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Mama had always said, “Marriage is the greatest gamble of all.” No matter how much or little one knew about their intended spouse, a person was always different once they were married.

One could no longer hide their flaws or foolish propensities.

Her mother had not known that Papa was a hardened gambler who was addicted to both cards and dice.

What could Mother have learned from their courtship, aside from Papa’s favorite jig, preferred ice, and opinions on the weather?

They were never alone together. They never spoke about the topics that really mattered.

Mama had married a stranger—an extravagant earl with feet of clay.

Sarah had probably learned more about Mr. Moulton in their two private conversations than her mother had about Papa in their first year of marriage.

Sarah knew that Mr. Moulton was a devoted son and brother who would keep his word no matter what.

She knew from the size of his shoulders to the roughness of his hands that he knew how to work hard and knew the value of money, something her father still did not understand, having never labored even one day in his life.

It had been Sarah who had scrambled to keep Manderfield estate going after her mother’s disappearance.

Sarah who had visited the tenants and cared for her home with her own hands.

Returning her attention to Aunt Venetia and her cousin, Sarah attempted to further lighten the tense situation with a jest. “Had I only known how lovely it was to say marchioness, I might have accepted the marquess last year. Alas. A lost opportunity.”

The laughter fell from Ralph’s face, and he sneered at her sally.

Aunt Venetia clapped her hands as if she’d come up with a magnificent idea.

“Do you think I should have Oscar write to the Marquess of Ingress and tell him that you’ve changed your mind?

He has a very pretty property. In fact, I believe he has several estates.

He is a little old for you, Sarah, but I do not think you’ll mind that too much.

He still has a very fine figure. I believe he’s closer to forty than thirty. What think you of his age?”

Sarah sobered quickly and took her aunt’s arm, leading her to a settee, where they both sat down. “He is thirty-seven years of age, Aunt, and I still do not wish to marry him. Please do not instruct Uncle Oscar to write to him. I am quite content with Mr. Moulton.”

Wrinkling her nose, Aunt Venetia tipped her head to the side.

“Are you sure? Because I believe Capability Brown himself designed the gardens at Ingress Abbey, and I don’t think you could find a finer house in all of England.

Well, maybe Blenheim Palace is quite its equal.

And, of course, we should not forget Chatsworth or—”

Sarah took her aunt’s hand to stop her rambling. Aunt Venetia closed her mouth mid-sentence.

“Those are all fine houses, but they are not my home.”

And they are not where my mother will come back for me.

Aunt Venetia nodded absentmindedly. Sarah could tell that she was about to start a catalog of all the nicest estates in England, when Ralph stomped across the room and towered above them.

“This isn’t about Manderfield Hall at all, is it, Sarah?

How could I be so blind to your true reason?

I know you better than anyone in this world. ”

She stood to meet his gaze. She still had to look up to Ralph, and that irked her. “What do you mean?”

“This is about your mother.”

Aunt Venetia made a whimpering sound and gave Sarah a pitying look. “Poor, poor Louisa. My loveliest sister.”

Swallowing, Sarah stuck out her chest like a rooster attempting to appear larger. “And what if it is? Mama said that she would come back, and she will.”

“Aunt Louisa’s gone, Sarah,” Ralph said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Your mother is gone ... and marrying a stranger to remain at Manderfield Hall for the rest of your life is not going to bring her back. You need to accept this and move on. Marry someone of your own class and social standing.”

Her cousin wasn’t the first person to say that to her.

Her father had said it months after her mother went missing, when the Bow Street Runners had been unable to turn over the smallest of clues as to her whereabouts.

“It’s no use pining for what is gone. We each must look to our own futures.

” In that same year after her mother’s disappearance, Papa had put on a black armband and declared himself a widower, even though Mama wasn’t declared legally dead.

A year after her mother’s disappearance, Sarah’s grandfather, the Duke of Aylsham and a loving autocrat, had settled a respectable dowry on Sarah and encouraged her to find a husband.

Grandfather had said that her mother was never coming back.

