Page 30 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

SIXTEEN

Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweetens it.

—James Howell, Familiar Letters

Georgiana’s family had decided in advance to exchange small gifts on New Year’s Day instead of on St. Nicholas Day, as they had last year, or on Twelfth Night, which would be busy enough with the planned party—and because they were not giving gifts to everyone who would be in attendance.

They did, however, invite Mr. Henshall and Effie to join them for their modest time of gift giving over tea and leftover pastries. Of course, they had assured them there was no expectation of gifts being exchanged between the two families.

Given time off for New Year’s, James spent the day with them as well. William, Colin, Jack, and Mr. Hutton, however, had been invited to Salcombe Hill for a day’s shooting with local magistrate and landowner George Cornish.

When they realized Cora and Mira would be joining them, they selected a few small gifts for the girls as well. For athletic Cora there was a new Chinese diabolo to juggle. For Mira, a tiny knitted muffler and hat for her doll.

Much as last year, Mamma and the sisters exchanged primarily handmade gifts.

Sarah had made fragrant lavender water and rose lip salve in the workroom belowstairs.

Claire had painted lovely designs on small decorative boxes for each of them.

Viola had netted coin purses for her sisters and a fine needlepoint fire screen for Mamma.

In turn, Mamma gave them a shared subscription to a ladies’ magazine and beaded bracelets.

Emily, now being paid for her editing and proofreading work, bought a new history book for her husband and a small volume of Robert Burns poetry for Sarah, explaining, “I have lately become aware of your growing interest in all things Scottish.”

Georgiana noticed Sarah blush.

Emily had also purchased new sheet music for Viola. And for Mamma, quality writing paper, hot pressed for a fine, smooth surface and printed with her initials.

She’d bought a pretty hair comb and a new sketch pad for Claire. And, finally, a slender book on fencing for Georgiana.

“Emily, it’s too much!” Mamma objected.

“Not at all. You’ve had to suffer my neglect and homemade cards for the last few years. It is my pleasure to give nice gifts for once.”

James handed Emily a gift. “And for you, a new novel.”

Emily unwrapped a finely bound leather book. She opened it, and her brow puckered in confusion. “The pages are blank.”

“That’s because you have not written it yet.”

With a soft smile, she reached over and touched his cheek. “Thank you for your confidence and encouragement.”

Georgie’s gifts would pale by comparison, she knew, but at least she’d managed to buy something.

Last year, she had given her mother and sisters handwritten certificates good for one service from her, like walks with her mother and chores for her sisters.

This year, she’d wanted to do something different.

Her options were limited without money, so she’d returned to the lime tree alone and cut down the rest of the mistletoe.

This she took to the man who sold winter evergreens door-to-door in his holly cart for people to use in decorating their own houses on Christmas Eve.

He couldn’t give her much money, but it was enough for a trip to the confectioner’s.

There she’d bought small packets of pralines and chocolate drops studded with white sugar beads called nonpareils.

Now she handed the packets around. “It’s not much, I’m afraid. Though a little better than last year, I hope.”

“My dear, you need not remonstrate with yourself,” Mamma said. “Your certificates were much appreciated.”

“Especially by me,” Emily said. “Mine was good for one turn cleaning the water closet.”

Sarah opened her packet. “Mm. These look delicious. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Georgiana,” Viola said. “We shall enjoy them, I know.”

Claire added, “Though I, for one, may have to wait until I am not so full.”

Sarah watched in anticipation as Mr. Henshall gave Effie the pretty parcel she had helped him wrap, which contained the dancing slippers he had purchased and she had embroidered with a Scottish thistle each.

“Dancing slippers,” he explained.

“I know. They’re lovely! Thank ye.”

“Sarah did the embroidery.”

“They’re perfect. Thank ye both. If only I had somewhere to wear them.”

“I understand we are to have dancing at the Twelfth Night party,” he said. “Might ye not put them to use then?”

“Indeed I shall.”

Sarah handed her another small parcel. “Just something I made. A reticule with matching embroidery.”

She opened it. “I love it. Thank ye.”

In turn, Effie gave her stepfather a pair of riding gloves, as gloves were a traditional gift for the New Year.

He thanked her kindly, and looked at Sarah, opened his mouth, but then seemed to think the better of whatever he’d been about to say. Just as well, Sarah thought, with so many prying eyes and interested ears surrounding them.

After the gift giving had concluded, people dispersed, most to take the gifts to their own rooms.

