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Christopher felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him.

A stunning woman, nay a lady , a complete stranger, had just proposed marriage to him.

He sat back down on the chair—his chair.

In his house. His estate. It was all so much to take in, but all he could think about was a pair of light-brown eyes and a beguiling smile.

She was not beautiful; she was better than that.

Lady Sarah Denham was unforgettable. Her clothing was the very finest and her figure perfection.

He pulled at his neckcloth. He had stared at her much too long.

What she proposed was preposterous!

Or was it?

He tugged at his neckcloth again and the knot came untied.

In his father’s wildest ambitions, he never would have believed that his eldest son could be the child to make a grand match.

All of Papa’s dreams had been for Christopher’s late brothers and his younger sisters.

Christopher had always been an embarrassment, the child his father had sent away to work at an early age to hide the scars beneath his nose.

A social climber needed a perfect family.

Christopher sighed. Papa was dead. Christopher no longer needed to beg for his father’s approval by marrying a grand lady.

Besides, his sisters would be here at any moment, and he needed to prepare the house for their arrival.

Standing up, he determined to think about Lady Sarah Denham another time.

He opened the door of the sitting room and found every servant in the house standing in a row, as if they were soldiers.

He swallowed, and the swarthy man, presumably the butler, who had brought him into the house came forward.

“Allow me to welcome you to your home, Mr. Moulton.”

“Thank you,” Christopher said and glanced again at the line of servants, who were watching him surreptitiously from where they stood.

“I am Mr. Wigan. I will be your butler, if you will it. This is Mrs. Harmony,” he said and pointed to a thin woman of grim aspect and numerous blonde curls. “She has been the housekeeper for fifteen years.”

Christopher held out his hand, and the butler bowed his head before taking it and shaking it.

Christopher did not offer his hand to Mrs. Harmony; clearly the servants were not used to handshakes.

He could not picture Lady Sarah grasping anyone’s hand.

He winced, realizing he had made a vulgar mistake within minutes of entering the house.

He tried to keep a blank face as he nodded to the servants as Mr. Wigan introduced all thirty-seven of them.

Christopher had no idea what most of them did; his house in London ran very well with only eight servants.

Although his town house was large for London, it was small compared to the grandeur of Manderfield Hall.

The butler bowed to him again. “We can make any adjustments you think necessary, sir.”

“I am sure your current arrangements will work very well for me,” Christopher said, waving his hand. “You may all return to your work. Thank you for your time.”

The servants filed off in every direction, leaving only the housekeeper.

Mrs. Harmony curtsied, her corkscrew curls bobbing up and down. “Mr. Moulton, sir, might I have a few moments of your time to discuss household matters?”

“Of course.”

She reached into her apron pocket and took out a paper written in perfect copperplate script. “Lady Sarah prepared the dinner menu for the rest of the week. If it meets with your approval, I will let the cook know. If not, we will do our best to accommodate your wishes.”

He accepted the paper from her and read the menu. At least half of the dishes’ names he did not recognize. His stomach churned in discomfort.

Handing the paper back to Mrs. Harmony, he said, “Everything appears to be in order.”

The housekeeper bit her lower lip and pulled a large brass ring full of keys from her pocket. “These are the housekeeping keys, sir. Usually the lady of the house holds them in her possession.”

Christopher accepted the brass ring. “My sister Margaret will be keeping house for me. I will see that she receives these.”

“Very good, sir,” Mrs. Harmony said, holding up a finger. “There is just one more thing.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

The older woman thrust both of her hands into her apron pockets and looked at the floor. “Lady Sarah selected rooms for your sisters; would you like to see them or pick your own?”

Christopher cleared his throat; he was half-impressed, half-exasperated.

Lady Sarah seemed to insert herself into every aspect of the running of the house.

Yet he had never seen a cleaner, better-run establishment.

“I should like to see them,” he said and followed Mrs. Harmony toward the grand staircase.

Mr. Wigan opened the main door, and Christopher’s two sisters walked into the house.

They had traveled separately in a post chaise.

Christopher didn’t particularly care to be boxed into a stuffy carriage.

