’ll have to give them both a week off with pay as a gift and have Cook prepare a wedding breakfast for all their guests,” he said.

Sarah pulled away from him, but only to look Christopher in the eyes as she smiled up at him in approval. “How very thoughtful you are.”

In that moment, Christopher would have given the pair a year of paid leave.

“I should like to come too,” Margaret said, blushing a little and looking down at her hands. Christopher wondered if his sister was just being polite or if she wished for another opportunity to see the handsome young vicar.

“I suppose I shall as well,” Deborah said, kicking her foot against the seat. “I don’t wish to be the only one left out.”

Christopher hoped neither of his sisters would feel left out at the garden party.

The landau pulled up to the front of Hanford House, and a footman opened the carriage door.

Christopher alighted first and then helped his wife and sisters.

Sarah thanked the footman by name and again took Christopher’s arm.

She led him and his sisters to where the other guests were gathering.

Several white tents had been set up on the south side of the house, with tables and chairs.

Flowers in vases served as centerpieces, as well as towers of fruit and biscuits.

It was lovelier than any tradesmen’s ball he had ever attended.

Mrs. Robinson greeted them with a slight upturn of her thin lips. “Husband, may I introduce Miss Moulton, Miss Deborah, and Mr. Moulton? Lady Sarah you already know.”