Leaving the table, he wandered through the corridors until he found his sisters playing cards in the sitting room where he’dfirst met Sarah. Their shadows were illuminated by the generous fire in the hearth. Both sisters turned to look at him as he entered the room.
Deb gave him a glittering smile, her earlier sulks apparently forgotten. “Shall you join us at cards, Chris? I have already lost so much money to Margaret that I have had to apply to her for a loan to keep playing.”
“Yes, please come play,” Margaret said, giving him a gentle smile and an arched look. “I should like to have some competition.”
Deb stuck out her tongue at Margaret and threw her cards down on the table. “If I am bad at it, you’ve only yourself to blame, for you are the one who taught me how to play.”
Christopher was certain Margaret had only meant to tease and not to wound, but handling Deb was like holding gunpowder in one’s hands—it could explode at any time. Christopher had carried enough dynamite into the Sapperton Tunnel to know how dangerous and volatile it was.
He took a seat at their table. “I would actually like to speak to both of you about something of a serious nature.”
Groaning, Deb put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her palms. “Not another lecture.”
He glanced at Margaret and saw the surprised look on her countenance. He hadn’t meant to alarm either of them. Christopher held up his hands. “Nothing bad, I assure you. Quite the reverse, actually. I am getting married.”
Gasping, Deb sat up in her chair. “To who? Do we know her?”
“Towhom,” Margaret corrected softly.
Deb scoffed at her sister and then snapped her fingers. “I know! Our particular friend, Miss Adkins. She’s been throwing her cap at you for ages, and what a fine wife she will make. Thanks to her father’s factory, we shall never want for beeswax candles again.”
Had Christopher felt the smallest flicker of attraction to Miss Adkins, he may have asked her to become his wife. She was nearly his same age and the heiress to her father’s beeswax candle factory. It would be a good match with a woman of his own rank, but it would not propel his sisters into thetonlike he’d promised his father.If anything, such a marriage would harm their chances of marrying a man with a title.
Shaking his head slightly, he said, “It is not Miss Adkins, nor anyone else of your acquaintance.”
Margaret touched his shoulder gently. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Chris. Tell us at once.”
Taking a deep breath, Christopher said, “Lady Sarah Denham.”
“Bully! A real lady?” Deb exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Margaret pursed her lips and appeared thoughtful. “Isn’t that the young woman who used to live here? I believe every servant has mentioned her name at least a dozen times since we arrived. She is much beloved.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, she is the daughter of the Earl of Manders.”
“How exciting! Was it a whirlwind romance, Chris?” Deb asked eagerly, her hands resting on her bouncing knees. “When did you meet her? Where did you propose? Tell us everything. Was it terribly romantic?”
Christopher sighed. His sisters would not appreciate the truth, nor the sacrifices he was taking upon himself to make way for their welfare and his own stupid pride. For half a moment, he contemplated prevaricating, but the truth always came out in the end. “I have only met Lady Sarah twice; however, we decided that a union between us would be in both of our best interests.”
“Oh,” Margaret said, slumping back in her chair. “I suppose you know what is best, Brother. But should you not have some warm feelings for her? Some affection before marriage?”
“Ours will be a marriage of convenience, which is quite normal among the upper classes.”
“I hate her already,” Deb declared, standing up and stomping her foot. “How could you be so stupid as to marry without love?”
“I am not being stupid,” Christopher said between clenched teeth. “I am being practical, and if we want to join theton, to be a part of the highest echelons of London Society, we need a family connection to the nobility. Lady Sarah’s connections are among the highest in all of England. She can arrange for you both to be presented before Queen Charlotte. It is everything and more than Papa hoped for, for all of us.”
Margaret stood too and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you promised Papa you would find us grand matches, but I am sorry you are to be sacrificed for our father’s social pretentions. Deb and I only want you to be happy.”
“It’s not a sacrifice,” Christopher said, getting to his own feet and twisting out of his sister’s hold. “Lady Sarah is an accomplished and beautiful woman with great deal of countenance and exquisite manners. Any man would be honored to call her his wife. I believe we will be very happy together. I look forward to marrying her.”
“Then, why is she marrying you?” Deb asked, her hands on her hips.
Christopher had received many slights in the city, especially by men of the aristocratic class that his father had been so eager for them to join, but he wasn’t used to insults from his sisters. Deb’s words stung. Did she not think him worthy of a proper lady?
Before he could reply, Margaret answered for him. “Lady Sarah is marrying Chris for Manderfield Hall, of course. All the servants talk about how much she loves it. Mrs. Harmony even showed me the portrait of her mother that hangs in the picture gallery. She said how sad Lady Sarah was to leave it but that the earl had sold it with the rest of the estate.”
Christopher wondered which painting it was. Had he only known, he would have given it to her. When Lord Manders’s solicitor offered to sell the furniture and paintings with the house, he’d happily paid the additional price. He hadn’t wanted a mansion with nothing on the walls. But he would not have missed one portrait of a woman he never knew. How he wished he had a painting of his own dear mother to place in the portrait hall. Her face was becoming shadowed in his memories, and he could no longer remember her clearly. Had her eyes been more like Margaret’s or Deb’s? Both of his sisters had Mama’s fine complexion—a daintiness that he most certainly hadn’t inherited. His skin was a warmer olive shade, and he’d always been a big lad. Now he was a large man.