“Everybody,” Mrs. Wentworth said in a loud voice from the other side of the room. “My daughter, Iphigenia, has been prevailed upon to play the pianoforte for us.”
Sarah smirked. Clearly the older woman did not like Ralph speaking to her and not paying court to her daughter. Christopher led Sarah to a settee, and Ralph took the chair next to them. It was the farthest from the instrument and caused Sarah to smile again. Poor Miss Wentworth’s cheeks were a bright cherry red, as if she recognized her mama’s awkward matchmaking attempts. She sat at the pianoforte and played two songs with nary a mistake. Despite the awkward beginning, she showed the poise of a duchess.
Everyone clapped at the end of the second song, and Miss Wentworth stood to leave the instrument, clearly making way for the other young ladies to perform. Sarah waited for Mrs. Wentworth to ask Margaret and Deborah to display their talents for the group, but the awful woman did not. Instead she said pointedly to Sarah, “Will you play the harp, Lady Sarah? There is no young woman in the neighborhood equal to your skill.”
Swallowing, she saw Margaret’s ever-ready blush and Deborah’s obstinate chin. As a married lady, it was out of place for Sarah to display her talents, especially when there were two young ladies in the room who should have been asked first. Sarah was not about to allow her new sisters-in-law to be slighted by anyone, and certainly not by the likes of a Mrs. Wentworth. “But of course, Mrs. Wentworth. And, if I may, I shall perform with my new sisters. Miss Moulton plays the pianoforte beautifully, and Miss Deborah has the voice of an angel.”
Sarah took Margaret’s elbow. She whispered into her ear, “Play any song Deborah knows, and I will follow along on the harp.”
Deborah met them at the pianoforte. “What are we going to do?”
“I’ll play ‘The Red, Red Rose,’” Margaret whispered.
Sarah squeezed both of their hands. “I know that song as well. It will be beautiful; I am certain.”
Letting go, Sarah sat down at the harp and soundlessly ran her fingers over the strings. She was grateful that her new sisters-in-law had asked for lessons, for a fortnight ago, she’d been quite out of practice. But the fingerings and the notes had come back to her quickly. Margaret played the introduction to the song on the pianoforte, and Sarah plucked and strummed the harp. Deborah began to sing, and her voice was pure and true. Sarah had to remind herself to keep playing her own part; she couldhave happily listened to Margaret and Deborah perform for the rest of the evening.
She strummed the last note and then pressed her hands on the strings to quiet the harp. Christopher was the first person to clap, and Ralph got to his feet, also applauding.
“Brava, Sarah,” Ralph said, his eyes filled with water.
He was the only person in the room who knew she had stopped playing the harp seven years before. He also knew the instrument reminded Sarah of her lost mother, and he seemed to realize the importance of her playing it again. It was healing. Sarah began to feel whole for the first time in seven years.
She glanced at Mrs. Wentworth, who looked as if she’d swallowed a prune. If she’d planned to get Ralph’s attention for her daughter, she had failed miserably. His watery eyes were on his cousin and then on Christopher.
Mr. Wentworth politely asked them to perform another song. Margaret chose “The Briery Bush.” The three of them were in perfect harmony. Miss Wentworth clapped loudly when they were done and made a point of complimenting them several times, perhaps to make up for her mother’s lack of manners.
Mr. Whitman took the seat next to Miss Wentworth, and Mr. Robinson sat between Sarah’s sisters-in-law. The only person who seemed unhappy with this arrangement was Mrs. Wentworth. Sarah returned to the settee to hear Ralph say in a low voice, “Mr. Moulton, I have wronged you. And Sarah. I thought she was marrying you only to stay at Manderfield Hall in case her mother returned. But I now see that your marriage is a good one. I have not seen my cousin so happy in years, nor have I heard her play the harp since my aunt’s disappearance. If I had a goblet, I would toast you both.”
“Perhaps instead you could have a piece of humble pie,” Sarah suggested.
Ralph chuckled. “You know I will eat any type of pie, humble or not. Oh, how I’ve missed you, Sarah. May I visit Manderfield Hall, Mr. Moulton?”
She stiffened in her seat. She was not used to her husband being asked for permission instead of herself. It reminded her forcibly of her parents’ marriage and her father’s possessiveness. However, it was correct according to societal norms.
Christopher placed a gentle hand on her knee. “You will you have to ask Sarah that. She is the mistress of Manderfield Hall and of her own affairs.”
“May I come, Sarah?”
Sarah’s heart soared. She’d been right. Christopher was a good husband. “You’re welcome at any time, Ralph.”
“Then, I shall see you tomorrow morning at dawn.”
She laughed, and her entire body felt lighter. Sarah had always been afraid that if she married, her husband would tether her down, control her actions and interactions with others. But Christopher made her feel free.
Chapter 17
Christopher knocked before entering Sarah’sroom the next morning. She sat on her bed with her beautiful hair down. She wore a lovely silk robe and was picking at her breakfast tray. She laughed when she saw him. “I am so glad that it is you,Husband. For a moment, I was afraid Ralph had kept his threat of visiting first thing in the morning.”
Christopher felt his own lips twitching as he held up several letters. “I went riding with Brian and Harry this morning and stopped again at the postmaster’s. He had quite a stack for you.”
She patted the bed by her side, and Christopher gulped. He walked jerkily to the spot and perched awkwardly on the edge of her coverlet. Sarah took the letters from his hands and riffled through each one of them.
“Oh, they’re all from members of my family. They are sending their best wishes for our marriage and hoping for a bit of gossip,” she said and held up one. “This is from my aunt Beatrice. She is the Marchioness of Chapman, and she is hinting that she and her twelve children stay with us instead of Aunt Venetia for our wedding party. They’ve been rivals since they debuted thirty years ago. May I invite her?”
Christopher gulped again. Sarah had not been exaggerating when she’d said that she was related to many prominent members of London Society. “Like I said last evening, you are the mistress of Manderfield Hall, and you can do whatever you please.”
“It would please me to invite my Aunt Beatrice and probably a few other families to stay with us as well, for Aunt Venetia has written that she has even included my second and third cousins in her party,” Sarah said, holding up a lengthy page. Then shepointed to the remaining letter in his hand. “Is there any news about my mother?”