Page 26 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

FOURTEEN

Each age has deemed the new-born year

The fittest time for festal cheer.

—Sir Walter Scott, “Christmas in the Olden Time”

Her thoughts full of Callum Henshall, Sarah tied a clean half apron around her waist the next day and stripped the sheets from her own bed. If only it were as easy to strip away her doubts and questions.

Phrases from recent conversations with him echoed through her mind:

“I wouldna recover from such a disappointment quickly. If ever.” And “I’m through being cautious. ... If ye think I am hesitant where you’re concerned , let me make something clear. I know how I feel about ye , lass. I am only holding back out of respect....”

Sarah, however, was not through being cautious.

In truth, she was struggling. Could she give up her home?

Move hundreds of miles from her family? On the other hand, could she live with herself if she did not?

So yes, she was holding back, especially now with Mrs. Besley needing more help and Emily planning to spend most of her time elsewhere.

Would it not be wrong of her to leave? For even though Viola lived next door—close enough to help Mamma if need be—her sister would soon have her hands full with a newborn.

Mr. Henshall had made it clear during his first stay with them that he was needed in Scotland.

He had a man of business and tenants to keep the estate going for a month or two, but he could not stay away much longer.

He had responsibilities at home, just as she had at Sea View.

Even if his cousin was to inherit instead of a son, he was duty bound to be a good steward, to manage the land well and keep Whinstone Hall in good order.

A secret part of her would love to be the woman to provide Callum with a longed-for son and heir. Though of course there was no guarantee they would have any children, and even a daughter could not inherit due to the dictates of the entail.

Would it be worth it to give up her family, to risk the success and security of Sea View for a husband and potential children of her own—children who would rarely see their grandmother and aunts in Devonshire?

Was it selfish of her to even consider the desires of her heart above what was best for her mother and sisters?

As Sarah spread clean sheets over her bed, her thoughts continued to swing like a pendulum—toward him, and away again.

With each practical argument against the match her emotions swung away.

Then she recalled the appeal in his sea-green eyes when he said, “It is my dearest wish that one day she’ll do me the honor of taking my name , ” and her emotions swung toward him once more.

Oh , Lord , what would you have me do?

Bed made, Sarah gathered up the sheets and took them out to the laundry basket in the passage. Jessie came up the stairs humming a Christmas carol. The maid was carrying two folded towels under one arm, and in her hand, the bin they used to collect rubbish from the guest rooms.

“Ah, Jessie. I’ve barely seen you to ask. Did you enjoy your day off with Tom?”

“Yes, miss.” The young woman’s eyes sparkled. “And I wanted to tell you. Tom thought we should save up for a nice place of our own first. But I don’t want to wait. As long as we’re together, I’ll be happy. So we’re to marry in February, as soon as the banns can be read.”

Sarah congratulated Jessie even as her spirits sank. She knew it was unlikely Jessie would continue working at Sea View once married, or at least once a baby came along. Another factor to consider...

Mrs. Besley limped to the bottom of the stairs with the aid of her cane. “Soup pot boiled over. Lowen stoked the fire too hot again. I could use Jessie’s help in cleaning it up.”

Sarah took the towels from the young woman. “You go on. I will do that.”

“Those are for Scots Pine.” Jessie handed over the bin as well, then hurried downstairs to help.

Sarah’s heart gave a small twist at the name of the room ... and the thought of its occupant.

Sarah carried the freshly laundered towels and bin to the door of Scots Pine. She had last seen Mr. Henshall in the parlour with a newspaper, while Georgie and Effie played draughts nearby. She was quite certain the bedchamber was empty yet knocked anyway.

When no one answered, she let herself in.

Inside, she found the bed neatly made. She laid the towels on the washstand and bent to pick up the room’s small rubbish bin, preparing to dump it into the larger one. When Jessie left, who would take on her duties?

Footsteps sounded behind her. Startled, she turned and found Mr. Henshall just over the threshold, no doubt surprised to find her in his room.

“What are ye doin’, lass?”

Embarrassment flared. “I only came in to bring fresh towels and empty the bin. Jessie would have done it, but she was needed belowstairs.”

He made no reply. For a moment longer he stood there, then he advanced into the room, the door swinging partway shut behind him.

He took the bin from her and set it on the floor. “You, my Jo, should be mistress of your own home. Not emptyin’ bins.” He held out both hands. “Give me that apron and I’ll do it myself.”

