The woman nodded. “’Tis kind of you, Lady Sarah. Most third babes do not receive a pretty new gown for their christening.”
Christopher had known that Sarah sewed for herself, and he’d seen the alterations she’d made to his sisters’ wardrobes, but he had not known that she used her great skill with the needle for their tenants and neighbors. Even for the third baby of a farmer.
“Perhaps your darling baby could wear the dress again for your brother-in-law’s marriage,” Sarah said with a wink. “And I was wondering if you would allow me the great pleasure of throwing the wedding breakfast for the happy couple. I know you and your husband would provide a most wonderful party, but I fear that it would be difficult for you so near to the birth of your child.”
Few farmers or their wives could compete with a party thrown at a great estate and the food prepared by a professional cook,but Christopher liked how Sarah had couched the request in both a compliment and the idea that the Watkins family was doinghera favor by allowing her to help. His wife seemed aware of how the woman of a lower class would feel, and she was careful not to offend her feelings.
Mrs. Watkins rubbed her belly again. “That would be a relief, but I’d like to bring my apple tarts. They’re the best in the village.”
“And the county, at the very least,” Sarah assured her. “But where have my manners gone a’begging? Mrs. Watkins, please allow me to introduce my husband, Mr. Moulton.”
The pregnant woman gave him an awkward curtsy, no doubt because of her condition. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Moulton. My man would be pleased to make your acquaintance too. Our new roof is as tight as a pewter bowl. Not even a drop comes through the thatch.”
Christopher bowed his head to her. “I will pass your compliments on to my steward, Mr. Pryce.”
Sarah bid Mrs. Watkins a merry farewell, and Christopher helped her once again into her sidesaddle. He enjoyed the feel of his hands on her waist and being near her. It was quite his favorite part of the rest of the afternoon.
He met Widow Sears and her son, Mr. Sears, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, Widower Lewis, and Mr. and Mrs. Dibble. At each stop, Christopher was received graciously, but it was clear that his tenants adored his wife. Not that he blamed them. He was beginning to adore Sarah himself. She was so much more than her title. She was a giver, and her kindness touched everyone around them.
***
Christopher was not particularly excited about the Wentworths’ dinner party that Sunday evening, mostly because he’d neverbeen invited to such an event before. He’d done business with merchants and lords, but he’d never before attempted to socialize with either class. The only exception was that he’d looked in at one or two of the tradesmen’s balls.
When he’d met Mrs. Wentworth, he had not liked the woman. She’d uttered deprecating comments about his friend. He could only hope the woman would be civil to the vicar when he was her guest. However, Christopher couldn’t be certain. He’d seen more than one person give Brian an insolent stare. He rubbed his mustache, grateful that it hid his physical deformity from people like Mrs. Wentworth. Only a small white scar on his upper lip could be seen, and it was less noticeable if he kept his lips together.
Not that his father had ever been able to forget it was there, right underneath his nose and down to his mouth. When Christopher was born, there was a separation underneath his nose all the way to his upper lip. A physician named James Cooke had sutured the skin together when he was only three months old. Christopher remembered the scar but nothing of the surgery. Mama had said that the physician had told her to keep Christopher awake for twelve hours before the procedure. That way he would sleep after the surgery. His mother had also given him some cordial in a bottle to ease the pain.
But he did remember his father’s embarrassment over his son’s “imperfection.” His repaired palate was the reason Papa did not have social pretensions for Christopher. That he’d never expected his eldest son to marry well. Nor did his father originally plan to leave his canal company to Christopher. At eleven, before any whisps of hairs on his chin or lip had grown, Papa had sent him to learn canal work starting as a digger. His parents had purchased a new home in London, and his father did not want Christopher’s face to be the reason the family wasn’t accepted by the fancier neighborhood. Not thathis father had said those words aloud. He’d simply insisted that Christopher learn the trade.
Christopher had not been welcomed back into the family home, in an even more expensive part of London, until his mustache had grown in, covering the scar from his deformity. Only then was he allowed to see his little sisters and grieve for his dead mother and siblings. He rubbed his mustache again. What would his father say now that his imperfect son was married to the daughter of an earl? And the most perfect woman Christopher had ever met? Sarah excelled at everything and was beloved by all. She had kissed his cheek and proudly put her hand on his arm. Even though Christopher was from a lower class, his wife was not ashamed of him. If only his father hadn’t been.
But perhaps that wasn’t fair. Sarah didn’t know the true reason he refused to shave his beard. If she did, maybe she, too, would find him underserving of her affection. Sighing, Christopher thought of his mother.Shehad never blamed him for this face, nor herself for bearing a child with a deformity. Mama had said that God had made Christopher that way and that God didn’t make mistakes.
Christopher turned to the sound of footfalls on the stairs. Sarah was walking slowly down, like a queen. She wore a seafoam-green gown that shimmered like the fins of a mermaid. The dress had a high waist and short, puffed sleeves. She wore long gloves that had been dyed the same seafoam green. Her glorious mahogany hair was a perfectly ordered riot of curls with a pearl string weaved around her head. A necklace with three strands of pearls encircled the pale column of her throat. Her brown eyes were luminous when they met his, and she smiled at him. Marrying her had not been a mistake. It had been the best choice he’d ever made.
He held out his hand to his wife, and she placed hers inside his palm. Christopher had never been a dandy and didn’t claim to be a swell, but he couldn’t resist lifting her hand up to his lips and brushing a kiss on the top of her long green glove. “You look beautiful.”
Sarah exhaled, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. “If you keep telling me that, I might start to believe you.”
It had never occurred to Christopher that Sarah might be unaware of her allure or insecure in her appearance. He had not thought her beautiful the first time that he’d seen her. Striking, yes. He’d been drawn to her fashionable clothing and the neatness that characterized her person. Her curly brown locks were her crowning glory, and her facial features had grown prettier with every moment he’d spent time with her. From the first he’d found her attractive, but he was not exaggerating now when he called her beautiful. She was. From inside her large heart to her enticing outside.
Still holding her hand, Christopher placed a second kiss on her glove. “Then, I shall tell you twice as often, dove—I, um, mean Sarah.”
His wife blushed at his use of the endearment, and he wondered if “dove” was somehow vulgar.
Sarah stepped even closer to him, until the material of her gown brushed his knee breeches. When she rolled onto her toes, Christopher thought she was going to whisper a reprimand into his ear, but her lips did not reach that far. They brushed against the skin of his cheek, right above the line of his beard. His breath caught. His fingers tingled with the need to touch her. To pull her close to him.
His wife didn’t move.
Neither did he.
Christopher wasn’t altogether certain that he could move. Her sweet caress had left him immobilized. He felt her warm breath against his beard and then his ear.
“I should very much like to be your dove, Christopher.”
His hands tentatively reached for the sides of her waist, and she did not flinch when he touched her. She smiled more warmly at him than she had before. His heartbeat galloped like his new mare in an open field. “May I kiss you?”
Her face turned a shade of pink, but she nodded, the smile never leaving her lips. Christopher took one hand from her waist and gently cupped her face. Her skin was softer than the petals of a rose, and she smelled sweeter too. He leaned forward, and she closed her eyes. His scarred lip hovered a breath away from her perfect mouth. Christopher pressed his lips gently to hers.
