Page 5

It took nearly the entire carriage ride to Westbrook Park for Sarah to compose herself, and even then, her pulse still raced through her veins. When she saw the familiar iron gates and the lovely yellow-stone house in the distance, she felt the tightness in her chest ease.

As they passed through the gates, she saw her cousin Ralph riding toward her on his gray mare.

He pulled up beside the carriage window and waved.

Sarah was a year older, but they had been best friends forever.

Although they were first cousins, they did not resemble each other in the slightest. Ralph was tall with curly red hair, bright-blue eyes, and a chin that pointed ever so slightly.

His figure appeared quite slim compared to the muscular form of Mr. Moulton.

“Where have you been, Sarah?” he demanded, speaking to her through the carriage window. “Mama is in a state. She expected you hours ago. She made me mount up to look for you. She was certain something was terribly amiss.”

Aunt Venetia was a dear, but she did tend to allow her imagination free rein.

“I was proposing marriage to a stranger—what else?” Sarah let out a crow of laughter, or hysteria, when she realized she did not even know his given name.

She hoped it wasn’t Hubert. She hated all Huberts, and Humphreys weren’t much better.

Ralph grinned as if it were all a great joke. “Really? Was he tall, dark, and handsome? A duke with an abandoned manor and a mysterious past? And I hope he had a fortune sufficient to meet your sartorial needs.”

“No, Mrs. Radcliffe, he was not a hero, nor a villain, from one of your novels,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “He was more of a blond Hercules, the sort that would show to advantage in the boxing ring. And I am afraid he is not noble at all.”

Her cousin curled his clean upper lip in disbelief and mockingly lifted his hat to her.

Ralph must have decided to lose his mustache after she had called it a rodent underneath his nose.

“You shock me. I thought only a duke would do for you since you turned down an offer of marriage from the Marquess of Ingress last year.”

Sarah felt the heat rise on her neck again. “Hush, you! I told you about that in the strictest of confidences.”

“Mr. Phipps won’t tell anyone. Will you, sir?” Ralph called, placing his hat back on his head.

“No, Master Ralph. I know how to keep my mouth shut,” Mr. Phipps said from his driver’s seat.

The carriage came to a stop at the front of the house.

Westbrook Park looked like an Italian villa, with a row of pilaster pillars and a second-story balcony.

The stones were a creamy yellow, and there were several pointed arches.

Ralph dismounted from his horse and opened the carriage door for Sarah.

She accepted his hand and stepped out of the carriage.

“Are you sure you didn’t forget anything, Freckles?” Ralph asked, raising one red eyebrow. “I believe you have only taken up the entire west wing with the boxes you’ve already sent. I am sure we could find space in the east wing as well.”

Sarah laughed and released his hand. She despised the nickname Freckles, particularly because Ralph was covered in freckles himself. “Poor Flames. Did you have to toss a few of your cricket trophies into the rubbish pile?”

Before Ralph could reply, Aunt Venetia swept out of the house in a flourish of purple skirts and a mass of red curls. Her loquacious aunt loved to dress in bright colors that clashed horribly with her shade of hair, which was a color Sarah suspected was now dyed.

She threw her arms around her niece, squeezed her tightly, and said dramatically, “I thought you were stolen by vagrants! Or that your carriage had overturned. Or that you had a grievous injury. My dearest Sarah, niece, daughter of my beloved sister, what took you so long?”

Sarah returned the embrace, then stepped back. Her aunt never said one word when she could say ten. She glanced at Ralph, half expecting him to tell his mother about the marriage proposal he’d assumed was a jest.

“My cousin was simply making sure she didn’t forget anything,” Ralph explained, taking off his hat and kissing his mother’s cheek. “But how there could possibly be anything left at Manderfield Hall to forget is beyond me. I believe she brought it all here with her.”

Sarah playfully shoved him. “I am sorry that I worried you, Aunt.”

Aunt Venetia gave her a loving smile that showed the lines around her blue eyes and her rosebud mouth.

She took Sarah’s hand and placed it in the crook of her own elbow, patting it.

“How happy I am to have you, Sarah. How I have missed my own girls since they’ve married.

I’ve had no one at all to keep me company. Not a soul to talk to. Not a one.”

Ralph grunted and raised an eyebrow.

“Sons are not at all the same,” Aunt Venetia said and drew Sarah inside the house.

Ralph followed behind them. “Men are not half as good company as women. Except, of course, your uncle Oscar, who has always been most excellent company. He is always in possession of the latest gossip about town, and did you know, this very morning, he was telling me the most interesting story about Lady Jersey. He said ...”

Sarah looked over her shoulder and grinned at Ralph’s chagrined face, but she knew her aunt was only being kind. Sarah was the worst kind of visitor—the sort without a specific end date—and she felt fortunate to have such caring relatives to welcome her into their home.