Her old friend had the darkest shade of black hair that Sarah had ever seen. It was braided back and tucked neatly underneath her mobcap now. She had hazel eyes, a small but pointy nose, and a mouth with a sharp tongue.
“Miss Mills, may I introduce you to Miss Moulton and Miss Deborah?”
“Pleased to meet you,” Nelly said and went back to putting away Sarah’s clothes. If she wanted to say something to her mistress, she would wait until the others were not present. Overfamiliarity could get them both into trouble.
Sarah walked over to the closest trunk and unlatched it. Margaret and Deborah followed and marveled at her silk stockings and the number of slippers she had perfectly tinted to match specific dresses. She allowed herself to enjoy their praise. Fashion was one of her favorite things, and she had an eye for colors. Her ability to transform gowns into looking new was her greatest talent, and a crucial one for a lady with a small purse.
“I was an attendant for a girl from school last year,” Margaret said, hiding her hands in her skirts. “After the ceremony, the bride and groom sat on the bed, and we stood at the bottom. Then we turned our backs to them and tried to throw our stockings at her. If your stocking hits the bride, it means that you will be married next.”
Her story reminded Sarah of Aunt Venetia’s recitation of local cake customs. “Did one of your stockings hit the bride? Should we start purchasing your trousseau?”
The ever-ready blush was back in Margaret’s cheeks as she shook her head.
Sarah walked over to her bed, then sat down and scooted back until she reached the upholstered headboard. “Let’s see which one of you will be married first.”
To Sarah’s surprise, it was Deborah who first went to the edge of the bed and sat down and took off her stockings. Margaret followed after her sister, her blush blooming like a rose.
Sarah sucked her teeth. “Miss Mills, you should come too. You have a beau, after all. Who knows? You may be the first of the trio to wed.”
Nelly closed the latch of an empty trunk with a click. “It’s not my place, Lady Sarah.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” Sarah said. “And don’t tell me that you don’t long to throw something at me, for I will not believe you if you do.”
Nelly laughed. “Too right.”
Her maid stood as far from the sisters at the bottom of the bed as possible to take off her boots and pull off her stockings.
“Are you ready?” Sarah asked.
They all said yes.
She held up a finger. “Now, no cheating. Keep your backs turned, and on the count of three, throw your stockings at me. One, two, three!”
Deborah’s first stocking landed on the coverlet below Sarah’s feet. Both of Margaret’s stockings landed on the pillows next to Sarah. Nelly threw her stocking so hard that it flew over the bed and onto the floor. Deborah tossed her last stocking, and it landed on Sarah’s lap. Sarah picked it up. “Well, Deborah, it appears that I will require my sewing needle. Who is the lucky man?”
The younger girl laughed, and it was a charming sound. Her whole countenance changed from stubborn to happy. She smiled and took her sister’s hands. “I am to get married before you, Margaret.”
“I don’t mind,” Margaret said, but Sarah could tell that she did mind, for she didn’t smile. There seemed to be a sort of competition between the two sisters. Sarah had no siblings of her own, so she didn’t precisely understand the dynamic. The closest thing she had was her cousin Ralph, with whom she was still put out.
Nelly turned her back to Sarah and threw her other stocking. It hit Sarah square in the face. Sarah laughed and lifted it up. She scooted off the bed and picked up Nelly’s other woolen stocking and held them out to her. “I will have to inform Guy of his good fortune.”
Nelly blushed and grabbed the stockings from Sarah. “If you say a word to Guy, I’ll burn a hole through your favorite silk dress. You know which one.”
This was the saucy Nelly whom Sarah knew and loved. Sarah scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. “I’d better take off my wedding dress. It appears it may be needed by any one of you in the very near future.”
Chapter 8
Christopher looked out the windowat the darkening sky. He was now a married man, but he didn’t feel like it.
He sighed.
A marriage for social aspirations may never be more than pretense, he reminded himself. As much as Lady Sarah fascinated him, she had married a stranger for a fancy house and an old estate. He’d do well to remember that before laying not only his property and wealth at her feet but his heart as well. He took another drink from his decanter before placing it on the table. He picked up a candle, left the room, and was about to climb the stairs when he saw Mr. Wigan hanging lanterns by the windows that faced the forest.
Surely the butler was not involved in the smuggling of port and wine.
“Are we expecting anyone, Mr. Wigan?” Christopher asked, trying to keep his tone even to allay possible suspicion.
The swarthy butler did not look at all nonplussed. He bowed formally to Christopher. “No, sir.”