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Her husband didn’t mutter even a syllable during the carriage ride to Wentworth Manor.

Not that he had much opportunity to do so.

Deborah asked a dozen questions about the dinner party—it was to be her first. She wished to know the order of the evening.

How large the house was. Whether Miss Iphigenia Wentworth had any siblings.

Who else would be attending the party. And she wanted to know which gentleman would be escorting her to dinner.

Sarah knew that Brian Robinson and Harry Whitman were coming, but she was certain that Mrs. Wentworth would include another gentleman in the party to make the numbers between the ladies and gentlemen even.

Sarah thought that Mr. Whitman liked Miss Wentworth, and with a little encouragement, he might even propose.

She did not know whether the young lady returned his regard, but she was very much aware that Mrs. Wentworth did not.

She wished for her only daughter to marry higher than a gentleman horse breeder.

She often talked of going to London for a Season, but the Wentworths had never left Eden, and being practically minded, Sarah doubted Miss Wentworth had either the personality or the looks to succeed in the ton marriage market.

She was a pretty girl with soft brown hair and eyes, a light figure, and pleasing manners.

But her dowry would not be enough to make the difference needed.

As Sarah had told Christopher, grand matches required good connections and a great deal of money.

They arrived at the neat and stylish Elizabethan manor with a redbrick exterior and long narrow windows. It was impressive without being large.

The door to their carriage opened, but instead of a footman, it was her cousin Ralph.

“Flames!”

“Freckles,” he said, pulling her out of the carriage and into a tight hug. “I’ve been a complete and utter mule. I shall mind my own business in the future. Forgive me?”

Sarah returned the embrace before stepping back from him. “Of course, Ralph. And you can begin to earn your amends now. I have two beautiful sisters-in-law who need escorting into their first dinner party.”

Her cousin chuckled and turned back to the carriage to offer his hand to Margaret and Deborah.

Sarah thought she saw a hint of color in his freckled cheeks.

Despite calling them cits before meeting them, her cousin obviously appreciated their lovely appearances.

He offered each sister an arm and jovially escorted them inside the house.

Christopher alighted from the carriage without assistance. There was a line between his eyes and a look of dissatisfaction underneath his well-trimmed beard. Perhaps even jealousy.

Linking her arm with his, Sarah whispered in an undertone, “It would appear that Mrs. Wentworth is trying to snare a baronet-to-be for Miss Iphigenia Wentworth. How furious that lady will be when she sees your sisters are on his arms.”

His mouth curved into his almost smile, and she could see the small scar that marked his top lip.

She had the unaccountable desire to run her finger over it.

Silly. Sarah and her husband were still getting to know each other, and after only one kiss, she did not dare take such liberties.

Christopher was a reserved man, and she wanted to break through his walls.

She wished to whisper her own secrets to him, knowing that they would be safe in his keeping.

He was a good man and a good brother. And a good husband.

Christopher led her into the house, and they were met by Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth.

The master of the house greeted them with a large smile and shook her husband’s hand warmly.

Mrs. Wentworth curtsied coldly, and Sarah wondered if the woman had only invited them by way of extending the invitation to Ralph.

Her cousin hadn’t mixed in Eden society before, but he would have done anything for Sarah, and the social-climbing Mrs. Wentworth seemed to sense that.

Unsurprisingly, Ralph escorted Miss Wentworth into dinner and sat on her right.

Mr. Robinson escorted Margaret, and they seemed to be enjoying a quiet and serious conversation together.

Mr. Whitman led Deborah, and the two were laughing boisterously like old friends.

During the meal, Sarah noticed Mr. Whitman’s eyes glancing across the table at Miss Wentworth, and the young lady’s cheeks turned a pretty pink.

Sarah hoped that despite Mrs. Wentworth’s machinations, the young couple would tie the knot.

After the dessert courses, the ladies retired to the sitting room for coffee while the gentlemen enjoyed their port and cigars.

The coffee was as strong as Mrs. Wentworth’s personality and burned down Sarah’s throat.

Margaret and Deborah sat on opposite sides of Miss Wentworth, and the three girls appeared to be having a lovely chat together, which left Sarah with Mrs. Wentworth.

“How kind of you to invite us to your party,” Sarah said, forcing herself to smile. “Your home is lovely.”

Mrs. Wentworth sneered. “The new glazing of the windows cost over five hundred pounds.” The historical manor truly was lovely, but it was a cottage compared to Manderfield Hall. The older woman was needlessly putting on airs.

“The entire facade is delightful,” Sarah said. “I particularly enjoyed the picturesque view of your estate. Do I detect the influence of Capability Brown?”

The older woman sniffed before she smiled. “Indeed. My husband hired a landscape architect from London to design it.”

“How wonderful.”

Their awkward conversation was cut short by the entrance of the gentlemen. Sarah had never been happier to see her cousin’s face, nor the handsome visage of her husband. She left Mrs. Wentworth’s side and took Christopher’s hand eagerly. He glanced at her in surprise before gripping it tightly.

Her cousin did not miss the exchange. He raised an eyebrow—a family habit. “I take it marriage is going along swimmingly?”