He’d even commanded her aunt Venetia to drag Sarah to London for two months every year to participate in the Season.

But as soon as it was over, Sarah always rushed back to Manderfield, anxious for news about her mother.

Over the years, one by one, each servant in her home, and even the tenants, had all gently encouraged her to let go.

To move on. But she was stuck, like she was six years old and still hiding in the same cabinet, waiting for her mother to find her.

She couldn’t leave until she knew where her mother was or what had happened to her.

She huffed and sat back down by her aunt. “I don’t need to accept anything. I know in my heart that she is coming back. My mother would never have left me.”

“I believe she would not leave you willingly, but she is gone, Sarah,” Ralph said quietly.

The door to the room opened, and Uncle Oscar walked in.

Like his son, Uncle Oscar was a tall, spare man.

Unlike his son, Uncle Oscar had black hair, though it was now mostly gray.

His intelligence was as sharp as his wife’s was vague.

However, it was usually turned to improving the “capabilities” of his estate and making it “picturesque.” He was a great admirer of Capability Brown’s work.

“What is all the commotion?” Uncle said.

Ralph pointed at Sarah. “Papa, tell Sarah that she cannot marry a complete stranger for a house.”

Her uncle breathed in deeply and then slowly exhaled. Walking over to his son, he put a hand on his shoulder. “My dear boy, never tell a woman she cannot do something. Nothing is more certain of setting up her back and encouraging her to do the exact opposite of what you wish.”

Sarah’s shoulders and back were up, but she could not help but smirk at this excellent advice.

Her uncle had a sly humor that many people missed, including her aunt.

The tightness in her body eased a little.

Uncle Oscar was everything that her father was not: reliable, sensible, and dependable.

Even if he had spent the last five years designing and building a fake ruin to add ambiance to his estate.

“Now, Sarah,” Uncle Oscar said, “why don’t you tell us all about your betrothed.”

She shook out her hands in her lap. “Mr. Moulton has earned his fortune in the canal business. He is the new owner of Manderfield Hall and wishes to find a wife and chaperone for his two younger sisters, to usher them into good Society. He is a hardworking family man, whom I believe will treat me with respect and consideration. I shall have a home and family of my own. No woman could ask for more.”

Nodding, Uncle Oscar widened his stance. “Ah, I have heard of Moulton. He is well respected in the city. I have even invested in several of his canal projects. He is a good businessman and as wealthy as a nabob. Our Sarah could do far worse.”

Aunt Venetia made a yipping sound, much like her favorite little Pomeranian puppy. “Our Sarah could do much better. A marchioness, Oscar! Can you imagine? Ingress asked for her hand in marriage. He is not yet forty and a fine figure of a man. I daresay he could still father several children.”

Sarah wanted to box Ralph’s ears for breaking her confidence.

Aunt Venetia did not have a great deal of wit, but once an idea found purchase in her brain, it was hard to move her to a new subject.

She clearly wanted her niece to be a marchioness.

Sarah was not a title-hunter, nor was she mercenary.

As much as she liked the Marquess of Ingress, she did not love him.

She did not love Mr. Moulton either, but she loved Manderfield Hall and her mother, and they were worth any sacrifice. She gave her uncle a beseeching look.

He nodded slightly, as if understanding her silent entreaty. “I wonder if Mr. Moulton could redirect the river on our estate and make a lake for Westbrook Park, dearest. I know you’ve always wished for a larger water feature, and Capability Brown always created the loveliest serpentine lakes.”

“Oh, how beautiful that would be!” Aunt Venetia exclaimed, touching her cheeks and apparently forgetting all about her niece’s approaching nuptials. “Do you think this Mr. Moulton could ensure our new lake reflects the house like all the best artificial lakes do?”

Uncle Oscar moved forward to put a hand on his wife’s shoulder as she sat bouncing in her seat. “We will not accept anything less than the best, dearest. Sarah, you’re looking a bit peaky. Why don’t you go and rest before dinner. I think we could all use a little time on our own to think.”