“What? Don’t be silly,” Sarah said, feeling incredulous until she recognized the teasing glint in his eyes.

“Why not?” He grinned and lunged for it, catching the half apron’s ruffled hem.

She chuckled and leapt back. In a rare streak of mischief, she threw one of the towels at him.

Catching it, he said, “Ah, a weapon. Excellent.” He unfurled the towel, twisted it into a rope, and snapped at her skirts with it.

She squealed, then began twisting the other towel, intent on revenge.

“Oh no you don’t.” He playfully grasped her around the waist, pulling at the bow that held the apron.

It fell to the floor.

She stilled, suddenly conscious of his nearness, the fresh scent of shaving soap, his strong arms around her.

Looking up, she found his face close to hers. Her breath caught, and her heart pounded.

For a moment both of his hands remained at her waist. Then he lifted one and cupped her cheek. His grin faded, his playful expression transforming into something far more serious. Even tense.

“Sarah...” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“Y-yes?”

His intense gaze moved to her lips, and the air between them thickened. “I have been wanting to kiss you again ever since I stole that kiss under the mistletoe....”

He slowly lowered his head. She leaned toward him, ignoring the warnings flashing in her mind.

When his mouth was a mere breath from hers, he paused, and instead of kissing her, he groaned and rested his forehead against hers. “Yet I should not. Not here and now.” He dropped his hands. “Oh, lass, when will ye put me out of my misery?”

The door to the next room banged open, and Sarah started, nerves leaping. She stepped back as Effie’s and Georgiana’s voices reached them from the adjoining room.

What was she doing? Flirting with a man in his bedchamber—a man who had been hurt by a woman before? Heaven help her.

Regret flooding her, Sarah ducked her head. “I should go.”

He stopped her with a gentle hand and lifted her chin. “You have done nothing wrong, Sarah. I started this. I want very badly to kiss ye, but I will wait for a more appropriate time and place. I pray ye won’t make me wait much longer.”

She wanted to reassure him, but the reply caught in her throat. “Excuse me.” Grabbing her apron, Sarah scuttled from the room. Were she his wife, she would have every right to be there with him. But she was not.

Longing to talk to Claire and ask her advice, Sarah dressed warmly and walked over to the boarding house.

When she crossed the marketplace, she saw Claire at Broadbridge’s front door, showing out an older woman with a leather case in hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jones. We are most grateful.”

The older woman nodded, said something Sarah couldn’t hear, and walked away in the opposite direction.

Seeing her approach, her sister waved and waited for her. When she drew closer, Claire said, “What a night! Mary had her baby. A boy. That was the midwife just leaving.”

“How is Mary?”

“Exhausted, of course, but otherwise she seems perfectly well.”

“Thank God.”

“Yes. A healthy birth is always a relief to be sure. We have engaged a monthly nurse, who is up there with her now. Do come in out of the cold.”

Sarah wiped her feet on the rug and entered the front hall.

“Any word from her intended?”

“Unfortunately, no. William has written again to inquire about the ship’s whereabouts. I pray no harm befalls that young man—or I should say, that young father.”

“I shall pray as well.”

“For now, mother and child are both sleeping peacefully, so please come to our rooms for a chat.”

“Where are Mira and William?”

“He is playing with her up in the attic so I could have some time to myself. I did not get much sleep last night.”

“Oh, then I will go and let you rest....”

“Nonsense. I’d much rather talk with you.” Claire led the way upstairs to the sitting room of their apartment.

Once they both were seated, she said, “Now. Tell me how you are.”

“If I’m honest, I don’t know how I am. Torn, I suppose you could say. Would it be selfish of me to put my desire for love and marriage above what is best for Mamma and the rest of the family?”

“Selfish?” Claire repeated. “I think you might be idealizing the wedded state. William and I are very happy together, yet marriage is not all romance and kisses. It is also a serious responsibility. As is becoming a stepmother, I’ve learned.

Both are challenging and important callings.

And in your case, taking on a girl in her teens?

” Claire raised her light eyebrows high.

“You will find it far more demanding than any of your tasks at Sea View, I’m sure—though a joy too. ”

“I had not thought of it that way.”

“Sarah, we all want you to be fulfilled and happy. None of us would ask you to give up something—or someone—you love. But ... do you love him?”

Did she?