Page 28 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

FIFTEEN

“A guid New-year to ane and a’,

And mony may ye see,

And during a’ the years to come,

Oh happy may ye be.

—Traditional Scottish ballad

After church and a light meal the next day, Sarah resumed her preparations for that night’s New Year’s Eve party.

She certainly hoped Georgiana was enjoying all the holiday celebrations they were hosting for her benefit.

Sarah trusted she had fulfilled her promise to make this year’s Christmastide far more festive than the last. After all the food, candles, and other supplies to feed their guests and light the rooms during evening parties, they would certainly need to economize in the New Year to make up for their extravagance now.

For Sarah’s part, she was growing exhausted. Had all the effort, long hours, and expense been worth it? She doubted it.

Late that afternoon, Mamma came into the workroom and found her arranging sweets and savories on silver trays.

“Sarah, go and change! We are dressing formally tonight, remember?”

“Just a few more minutes...”

Mamma untied her apron and tugged it free, which did not have the same effect as when Mr. Henshall had done so.

“Now, my girl. I will finish this.”

Sarah looked up from her work at last. Her mother stood there in an elegant long-sleeved gown of fawn silk with lilac and green stripes.

“Mamma, you look lovely.”

“Thank you. Now it’s your turn. Go on.”

Sarah studied her a moment longer. “How are you feeling?”

“Impatient with a dawdling daughter at the moment, but otherwise fine.”

“Very well. I’m going.”

Sarah went up to change into a dress of blue silk taffeta printed with silvery ornaments. It had the newer low-fitted waist, and the celestial blue color flattered her complexion and brought out the blue of her eyes—or so the modiste had assured her.

Emily came in to help with her fastenings and to add some curls around her face with the hot iron.

“A lot of fuss,” Sarah murmured, “when I shall be busy serving most of the night.”

“No, you shan’t. You shall be enjoying the company of your family and guests. Come now, put a smile on that pretty face of yours.”

Again Sarah wondered if all the extra effort was worth it.

She went downstairs and, with a sigh, picked up a fallen hair pin from the floor. Georgiana’s, she guessed. Hearing footsteps on the stairs behind her, she straightened, turned...

And froze.

Callum Henshall slowly descended ... wearing a kilt.

Sarah stared, unable to do otherwise, cataloging every inch of his person, from his black buckled shoes, tall stockings tied around strong calf muscles, bare knees peeking out, to the belted tartan kilt in a subdued blue, green, and black pattern, over which an ornamental .

.. something ... hung on a chain. He looked like the man she knew yet startlingly different too.

Dangerously new and not quite the civilized gentleman he’d seemed before.

The foreign garments stood in sharp contrast to those of his upper body—a traditional waistcoat, neckcloth, and tailored coat.

For a moment the strange image of a merman came to mind: gentleman above, wild Scot below.

Sarah’s mouth went dry.

He paused on the stairs, studying her, and when she remained silent, he continued his descent.

His gaze traced her face, her hair, her gown. “Ye look beautiful.”

“You are ... do too.”

His eyes shone. “I can see I’ve surprised ye. But a Scot must wear his kilt for Hogmanay.”

“Of course. I ... I don’t mind at all.”

In fact, Sarah decided then and there that her puny efforts for this holiday had been very much worth it indeed.

Effie came down next wearing a green dress with a tartan scarf over one shoulder.

Georgiana descended after her in a new gown of figured mulberry satin with a square neck and a single, plain flounce at the hem.

She had rejected the modiste’s suggestions of festooned flounces, beribboned sleeves, and a ruffled bodice, even though Mamma favored them.

She would feel foolish, she’d insisted, as though wearing a costume meant for some fine la-di-dah lady and not herself.

Mamma had finally relented. Although rather simple, the dress suited Georgie, and she looked feminine and pretty in it.

Emily followed, beautiful as usual in a rose-colored gown, James handsome in dark evening attire at her side.

Finally, Cora came down, dressed in a frock that was both charming and familiar—a yellow dress with pink flowers embroidered at the hem and a wide pink ribbon at the waist. There had not been time to order anything new for her, so she wore a favorite dress that Mamma had saved, one that had been passed down through her daughters.

She planned to have a new dress made for Cora after the busyness of the holidays had passed.

Soon their other guests arrived. Claire and William first, followed by the four Huttons: Jack, Viola, Colin, and Mr. Hutton senior. Mira had remained at the boarding house with Armaan and Sonali, but all three would join them on Twelfth Night.

