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D espite the duchess’s warning that The Castle was no such thing, and that the architecture was mostly Queen Anne, her cursory description did not prepare Sarah for the sheer size of the place.

But then the duchess had also said they had bedrooms for forty guests, and that presumably did not include the family or the servants.

The main part of the house had three stories, plus attics, and the double story wings on either side stretched out and then turned back in L shapes to enclose three sides of a courtyard.

The entrance hall was wood paneled and rather dark, with a staircase that rose and branched on either side to feed both wings of the house.

Despite the Queen Anne architecture, medieval touches abounded with suits of armor and swords mounted on the walls in the entrance hall and gallery on the first floor, where Sarah was introduced briefly to several generations of Laynes.

There was no doubting the ancient lineage of this family.

“Robert will give you a proper tour of the house later,” said the duchess, leading the way to the east wing, where she and Daphne were to be housed.

Her room was done out in rose pink brocade and velvet and was quite cloying to one accustomed to simpler furnishings.

“This is not the room you will have once you are married. The ducal suit is situated in the center of the house overlooking the gardens.” The duchess smiled.

“I hope you like the decoration; I supervised it myself, but you may want to update it. If you do, I won’t be offended, my dear.

Every new bride needs to leave her stamp on the place, and I perfectly understand. ”

“I’m sure I’ll love it—” said Sarah, overcome by this generosity of spirit. Really, the duchess was so kind to her.

“Don’t be too hasty, my dear. You may think differently once you’ve found your feet. And you needn’t fear I will be in your way here. Robert has assigned the Thornbury estate in Shropshire for my use. I will repair there with the girls after Ava’s season is completed.”

Her maid, Esme, who had arrived earlier with His Grace’s valet in a separate carriage, along with Daphne’s French maid, Fleur, had already unpacked her things, and she was able to wash and change into a fresh gown before joining the family for afternoon tea.

After doing so and entering the drawing room, she found seven sets of eyes on her.

The duchess, in charge of the tea tray, smiled at her. “There you are, I was about to send out a search party!” She hoped that she had not kept them waiting long, but no one seemed less than amiable at her arrival, and she resolved to be swifter in future.

The duke had risen on her entrance and came forward to conduct her to her seat beside him on the sofa. He murmured for her ears alone, “I trust your room is comfortable?”

She glanced sideways at him and nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

Daphne, seated in an armchair to the left of the duchess, smiled at her, too, and she returned the smile perfunctorily.

Ava gave her a twinkling smile which seemed to promise secrets to be shared, and her heart warmed all over again to this sweet young woman who seemed determined to welcome her as a sister with open arms.

The three other females in the room had also risen when she entered, and the youngest two curtsied to her politely.

“These are my sisters, Heather and Ingrid. My fiancée, Miss Sarah Watson,” the duke said, performing the introductions.

The elder most resembled him, having dark hair and blue eyes and a similar cast of features in feminine form.

Sarah remembered his description of her as sweet-tempered, restful, and gentle.

Holding out her hand, Sarah smiled, “I think my sister Mary is of an age with you,” she said, clasping the girl’s hand.

Heather’s eyes widened and she murmured, “I look forward to meeting her, Miss Watson.”

“Call me Sarah. We are to be sisters, after all.”

“Sarah,” Heather repeated obediently.

The younger was a little older than the twins, Zibby and Emanuel, and followed her eldest sister and mother in coloring. A little rebel, the duke had called her, which would make her fit right in with Zibby.

“I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Ingrid,” said Sarah and received a big grin in response that quite surprised her. These girls seemed most inclined to embrace her warmly also. Really, she couldn’t fault Robert’s family for their warmth.

The third female could have been anywhere between twenty-five and thirty and was dressed in a plain, dark-blue gown and spencer made high to the neck.

Her hair was confined to a chignon on the nape of her neck and her only ornament was a small brooch in the shape of a lover’s knot, and decorated in seed pearls, pinned to her left breast.

“And this is Miss Pringle, the girls’ governess,” said the duke.

Miss Pringle also curtsied and murmured, “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Watson.”

When everyone was seated, the duchess dispensed tea and cakes and began to outline the events of the next week leading up to the wedding.

It was abundantly clear to Sarah that she was to have no leisure time at all.