He had avoided tight spaces ever since the time his father had locked him in a dark cupboard to hide him from his business associates.

Christopher had been scared, but mostly he’d been hurt to realize how embarrassed Papa was of his face.

Unconsciously, he rubbed the mustache that mostly covered the scars.

But it couldn’t cover years of stares and scorn.

“Christopher!” Deborah, his youngest sister, bounded toward him and threw her arms around his neck.

Her blonde curls framed her heart-shaped face.

At sixteen years old, she was the baby of the family and, because of her pretty face and exuberant spirits, received the bulk of the attention.

“Manderfield Hall is amazing. I am so glad you purchased it. How fancy we will be!”

He swung her around and set her down, patting her head. “Deb, you’re a whirlwind.”

Margaret did not run to him but walked more sedately.

She was two years older and an almost watercolor version of her sister.

Margaret’s eyes were as light as an afternoon sky, her blonde hair nearly white.

Her face was long and oval, rather than heart-shaped, and it didn’t possess the same animation as Deborah’s.

She also embraced him and said in a quieter voice than her sister, “It is a lovely house, Chris. I can hardly wait to see my bedchamber.”

“Mrs. Harmony, the housekeeper, was just about to show me your rooms,” he said. “Shall we go together?”

“Yes!” Deb exclaimed and headed up the stairs without waiting for the rest of them. She burst through the first door she encountered, and he heard her say, “Golly! I’ve never seen anything like this!”

He and Margaret trailed behind Deb, and the housekeeper took up the rear.

They followed Deb into the room, and even Christopher’s mouth opened in surprise.

The bed’s canopy frame was nearly ten feet high.

The ceiling was tiled with gold. The floors were covered in a sumptuous golden patterned carpet.

The walls were decorated in a gilded and celestial-blue paper with carved crown-and-base moldings.

The windows were dressed with tasseled gold curtains.

There was a pair of overstuffed wing chairs, an antique table, and a set of Queen Anne wardrobes, large as a curricle, next to a door with a golden knob.

“This room is usually reserved for the master of the house, and its adjoining rooms are for the mistress of the house,” the housekeeper said primly.

Christopher nodded and tried not to think of Lady Sarah or her preposterous proposal. It was difficult. He could picture her here. With him.

“I want to see them!” Deb exclaimed, opening the door, which led to a dressing room and another entryway that led to the mistress of the house’s rooms.

Again Christopher was stunned by their sumptuousness.

The mistress’s room was a mirror of the master’s, everything exactly the same, from the golden carpet to the golden tiled ceiling to the furniture.

The only difference was that the coloring of the paper on the walls was a pale pink and gold instead of blue.

Margaret’s eyes were wide. “It looks like it should belong to a princess.”

“No, a queen!” Deb flung her arms out and spun around in a circle. “It is so large, my arms do not touch anything.”

Christopher opened the door that led back to the corridor. “Let us go see your rooms. We will follow you, Mrs. Harmony.”

The housekeeper walked down the corridor and opened a door to a much smaller bedchamber.

Unlike the formal grandeur of the master’s apartments, this room looked almost homelike.

The carved oak furniture was older. The walls were papered in a yellow pattern, and the floor was covered in a net rug.

There was a reading nook by the window, and on the table was an arrangement of fresh flowers.

Like everything in the house, each flower was placed perfectly, with corresponding colors of yellow and blue.

“Chris, it is simply beautiful. I claim this for my room. Oh, look at all the fresh flowers!” Deb said enthusiastically, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Mrs. Harmony, they are very lovely,” Margaret said in a quieter tone. “What a thoughtful gesture.”

The housekeeper stiffened and sniffed. “It was Lady Sarah who picked them from the gardens and arranged them for you this morning,”

“Lady Sarah herself?” Deb said, her eyes wide and sparkling. “Bully!”

Margaret twisted her hands together, a nervous habit. Her blue eyes studied the carpet. “Is she still here?”

Mrs. Harmony shook her head, and more corkscrew curls escaped her white cap. “No, Lady Sarah has left. It is your home now. Shall I show you the other room she has prepared for you?”

“I suppose that room will be mine,” Margaret said, looking up at Chris and smiling.