Everyone was well dressed and in good spirits, greeting one another and commenting on the cold weather as they shed outdoor garments, which Mr. Gwilt whisked away.

They soon sat down together at a table crowded with serving vessels mounded high with an appealing variety of foods, including traditional English dishes as well as some of the fare Mr. Henshall had suggested for Hogmanay.

Sarah had given Mrs. Besley a recipe for haggis, but the cook had turned up her nose at the idea of preparing anything involving a sheep’s lungs, stomach, or ox bung. The butcher refused as well.

They did manage to make venison pie, thanks to a gifted roast from Sir Thomas Acland, James’s employer, who kept deer on his estate.

They also prepared a side dish of neeps and tatties, made of potatoes and “swede,” also known as Swedish turnip or rutabaga.

And they easily acquired salted herrings from local fisherman Mr. Cordey.

Sarah herself made shortbread, the round oatcakes called bannocks, and black bun—a pastry-covered fruitcake.

Mr. Henshall was clearly impressed and shook his head in astonishment. “Ach, I could close my eyes and be at home in Kirkcaldy.”

“Aye, except without the haggis,” Effie said, “for which I am grateful.”

“I considered making it myself,” Sarah admitted, “but I decided an inexperienced Englishwoman should probably not attempt Scotland’s national dish. At least, not without tutelage.”

Effie nodded. “Very wise.”

“No matter,” Mr. Henshall said, looking at her earnestly. “I am most grateful for the kind efforts you’ve made on our behalf.”

Pleasure at his words and fond gaze warmed Sarah’s cheeks, and she hoped her blush was not obvious to the others. Daring a glance around the table, she noticed her sisters share meaningful looks. They knew her too well.

After dinner they all moved into the larger drawing room for tea, coffee, and more conversation.

Georgiana tried to instigate a game of charades to no avail, although she did convince James, Emily, and Colin to sit down with her to a game of whist. Nearby, Effie and Cora played a game of spillikins.

When the games ended, the players rejoined the others in the drawing room.

By popular request, Viola played the pianoforte for a time. Then she asked Mr. Henshall and Effie to play and sing for them. He retrieved his guitar and Effie stood beside him, their Scots accents strong as they sang:

“The year is wearin’ to the wane,

An’ day is fadin’ west awa’

...Now let us tak’ a kind farewell,

Good night an’ joy be wi’ you all....”

As the two sang, Sarah’s gaze returned often to the handsome Scotsman in his kilt. She found herself growing pleasantly accustomed to this version of Callum Henshall.

After the song, Georgie applauded along with the others. Colin came and stood beside her. She had thought he might bring Eliza Marriott but was pleased he had not. He’d said earlier he would ask her, so she must have turned down his invitation once again.

In a low voice, he said, “Remember our scheme to foster romance between Sarah and her Scotsman?”

“Yes?”

He winked at her, then addressed Mr. Henshall in a louder voice. “I think this evening calls for a Robert Burns tribute. Won’t you recite a poem for us? And I know just the one—‘The Red, Red Rose.’”

Mr. Henshall hesitated, then countered, “How about ‘To a Mouse’? Or ‘Address to a Haggis’?”

“No. And it’s too early in the evening for ‘Auld Lang Syne.’”

“Very well then, lad. A Scot never turns down an opportunity to honor the great Rabbie Burns, Scotland’s favorite son.”

He set aside his guitar and returned to stand before them. For a long moment he stood silent, and Georgie feared he might not recall the words. But after collecting his thoughts, he began.

“O my Luve is like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve is like the melody

That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry...”

Georgie cast a surreptitious look at her sister and was chagrined to see tears in her eyes. Had Colin’s scheme had the opposite effect of the one he’d intended?

“...And fare thee weel, my only luve!

And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,

Though it were ten thousand mile.”

When he’d finished, Sarah joined in the applause, then abruptly excused herself to replenish the trays of black bun and shortbread, although they were already quite full.

After that, people rose and refilled their teacups or moved chairs to speak with someone new. Georgie ate a piece of black bun, and then talked to Claire for a time, asking after Mira, who would be in bed by now with Sonali and Armaan watching over her.

She then played a game of dominoes with Cora, until Mamma noticed the girl yawn for the third time in as many minutes and put her to bed in her own room.