The duchess seemed bent on ensuring her new daughter-in-law was inculcated into the role she was soon to fill.

Sarah reflected that she ought to be grateful.

The duchess could have made her life hell.

Instead, she seemed to be determined to be as helpful as possible.

Sarah was grateful, but she couldn’t help but be a little overwhelmed.

“When do you expect the boys?” asked the duchess of the duke, sipping her tea and selecting a biscuit from the array of delicacies on the tray.

“In the next couple of days,” he replied.

“And your family is due to arrive tomorrow, is that correct?” she asked, directing her question to Sarah.

“Yes, Mama Duchess,” Sarah said, using the more familial appellation the duchess insisted she address her with.

“Good, we will accommodate them in the west wing. There are nine of them, is that right?”

“My parents, four sisters and three brothers,” confirmed Sarah with a slightly apologetic air.

“Servants?” asked the duchess crisply.

Thrown, Sarah looked at her bewildered.

“Are your parents bringing any servants with them?” elaborated the duchess.

“Ah—no, we only have a part-time housekeeper in the vicarage and the blacksmith’s daughter who helps out in the kitchen. Neither of them will be coming.”

The duchess raised her eyebrows. “Who is to look after the children?”

Sarah flushed and the duke leaned forward to select a finger of plum cake. “Mr. and Mrs. Watson will take care of their offspring.”

“How peculiar,” said the duchess with a shrug of one shoulder.

“They are quite housetrained, Mama,” he said with a slight smile.

The duchess threw him a speaking look, and Sarah quailed at the thought of her brothers and Zibby running riot through the ducal demesne. She hoped fervently that Papa would keep a tight rein on them. It would be so embarrassing if they caused a rumpus.

“I understand Ashford is bringing his brood, too, so perhaps their nanny can help out,” he said.

At the conclusion of afternoon tea, far from being able to rest, she was swept off by the duchess to meet the housekeeper and the cook for a discussion on the arrangements being made for the wedding guests and the wedding feast itself.

Her family’s arrival the following day put Sarah in mind of a plague of locusts.

She flinched seeing the duchess wince as the boys came roaring into the entrance hall only to be brought up short by a word from Papa.

The duke then stepped into the breach, promising the boys a tour of the armory on the morrow.

Two days after that, the first guests began to arrive, among them, she was glad to learn, Viscount Ashford and his wife and offspring.

After shaking the duke’s hand in welcome, he smiled at Sarah and said, “Let me offer my felicitations again, Miss Watson.” He squeezed her hand slightly, his hazel eyes shining with his usual warmth. Really, he was such a nice man.

Lady Ashford smiled at Sarah and embraced her kindly. She leaned in to air kiss Sarah’s cheek and Sarah stooped a little to accommodate her. Caroline was so very tiny she made Sarah feel inordinately tall. The lady smelled of roses, and her cheek was damask smooth, so beautiful.

Sarah noticed three children standing silently behind the viscount and his lady, two girls on either side of and holding the hands of a little boy. “And these are yours?” she asked, smiling at them.

“Lizzie, Charlotte, and Ewen,” said the viscount with a proud smile. “Make your bows, children.”

The girls curtsied and the little fellow who seemed a miniature of his sire bowed solemnly.

The viscount looked toward the duke, who was making polite conversation with Lady Ashford, and said apologetically. “I’m sorry, old man, but we were forced to come without the nanny. Wretched woman tendered her notice just before we left, and I haven’t had a chance to get a replacement.

“We have quite a contingent of infantry. Miss Watson has eight siblings,” said the duke with a rueful grin. “We had hoped your nanny would take on the smaller fry. Well, there are enough servants in the house, I’m sure we will manage somehow. Perhaps Miss Pringle can wrangle them.”

“Miss Pringle?” asked the viscount.

“Governess.”

“Hm, good notion.”

The duke turned to the butler. “See that Lady Ashford and the children are shown to their rooms, Jardin, and their luggage sent up. Ashford, come and take a glass with me.”

The duke swept Ashford off to the library and Sarah was left to enlist the help of the housekeeper, Mrs. Jardin, in getting Lady Ashford and her brood settled, the duchess being laid down with a headache that afternoon.