Sarah tidied up the various wrappings and a few remaining plates and teacups, then carried them downstairs.

Mr. Henshall met her in the workroom.

There, he handed her a small tissue-wrapped box. “A little something for ye, Sarah.”

Sarah’s stomach dropped. She had nothing for him. Men and women did not exchange gifts unless they were married, engaged, or related by blood. “But I ... You shouldn’t have.”

“Just open it,” he gently insisted. “It’s from Effie and me both.”

Not a ring , then , she thought, relieved and disappointed in turns.

Noticing her reticence, he said, “It’s not a ring, if that’s what has ye worried.”

“I would not presume...”

“No?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Discomfited by his watchful gaze, Sarah unwrapped the small box. Inside lay the simple gold cross necklace she had admired at the jeweler’s shop.

Surprise and guilt flared. “I never meant you should buy it for me!”

“Of course not. I know that. It was my pleasure. A small token of our appreciation and affection, Effie’s and mine.”

“I am astonished nonetheless. Thank you. It is lovely, but I ... should not accept it.”

“Why not?”

“Because here in England, unrelated men and women do not exchange gifts unless they are married or engaged.”

“Have I not been trying to bring that about?” He huffed a sigh. “Am I just another man, Sarah? I thought I was more to ye.”

“Yes. I ... I am very fond of you ... and Effie,” she faltered, setting the box on the worktable.

“You must know there is a question I want to ask ye,” he said. “Yet how can I, when ye keep putting me off?”

Agitated, Sarah picked up a teacup and saucer she had left on the table earlier that morning.

“You would rather redd up than answer me.” Irritation tightened his voice. “Am I wasting my time here? If ye have decided against me, just tell me and have done.”

“I’ve been too busy to decide anything.”

“You’re not building the pyramids, Sarah. You’ve had time to think while baking and organizing and whatnot.”

“Uh ...!” she sputtered. “This is not a simple decision.”

“And will ye be making it any time soon? I’ve tried to be patient, lass. God knows I have, but—” He grimaced and ran a hand over his face.

The teacup rattled against the saucer.

“Put the dashed thing down, Sarah, and look at me.” He took the cup from her, set it down, and then firmly braced her shoulders. “I’ve given ye time. Tried not to pressure you, but this suspense. This ... wavering ... is maddening.”

“Of course I’m wavering. You’re asking me to give up my home and move hundreds of miles away from my family.”

“Yes, I am. Or I would be—were I not sure to be rejected.” The muscles in his face and neck tensed.

She had never seen him look so frustrated. Her fault. Dread curdled the dregs of tea in her stomach.

He released her and raked his fingers through his hair. “I had better take my leave of you, before I say something I’ll regret.”

Sarah stood there after he left, feeling sick and remorseful.

Then, leaving the dirty cup where it was, she went back upstairs.

Viola and Claire had remained in the parlour after the gift giving and now sat at the pianoforte together, the two musical sisters playing a duet.

In a haze of self-reproach, Sarah wandered into the parlour and joined them there.

Under other circumstances she would have been cheered by the sight of Claire and Viola sitting together, laughing and playing.

The two finished their duet with a flourish, and then Claire rose and sat in an armchair near Sarah.

“You go on, Vi. I can’t keep up with you.”

Viola began playing something soft and sweet without looking at the keys or music, as though barely aware of what she played.

Claire glanced at Sarah and then looked again, concern creasing her lovely face. “What is it? What’s happened? You look upset.”

“I am. Mr. Henshall and I have just had a...” A what? An argument , row , altercation? “A discussion.”

“Oh?” Viola stopped playing and came over to sit with them. “About what?”

Sarah told her sisters about the gift, her reaction, and his frustrated response.

“Have you decided against him?” Vi asked.

Sarah blinked, not ready for a second inquisition so soon. “I have not decided anything. If things were different, I might have, but I don’t think Mamma is ready for me to leave ... permanently.”

“Mamma ... or you?”

Sarah picked up a stray piece of string on the arm of the chair, left from one of the parcels. Claire reached out and laid a hand over hers, stilling her movements.

She said gently, “It seems to me you have been living in near-constant motion the last few years while I was gone, endlessly striving just to keep your head above water. But those trying days are over.”

“Are they?”

“They could be. That’s up to you.”

When Claire lifted her hand, Sarah began toying with the string.

“He has not come out and asked me to marry him, by the way.”