Sighing, Sarah smiled. “It is. Although, we have yet to go swimming.” She turned to her husband. “Ralph and I swam in the river that leads to Westbrook Park most days in the summer growing up.”

“I recall us splashing together in it only last year. Particularly the deep section by the old oak tree. You should show it to Mr. Moulton, and perhaps he can take you to the spot he marked of where to divert it for the lake. Papa has not forgotten his latest project.”

Christopher bowed his head. “I have advertised for workers. A crew should begin digging as early as next week.”

“Everybody,” Mrs. Wentworth said in a loud voice from the other side of the room. “My daughter, Iphigenia, has been prevailed upon to play the pianoforte for us.”

Sarah smirked. Clearly the older woman did not like Ralph speaking to her and not paying court to her daughter.

Christopher led Sarah to a settee, and Ralph took the chair next to them.

It was the farthest from the instrument and caused Sarah to smile again.

Poor Miss Wentworth’s cheeks were a bright cherry red, as if she recognized her mama’s awkward matchmaking attempts.

She sat at the pianoforte and played two songs with nary a mistake.

Despite the awkward beginning, she showed the poise of a duchess.

Everyone clapped at the end of the second song, and Miss Wentworth stood to leave the instrument, clearly making way for the other young ladies to perform.

Sarah waited for Mrs. Wentworth to ask Margaret and Deborah to display their talents for the group, but the awful woman did not.

Instead she said pointedly to Sarah, “Will you play the harp, Lady Sarah? There is no young woman in the neighborhood equal to your skill.”

Swallowing, she saw Margaret’s ever-ready blush and Deborah’s obstinate chin.

As a married lady, it was out of place for Sarah to display her talents, especially when there were two young ladies in the room who should have been asked first. Sarah was not about to allow her new sisters-in-law to be slighted by anyone, and certainly not by the likes of a Mrs. Wentworth.

“But of course, Mrs. Wentworth. And, if I may, I shall perform with my new sisters. Miss Moulton plays the pianoforte beautifully, and Miss Deborah has the voice of an angel.”

Sarah took Margaret’s elbow. She whispered into her ear, “Play any song Deborah knows, and I will follow along on the harp.”

Deborah met them at the pianoforte. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ll play ‘The Red, Red Rose,’” Margaret whispered.

Sarah squeezed both of their hands. “I know that song as well. It will be beautiful; I am certain.”

Letting go, Sarah sat down at the harp and soundlessly ran her fingers over the strings.

She was grateful that her new sisters-in-law had asked for lessons, for a fortnight ago, she’d been quite out of practice.

But the fingerings and the notes had come back to her quickly.

Margaret played the introduction to the song on the pianoforte, and Sarah plucked and strummed the harp.

Deborah began to sing, and her voice was pure and true.

Sarah had to remind herself to keep playing her own part; she could have happily listened to Margaret and Deborah perform for the rest of the evening.

She strummed the last note and then pressed her hands on the strings to quiet the harp. Christopher was the first person to clap, and Ralph got to his feet, also applauding.

“Brava, Sarah,” Ralph said, his eyes filled with water.

He was the only person in the room who knew she had stopped playing the harp seven years before.

He also knew the instrument reminded Sarah of her lost mother, and he seemed to realize the importance of her playing it again.

It was healing. Sarah began to feel whole for the first time in seven years.

She glanced at Mrs. Wentworth, who looked as if she’d swallowed a prune. If she’d planned to get Ralph’s attention for her daughter, she had failed miserably. His watery eyes were on his cousin and then on Christopher.

Mr. Wentworth politely asked them to perform another song. Margaret chose “The Briery Bush.” The three of them were in perfect harmony. Miss Wentworth clapped loudly when they were done and made a point of complimenting them several times, perhaps to make up for her mother’s lack of manners.

Mr. Whitman took the seat next to Miss Wentworth, and Mr. Robinson sat between Sarah’s sisters-in-law.

The only person who seemed unhappy with this arrangement was Mrs. Wentworth.

Sarah returned to the settee to hear Ralph say in a low voice, “Mr. Moulton, I have wronged you. And Sarah. I thought she was marrying you only to stay at Manderfield Hall in case her mother returned. But I now see that your marriage is a good one. I have not seen my cousin so happy in years, nor have I heard her play the harp since my aunt’s disappearance.

If I had a goblet, I would toast you both. ”

“Perhaps instead you could have a piece of humble pie,” Sarah suggested.

Ralph chuckled. “You know I will eat any type of pie, humble or not. Oh, how I’ve missed you, Sarah. May I visit Manderfield Hall, Mr. Moulton?”

She stiffened in her seat. She was not used to her husband being asked for permission instead of herself. It reminded her forcibly of her parents’ marriage and her father’s possessiveness. However, it was correct according to societal norms.

Christopher placed a gentle hand on her knee. “You will you have to ask Sarah that. She is the mistress of Manderfield Hall and of her own affairs.”

“May I come, Sarah?”

Sarah’s heart soared. She’d been right. Christopher was a good husband. “You’re welcome at any time, Ralph.”

“Then, I shall see you tomorrow morning at dawn.”

She laughed, and her entire body felt lighter. Sarah had always been afraid that if she married, her husband would tether her down, control her actions and interactions with others. But Christopher made her feel free.