The door to the room opened, and she saw a pair of slippers. It had to be one of the girls. She ran to the wardrobe and flung it open, only to find it empty. Then she left the room as quickly as she had entered it. Sarah had to cover her mouth again not to snigger. Her trick had worked.
A few minutes later, a pair of boots walked into the room—Christopher. His feet moved across the room as he methodically checked every nook and cranny, even the wardrobe that was ajar. She heard a shuffling of feet and then saw his knees before his handsome face peeked underneath the bed skirt. Sarah couldn’t hold in a little laugh, and Christopher grinned at her for the second time that evening. She loved how happiness softened his rugged features and filled his serious countenance with light.
“Quickly, come underneath the bed,” she whispered.
Christopher lay down on his back and wiggled underneath the bed until he was next to her. His lips brushed her hair and her cheek. She wondered how they would feel on her mouth again. Her marriage of convenience was turning out not to be so convenient after all. Sarah had only been kissed once before by Christopher, and she hadn’t known how to respond. She had stiffened in surprise when he’d touched her, and he’d stopped immediately. How she wished he would try again.
His eyes met hers and Sarah could not look away. It was as if some invisible bond held them together and neither could turn away from it. Her mother had always said that love made one blind to another’s faults. Sarah wasn’t blind to Christopher’s. He was stubborn and secretive, but he was also endearingly shy and a little lonely. She wanted to help him make friends, but more than anything, Sarah wished to be his friend. She could not drink with him after dinner, nor did she wish to go hunting with her husband. None of the activities of a male friendship. She wanted to walk with him. Talk with him. Share her secrets with him.
“Sarah, I—” he began in a soft voice, but she did not get to hear him complete his sentence, for another pair of slippers entered the room, and it did not take Margaret long to find them underneath the bed. Sarah scooted closer to Christopher to make room for his sister. Her arm was touching his, and everywhere their bodies met, she felt delicious tingles. Margaret started to giggle, and her mirth was infectious; soon all three of them were laughing, and Deborah found them easily. One by one they crawled from underneath the bed. Sarah was the last one out, and Deborah offered her a hand to help her up. It was the first sign of the stubborn girl receiving her, and Sarah accepted it gratefully.
“You know what children’s game we should play now?” Deborah asked.
Margaret shook her head. “What?”
“Spillikins! I saw a set in the parlor.” Deborah grabbed her sister’s hand, and they rushed out of the room with the same boisterous energy with which Deborah had entered it.
Sarah gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
Christopher held out his hand to her, and Sarah did not hesitate to take it.
Chapter 13
A garden party is nothingto be nervous about, Christopher assured himself. If anything, it was less formal than a ball or a dinner. It was just the sort of relaxed outdoor atmosphere that would be ideal for meeting new people. His hand moved to his cravat, but then he remembered that it had taken his batman no fewer than four tries to get the folds correct. Both Harris and Sarah would be upset with him if he mussed it up.
He also hated riding in a stuffy carriage. It reminded him of the two worst days of his life: being locked in the cupboard and when his father had come to collect him after his mother’s and siblings’ funerals and the carriage had driven through the night. The trip had taken several days, and Christopher had felt like he was in a cage. He couldn’t get out. He couldn’t cry. When his eyes had begun to tear up as he’d received the news, his father had told him to be a man. Men, it would seem, did not cry. And gentlemen rode in carriages to garden parties.
Christopher met Sarah and his sisters in an antechamber. He watched as Sarah straightened Deborah’s bonnet and retied the bow so that it was swept fetchingly to one side. Next, she moved to Margaret and said, “Forgive me,” before she pinched her cheeks.
His little sister yelped, but her usually pale face was no longer pale. A little more color was becoming to Margaret’s complexion.
Sarah turned to face him with the smile that always set his pulse racing.
He held up both of his hands as if surrendering. “Please don’t pinch my cheeks.”
Deborah snorted with laughter, and Margaret giggled. It was only a small joke, but Christopher realized that he never teased or joked with his sisters. Particularly after the death of their father, Christopher had taken his responsibilities toward them seriously—perhaps a little too seriously. Laughter was good for the soul.
“I have no intention of pinching your cheeks,” Sarah said, coming closer to him so that the skirt of her day dress touched his boots. “I know how to add color another way.” She tiptoed and kissed one of his cheeks and then the other.
Christopher’s face, neck, and entire body warmed. He did not doubt that his cheeks were suffused with color.
Deborah snorted again. “A kiss works better than rouge.”
Sarah winked at her. “Our little secret.”
Without waiting for him to offer his arm, Sarah tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. Instinctively, he covered her hand with his opposite palm and smiled down at her. He had never been one to show his emotions on his face, but in Sarah’s company, he found it difficult not to.
“I have a little surprise for you, Christopher,” she said and led them out of the house and onto the gravel pathway.
He heard the sound of horse hooves and expected to see the formal, closed carriage. Instead there was a landau with no roof. It appeared to be considerably older than the barouche, but he didn’t care. He was not going to be trapped inside a moving vehicle. He had ridden in a carriage with Sarah only twice before, but she must have noticed that he did not enjoy it. Nothing went unseen by her watchful eyes.
She tightened her hold on his arm, and he felt her touch all the way to his heart. “Girls, pull out your pretty parasols. It is time to show them off to admiration.”
Christopher helped Sarah up and was not surprised to see her open a lacy parasol that appeared to be more fashionable thanfunctional. Paired with her yellow pelisse and bonnet trimmed in yellow and white flowers, his wife looked like a picture on a fashion plate. He still could not quite believe that this beautiful woman was his wife and that she cared enough to notice that he didn’t like to ride in closed carriages. He helped his sisters in and took his seat by Sarah. Again she placed her hand on his arm in the place that seemed to be made just for her. His sisters opened their parasols, and Christopher asked Mr. Phipps to begin their drive.
He half expected Sarah to give them a lecture on how they were to behave or what not to say in company, but her only remark was on the scenery. “I know it is unfashionable these days to prefer formal gardens over the picturesque wildness of a landscape, but I must confess, I love the order and symmetry of Manderfield’s gardens.”
“What about Capability Brown?” Margaret asked.
