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Ralph tried to pull his arm away, so Sarah tightened her hold and pinched his bicep with her other hand.

She got mostly coat, but she was happy to see him squirm.

She had never been so furious with her cousin.

A footman opened the door to the morning room, a bright calico-striped parlor with comfortably stuffed furniture.

Aunt Venetia stood and opened her arms to Sarah again. “Oh, my dearest niece, you were not stolen by bandits.”

“I am certain the bandits would have returned her after a few hours and have gladly paid us a ransom to keep her,” Ralph said sardonically.

Groaning, Sarah gave Ralph one last pinch before releasing his arm and embracing her aunt. Her cousin always brought out her most pettish behavior. Aunt Venetia’s hug was nearly as tight as Sarah’s grip on Ralph’s arm. She felt her throat closing up, as if all the air was being squeezed out of her.

“Sarah, I do not mean to keep you wrapped in cotton,” Aunt Venetia said, hugging her a second time. “I just get so worried when I don’t know where you are.”

Forcing herself to smile, Sarah stepped back. “I appreciate your concern, Aunt, and I am sorry if I caused you any anxiety, but I simply wanted to arrange some flowers in your hall.”

Aunt Venetia nodded, placing a hand on her chest. “They are beautiful. I saw your flower basket, but I couldn’t find you. And then this dreadful premonition came over me, and I sent Ralph to find you. I thought you had vanished like my sister.”

“Your premonition was partially correct,” Ralph said caustically. “Sarah’s gone and engaged herself to a perfect stranger. A cit, of all things. I’ve heard around Town that this Moulton fellow is some sort of canal worker—a manual laborer.”

Aunt Venetia’s already expressive features seemed to enlarge at this statement. Her eyes bulged, her mouth gaped, and even her nostrils flared. “Engaged to be married ? Our Sarah?” She turned her incredulous face from her son to her niece. “Well ... isn’t that wonderful!”

Sarah tried to force a smile again, and she nearly managed it.

Wonderful was not quite the right word for marrying a stranger; resolved was a better one.

“I had hoped to break the news to you more gently, dearest Aunt. But my cousin is correct. Mr. Moulton and I are engaged. I believe the union is in both of our best interests.”

Tipping her head to the left, her aunt asked, “Whoever is this Mr. Moulton?”

As usual, her dear aunt had missed half the conversation and nearly all of its meaning. Sighing, Sarah prepared to explain it to her in the plainest words possible. Her aunt often muddled things up. “Mr. Moulton is my betrothed.”

Ralph clenched his hands and scowled at Sarah. “A complete stranger to us. If Moulton really is his name. But how can we know for sure? The only thing for certain is that he smells of the shop.”

Sarah felt her own nostrils flaring. She turned from her confused aunt to her seething cousin.

Mr. Moulton was a ruggedly handsome man.

Even if he didn’t dress to the nines, his clothing was still well made.

And he didn’t smell of the shop. He smelled like leather and musk, which was quite an attractive combination, in her opinion.

“I don’t see why he would lie about his name.

It would only invalidate his legal contracts.

And I know that he is a man who keeps his word.

He promised his late father that his sisters would make good marriages, and he is fulfilling it by marrying me. ”

Her cousin pointed his finger at her, his upper lip sneering. “You don’t know anything about him. He could be a criminal for all you know.”

“I know all I need to know,” Sarah said, puffing out her chest and pointing her thumb at herself. “He is the owner of Manderfield Hall, and when I am his wife, I shall be its mistress.”

Aunt Venetia looked back and forth from Sarah’s angry face to her son’s, as if trying to keep up with their conversation.

She was the kindest woman imaginable, but her intellect was not very sharp.

She nodded as if comprehending the main part.

“Then, Mr. Moulton is the new owner of Manderfield Hall. Well, that is quite promising, I think. I’ve always admired the house and the surrounding land.

I often believed that my sister loved Manderfield more than her own husband.

But perhaps I should not say that aloud.

Your poor father has been through a great deal these last seven years, Sarah.

I have heard more than one rumor amongst the elite of the ton that he had something to do with your mama’s disappearance, which we both know is not true.

He adored her. We all did. There was no kinder or lovelier woman than my sister Louisa. ”

Gulping, Sarah tried not to think of her mother.

Or her father. She had not known that such gossip existed about Papa.

