Page 18 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

He had changed into riding clothes before leaving the house, and once again she noticed how striking he appeared astride his horse, his posture excellent, his shoulders broad, his manner confident.

In his cutaway riding coat and black boots with tan cuffs, he looked so handsome and masculine that Sarah’s stomach seemed to somersault inside her.

Mr. Henshall dismounted and tied the horses to a nearby post, then turned, his gaze lingering on her face and figure. “You look lovely, Sarah.”

“Thank you.”

He raised a gloved hand to salute Effie, hovering in the doorway to watch them depart. “Well done, lass.”

The grey mare wore a sidesaddle and regarded Sarah with part wariness, part resignation. Sarah gingerly approached and stroked her velvety muzzle, whispering, “I know how you feel.”

Would she remember how to do this? Sarah hoped she neither injured nor mortified herself.

Mr. Henshall came and stood beside her. “There’s an old mounting block there, or I could give you a leg up?”

“Perhaps both?” Sarah stepped atop the mounting block, and from there Mr. Henshall assisted her up into the sidesaddle. Once seated, she hooked her right knee over the pommel, while he guided her left half boot into the single stirrup. Her breath caught to see his gloved hand on her ankle.

When he’d finished, Sarah rearranged the long train of the habit, making sure her legs were fully covered. Then she picked up the reins.

The horse shied, probably unnerved by Sarah’s ungainly mounting. “Easy, girl. You’re all right.” Sarah reached low and stroked the sleek neck, and the mare seemed to calm.

Once she was ready, Mr. Henshall remounted his own horse.

Gathering the reins, he said, “Let’s start slow, till ye grow accustomed to being in the saddle again.” He clicked his horse into a walk back down the drive, and the mare followed after the merest touch of the rein.

“All right?” he asked.

Sarah nodded. “So far.”

To avoid busier Peak Hill Road, they rode inland, going up Glen Lane. When they had passed Westmount, he asked, “Shall we try trotting?”

“Very well.”

He signaled his horse into a trot and hers reluctantly followed suit. Memories came back to her of all those long-ago rides with her father, first on a stubborn pony and later on a bay gelding.

As Sarah bounced along at a trot, she was suddenly grateful for her supportive stays.

“May we canter instead?” she asked.

“If you’re ready.”

“I am.” She urged the mare into a canter, and this time it was his horse who followed suit. Soon, Sarah was rising and falling with the rolling gait. As she settled into a smooth rhythm, pleasure filled her. She smiled over at him. “I have missed this. Thank you for suggesting it.”

They turned onto a quiet bridle path he had discovered during his previous visits to Sidmouth. As they rode along it, her trepidation faded, and she relished the exhilarating freedom of riding companionably on a sweet, well-trained horse. How could she have forgotten?

She looked around as they rode. Even in December, the hedgerows were still green, and hardy birds that stayed all year sang in the trees, some tenaciously holding on to their leaves, and the occasional Scots pine standing green and regal among them.

The sky above was a glorious clear blue. Even though the day was mild for winter, the brisk air made her eyes water and her cheeks tingle with cold.

As they rode along the path, a quail flew up, its beating wings startling the mare. Sarah managed to keep her seat, and again calmed the horse with soothing words. “You’re all right. Just a little bird. More afraid of you than you are of him.”

They rode on, trotting up a gentle rise until they reached a small grove of trees partway up Peak Hill.

“We had a picnic here that summer,” she said.

“I remember.”

They reined in their horses next to each other, the train of her skirt brushing his leg.

“You tried to show me how to play your guitar.”

“An excuse to be close to ye, as ye probably guessed.”

Was it? If that had been his aim, it had certainly been effective.

“How often do you play at home?” she asked.

“Daily, if I can. Music brings me peace as well as pleasure. Even when my life with Katrin was in turmoil”—his eyes took on a distant look—“I felt God’s presence when I played.”

Sarah thought for a moment, then confessed, “I have not often felt God’s presence these last few years.

I know He has not changed. I’m the one who has grown distant, busy trying to manage everything and everyone on my own.

” The truth of the admission pressed hard on her heart.

“And yet, I have also seen God’s provision in ways I never would have asked for or imagined. He is faithful, even when I am not.”

Callum Henshall held her gaze, slowly nodding his understanding, and for a moment, the silence between them hummed with possibility.

Being alone with him there felt intimate and exhilarating. They were close enough to touch. Maybe even to lean across and ... Guilt pricked her. Was it wrong to be here enjoying herself while Mrs. Besley was in pain and Effie, a guest, was at home helping her?

A squirrel scampered through the leaves, and the mare snorted and sidestepped.

Sarah pressed her lips together. “Perhaps we had better head back.”

“If you wish.”

As they returned to town, Sarah insisted on riding with him all the way to the stables. When they reached the livery, Mr. Henshall helped her dismount. Her legs were like jelly and nearly buckled beneath her.

He quickly put his arms around her to support her. “Careful.”

“I feel like I’m still riding.”

“You will regain your land legs in time.”

A groom came out to take the horses.

“Why don’t we sit?” Mr. Henshall suggested, pointing to a bench. “Rest a bit before walking back?”

“Actually, I think I’ve been sitting too long as it is. But might I take your arm until I am feeling steadier?”

“Certainly, my Jo.”

She looked up at him, surprised and uncertain. Why had he called her Jo? Had he mistakenly called her by another woman’s name?

As she placed her gloved hand on his sleeve, he covered it with his own and said, “I am yours to command.”

And the way he said “I am yours” made her breath hitch.

A stagecoach rattled into the stable yard, and the guard blew a loud blast on his horn.

Sarah lurched back, hand to her racing heart. “That scared me.”

But whether the horn or Callum Henshall’s words had startled her more was difficult to say.

After Colin returned to Westmount to begin crafting his kissing bough, Georgie had sneaked back and climbed the lime tree again, returning home with scraped hands, streaked knees, and money in her pocket.

She hurriedly washed, changed, and spent some time discussing the play with Effie before the meeting of the governors.

Sarah had not been involved at the school, so she volunteered to remain at Sea View with the Henshalls.

And James was working late at Killerton.

That left Georgiana, Emily, Mamma, Viola, and Jack to attend the meeting of the subscribers of the Sidmouth charity school.

The special meeting was held in the school room, and the purpose was to resolve what should be done with former pupil Cora Griffith.

The vicar, the Reverend Mr. Jenkins, served as the committee’s spiritual governor. Vice presidents and committee members included his wife as well as Mrs. Fulford, Lady Kennaway, Sir John Kennaway, and Sir George Cornish, among others.

The schoolmaster began by explaining the situation for those not yet informed, and then read a paragraph from Mrs. Limbrick’s will, which confirmed that Cora had no other known relatives yet living. She was, as far as anyone knew, an orphan. And an impoverished one at that.

Then began a debate over the merits of sending the girl to the orphanage in Exeter compared with allowing her to remain in service at the vicarage.

Mr. Jenkins spoke of his willingness to house and provide for the orphan under his roof and under the guidance of his cook, Mrs. Browland.

That woman nodded her flinty face. “That’s right. A firm hand is what’s needed for young chits like her.”

Georgiana huffed, incredulously and audibly. Emily’s mouth fell open, and she turned on her chair, looking ready to object. Mamma, seated beside them, stood abruptly and addressed the governors. “I wonder if I might offer an alternative living situation?”

“Better than in service to our good vicar?” Mrs. Browland asked.

“I have no wish to cast aspersions on you or Mr. Jenkins, but yes. I was at school with Cora’s mother.

I know firsthand that theirs was a genteel, upstanding family, despite recent financial hardships.

And as someone from the same parish, and well acquainted with the girl’s mother, I put myself forward as a suitable guardian.

I am willing to bear the responsibility of Cora’s care and upbringing until she reaches her majority, and beyond that if she wishes. ”

Georgiana stood and clapped. She had never been so proud of her mother. Emily joined in her applause while others in attendance talked among themselves.

Viola gently pulled Georgiana back into her seat.

“Quiet. Quiet, all,” one of the vice presidents demanded. “This is a respectable meeting of the school’s governors, not a beer house.”

The vicar asked, “And you believe you are in a better position to offer this orphan a home and a future?”

“I do. We are not wealthy, but our guest house is financially sound. Moreover, I have raised five daughters, and while not claiming perfection by any measure, I believe I am qualified to guide another girl on to adulthood.”

The vicar’s wife spoke up. “But we have already taken her in. Mrs. Browland ... we ... have need of her. Previous girls have not stayed long. The last one did not last a week.”

Georgiana could well believe it.

Mamma said politely, “I am sure your offer of employment was kindly intended, Mrs. Jenkins. Even so, your cook’s difficulty in keeping a scullery maid does not make this the best situation for young Cora.”

Now Mrs. Browland stood, jaw jutting hard. “You mentioned her grandmother’s financial problems. You know all about falling into hard times, don’t you?”

At this, Jack tensed, scarred cheek stretched tight, and looked ready to leap from his chair in defense of his wife’s mother. Viola grabbed his arm to stay him.

Their mother did not need the major’s protection. If this woman meant to humiliate or cow Eugenia Summers, she was to be disappointed.

Mamma lifted her chin and calmly replied, “Indeed. We lost my husband, and the estate, being entailed, went to a distant male relative. But my girls and I have made a success of the guest house here, thanks to the initiative of my daughter Sarah, and we have all lent a hand. There is no shame in expending effort to provide for one’s family. ”

“So you want a cheap servant for yourself, is that it? Perhaps a chamber maid rather than a scullery maid. But in the end it amounts to the same thing.”

Again Mamma managed a calm reply. “If Cora comes to live with us, she will be expected to help around the house just as my daughters and I do. But help is not what motivates me. If I simply wanted another servant, I would engage one older and more experienced.”

Before the disgruntled cook could fashion another retort, Mrs. Fulford stood and gave an impassioned appeal on their behalf, describing the Summers family as most charitable and deeply involved with both the poor house and the school. Lady Kennaway seconded her appeal.

They were well acquainted with both Mrs. Fulford and Lady Kennaway, and Georgie had known they could count on their support. Of the others, she was less certain.

Cora, as a child, was not asked nor allowed to give an opinion. But Mr. Ward spoke on her behalf, confirming Cora’s fondness for Georgiana as well as her sister Mrs. Emily Thomson and her husband, who all regularly visited the school to play games or read to the children.

The vicar asked, “Even so, has the girl even met Mrs. Summers herself, the one petitioning for custody?”

“She has, sir,” Mr. Ward replied. “Cora told me with great satisfaction that Mrs. Summers and Miss Georgiana visited her grandmother recently to bring gifts of food and clothing. The only people to visit the ailing woman in several weeks, I might add.” He did not glance at the vicar as he said it, but others did.

The vicar looked down.

While the governors conferred among themselves, Mamma, Viola, and Jack had a private conversation that Georgie could not hear.

In the end, the governors were swayed to grant temporary custody to Mrs. Summers, with the caveat that they would need to consult a lawyer to verify the legality of such an outcome.

But for now, Cora would move from the vicarage to Sea View.