But it shouldn’t have surprised her. The ton thrived on rumors and was not particular about their veracity.

She felt a small pang of sympathy for her father but quickly buried it.

Papa might have mourned his wife initially, but his one true love would always be gaming.

He had diced away her security and treated his responsibilities like a house of cards.

Several months after her mother’s disappearance, her father had begun a relationship with the wealthy widow Mrs. Yardley so that she could pay his gambling debts.

And he’d abandoned his only daughter, with nothing but the clothes on her back, to the charity of her mother’s family.

Aunt Venetia took Sarah’s hands into her own.

“Perhaps, dearest Sarah, you ought to become better acquainted with this Mr. Moulton before your uncle writes to the papers to announce your engagement. And I really should ask my papa—your grandfather—for permission. You know how dictatorial the duke can be. He always seems to want a say in everything.”

Sarah took a deep breath, trying to calm her agitated heart and soothe her angry mind.

Her maternal grandfather was the Duke of Aylsham, a white-wigged, gouty-footed aristocrat who was used to getting his way.

Sarah adored her surly grandpapa, but she would not be ruled by him.

“I don’t need anyone’s permission, dearest Aunt.

I am of age, and I mean to be married and back at Manderfield Hall where I belong by the end of the week. ”

“You would sell your soul for a house?” Ralph said.

Manderfield Hall held her heart and soul.

“Do not attempt to judge me,” Sarah said in a much louder voice, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

“You have a home, and I do not. I am entirely dependent on my family’s generosity, and I do not want to end up like Aunt Belinda, at the beck and call of the family, always visiting and never with a home or a place of her own. ”

Shaking her head, Aunt Venetia sighed. “My poor sister Belinda; I do feel for her. I’ve invited her to stay here at least a handful of times, but she is always needed somewhere else.

I declare all twelve of Beatrice’s children once got the chicken pox at the same time.

Or was it the measles? And then another time, Belinda was supposed to visit and Papa came down with a terrible cold and she couldn’t leave him. And then—”

“Yes, Mama,” Ralph said, interrupting her reminiscing. “You have invited Aunt Belinda many times, and she has never come. But Sarah is hardly a spinster yet; she is only five and twenty, and the Marquess of Ingress proposed to her last year.”

How dare her cousin betray her confidences thus! Sarah’s insides felt like a teakettle about to explode with steam.

Aunt Venetia’s hands flew to the sides of her face. “You don’t say! Oh, Sarah, that would have been a most excellent match. I’ve always loved the title marchioness . Doesn’t it just roll of your tongue so beautifully? Mar-chion-ess. Say it and you’ll see.”

A moment before, Sarah had been so angry that she was shaking, and now the shaking became uncontrollable laughter. Her shoulders shook, and finally she could no longer hold in her mirth.

Reluctantly, Ralph joined in her laughter.

“What is so funny?” Aunt Venetia asked, blinking at Sarah and Ralph.

“Mar—mar—chion—ness—ss,” Sarah tried to say between giggles.

Ralph guffawed loudly. “Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

Wiping at her eyes, Sarah nodded. “Just like bar-ron-ess.”

“And coun-tess,” Ralph added with another snicker.

Raising one eyebrow, Aunt Venetia shook her head at her son and niece. “I don’t see what is so funny about any of the titles. Had I not fallen madly in love with your father, I might have married a peer just to become a marchioness or a countess.”

Or a baroness , Sarah added in her mind.

Uncle Oscar was only a baronet, and as his wife, Aunt Venetia would only have been Lady Randolph; however, her own title as a duke’s daughter was higher, so she was referred to in Society as Lady Venetia.

Uncle Oscar did not have an aristocratic title, but he had a great fortune that had made him worthy in the duke’s eyes.

The aged Duke of Aylsham had needed to marry off nine daughters—a daunting task for any widower.

He’d found husbands for eight of them. All except for Aunt Belinda, who was now an old maid—a frightening role for any woman.

No home of her own. Continually dependent on the whims and wants of her family members.

Poor Aunt Belinda was little better than a drudge.

Spinsterhood was the fate staring Sarah in the face if she did not marry soon.

She had already lost her home. She would be devastated to lose her position in Society.

To be relegated to the corners of the room.

The edges of the table, by the unwanted guests.

To be nothing more than an unpaid servant to a married cousin or aunt.