Page 33 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

Colin held up his hands. “Now, Mr. Henshall, I see your scowl, but never fear, I shall not subject young Effie to a dance of dubious repute. Despite its name, this is an innocent country dance in three-quarter time, and not the German partner waltz known to raise eyebrows.”

“Good lad.”

They partnered off: Sarah with Mr. Henshall, and Hubert with Effie, which left Georgie with Colin.

“Let’s walk through it. First we form a star with another couple. Yes, yes, good. Next join hands with your partner, and step forward and back in a balance step—like this.” He demonstrated.

A strange sensation passed through Georgie when Colin held her hand. Goodness. What was wrong with her? She hoped no one had noticed her odd reaction.

“And now move down the line and back up again. Excellent. Shall we try it with music?”

They did so. On the first attempt, young Mr. Cornish bumped hard into Georgiana.

“The other way, Hubert.”

“My deepest apologies, Miss Summers.”

After a few more false starts and steps, they managed to follow the simple pattern.

Once they had mastered that country dance, Georgie said, “What about a quadrille, Colin? You mentioned we would be impressed to see you dance a quadrille. I do hope you plan to include one.”

“You read my mind, Miss Georgiana. Next, we shall try a very simple quadrille. It is danced in groups of four couples.” He regarded the three couples gathered, then turned to Emily. “We need another couple, if you would oblige and... Ah! Mr. Gwilt. Just in time.”

The small Welshman hesitated just over the threshold, tea tray in hand. “I’ve never done the like, I haven’t. But if I’m needed, I shall certainly try.” He set down the tray and joined them.

The dance began with bows and curtsies, followed by a series of advancing and retreating steps, turns, and changing places with the person opposite. Mr. Gwilt followed along, mastering the steps far more quickly than Georgie did.

The pattern was again a simple one, although Colin added his own flourishes and skipping steps.

Mr. Henshall teased, “I would be more impressed to see ye dance a reel in true Caledonian style, or better yet, a Highland fling.”

Effie shook her head. “He’d need a kilt.”

Mr. Henshall grinned. “Then perhaps I shall have to dance it myself.”

“Oh no!” Effie moaned. “Ye promised. Never again!”

“Ye may have wished to ban me, but I made no such promise, lass.”

“We have no bagpipe or piper,” she reminded him, almost desperately.

He gave a heavy faux sigh. “True. Then, I suppose we shall all have to forgo that pleasure for the present.” Over the girl’s head, he winked at Sarah.

“Never fear, Mr. Henshall,” Colin said. “We have not forgotten you. Viola and I plan to include a Scotch reel, very popular at English balls and even at Almack’s.”

“Excellent.”

“Let’s attempt it now, shall we?”

Colin demonstrated the basic steps, with optional flourishes like a hop step, a cross step, taps, and stamps. Mr. Gwilt followed along once more, proving to be remarkably adept.

Colin said, “This is an opportunity for men in particular to show off their fancy footwork.”

“Why only the men?” Georgie asked.

Sarah spoke up. “Because ladies—at least, English ladies—are taught to dance with decorum, with no capering about or kicking up their heels.”

Effie’s lip curled. “Sounds borin’.”

“Thankfully ours is to be a private ball,” Georgie said. “So we can do as we like.”

“Exactly.” Colin grinned. “So caper to your heart’s content.”

When the lesson ended and Hubert Cornish had taken his leave, Georgiana praised their instructor. “Well done, Colin. Thank you.”

“That is kind of you to say.”

“I know you mentioned you were not a great student, but you could be an excellent teacher.”

“Me, a dancing master? My father would die of an apoplexy.” Suddenly Colin’s entire face withered like a prune. “Sorry. What a thoughtless thing to say when your own father...”

“Never mind. I know what you meant. And I was not thinking of a dancing master specifically. You might teach any number of things. You said you liked history.”

“True, though I doubt I could teach Latin, Euclid, or Homer.”

“Perhaps not. But students at, say, the Sidmouth School would not require such lofty classical education. They need to learn to read, write, and cipher, and perhaps some world history and sport.”

“That I might be able to manage, were there a need.”

“There is. The Sidmouth School does good work for poor children. But Mr. Ward will retire eventually. And, at present, there is no academy for young gentlemen here, so that might be another opportunity.”

“Do you think so? As a younger son, I know I should have some profession, yet I can’t seem to settle on anything. Well, thank you, Miss Georgiana. You have given me much to think about and some needed confidence as well.” He looked at her more closely. “And what is it you’d like to do?”

“Me?” For a moment Georgiana stood there, mouth agape. “Do you know, you are the first person to ask me that.”

“Am I? My father has been asking me that for years. Drilling me, more like.”

“He has high expectations of you. That’s not all bad. No one expects anything of me. Except perhaps to marry one day. Shudder.”

“Would marriage be so bad?”

“As a formality? It seems so to me. Though to be fair, my sisters who’ve wed seem sickeningly happy.”

“My brother too. What else, though? If it were only up to you?”

“I wish. If only I were independently wealthy.”

“Let’s say you were.”

“Hmm ... I suppose if money were no object, I should like to travel. I have only ever been here and May Hill. I also dearly love visiting the children at the charity school. So I suppose, after I’d traveled, I would like to help children like them, like Cora, somehow.

And I would have my own dog. Not just adopt the town stray. ”

He nodded. “Those seem modest, attainable goals.”

“To you, maybe.”

“Georgiana Summers, I have absolutely no doubt that with God’s help, you can do anything you set your mind to.”

Georgie smiled. “And now you’re giving me confidence. We are quite a pair, are we not? Um. Platonically speaking, of course.”

He hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Of course.”

“Speaking of the school, shall we go there again?” she asked.

“Why not? I could kick something.”

“What?”

“A ball, I mean.”

“Oh. In that case, let’s go.”

They donned their outdoor attire and set out for the school. As they walked up Fore Street, they came upon Miss Marriott, her lovely face framed by the fur-lined hood of her cloak, a parcel in hand.

“Ah, Mr. Hutton, a pleasure to see you again. And you, Georgiana.”

Colin bowed. “Miss Marriott.”

“What a fortuitous meeting,” she said. “My father was saying only this morning how much he enjoyed your last visit. I am sure he would be pleased to see you again. I am on my way home now with some queen cakes from the bakery to have with our tea. Would you care to join us?”

“Very kind of you. But Miss Summers and I are on our way to the Sidmouth School. We hope to read to the students and join them for games in the yard. You might accompany us, if you like. The more readers the merrier, and all that.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. My parents are expecting me. Are you sure you can’t come for tea? You could easily visit the school another day.”

Georgie steeled herself for his agreement. For him to abandon their outing as he had before.

She said in an undertone, “Colin, if you want to accept, then—”

“Not at all. I am eager to return to the school with you.” He turned back to the young woman with a smile. “Though I appreciate the invitation, Miss Marriott. Perhaps another time?”

She lifted her chin, and her eyes turned frosty. “Perhaps.”

His smile did not waver. “Thank you again, and please do greet your parents for me.” He tipped his hat and gestured for Georgie to walk on.

When they were out of earshot, Georgie said, “You could have gone with her. You need not feel obligated to go with me if you don’t wish to.”

“But I do wish to.” He gave her a teasing grin. “Now, come on—no more dallying. Young minds and feet await!”

Sarah iced the Twelfth Night cake with layers of first almond, then sugar icing. She could not rival the intricate sugar work decorations of a pastry shop, but she did manage to cut out festive shapes—crowns and stars—from almond paste to adorn the top and sides of the cake.

Early during the party, the cake would be cut and served to guests. The person who found the bean became the Bean King. And the woman who found a dried pea would be the Queen of Twelfth Night. The king and queen reigned for the evening, no matter their normal status in society.

As she worked, Sarah thought again of Mr. Bernardi, the duke’s pastry chef who had stayed with them last winter.

He had recently written to let her know he had taken her advice and was now chef de maison of a small hotel in Mayfair that served French and Italian cuisine.

I invite you to visit and enjoy a meal gratis should you ever find yourself in London.

She had no plans to travel to London, but she was pleased for the man.

While Sarah decorated the cake, her sisters were busy with other preparations for the party.

Emily had bought a large sheet of paper from the stationer’s and cut it into slips.

She and Claire worked together, Emily writing Twelfth Night character names and introductions on the slips, and Claire illustrating them with funny little drawings.

Since guests would not learn which character they were to be until after they arrived, Georgiana and Effie spent time digging through trunks in the attic storage room and visiting the secondhand shop to compile a selection of costumes.

They also made crowns of felt adorned with gold ribbon and paste gems.

Who, they wondered aloud, would be this year’s king and queen?

After dinner that evening, Sarah returned to the workroom to prepare jellies and pastries for the party and to put the final touches on the Twelfth Night cake.

The party was only two nights away now. Mr. Henshall’s words echoed in her mind once more, “I will leave ye in peace until after the party. But when it’s over , I hope ye will be ready to discuss .

.. our future.” And she would be ready.

Late that night, most likely after the others had gone to bed, Sarah finished her tasks. When she finally ascended the stairs, quiet strumming caught her ear along with a low, familiar voice. She changed course and, instead of continuing up to her bedchamber, diverted to the parlour.

She paused outside its open door. Callum Henshall sat alone by the light of a dying fire, softly strumming in experimental fashion: stopping and starting again, trying different chords, singing a few words, pausing, and then singing them again in modified form.

As she listened to him pottering about with a new song, her heart burned within her and her throat tightened painfully.

“My darling one, my jo,

Will we ever meet again?

For I shall long for you always,

My would-be love and friend.

I will pray for you, my jo,

Whate’er happens, wherever I go.

But I leave my heart right here.

It does me no good anywhere...”

Stepping into the room, Sarah blurted, “Don’t.”

He froze and then stood. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t leave your heart here.”

He uttered a humorless laugh. “I’m afraid it’s not a choice. It’s the truth. You have my heart.”

“Then take me with you.”

For a moment he stared at her, then he sighed and set down his guitar. “Sarah, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” It was her turn to give a rueful laugh.

“It’s only a rough little song. I’m still tinkering. It will get better, but—”

“I don’t think I could stand it if it got any better.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to make an impetuous decision because of our argument and certainly not because of an insipid ditty sung by firelight. I told you I would wait for an answer.”

“But I am not—”

“ And ,” he persisted, “I don’t want you to regret tomorrow anything you say tonight.

My feelings will not change. Even so, I don’t think I can bear to get my hopes up again and then .

.. No. I would feel better if you said the same thing by the cold light of morning.

Until then, let us make no promises we may not keep. ”

“I won’t—”

“Shh.” He pressed a gentle finger to her lips. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. Tell me then.”

“I doubt I shall sleep.”

“I know I shall not. But still. Tomorrow.”

“Very well, then. Until tomorrow.”

On the way up to her bedchamber, she saw Mamma coming out of the water closet. Impulsively, Sarah hurried over and threw her arms around her mother’s warm frame.

“Sarah, what is it?”

“I am in love.”

“Well, I could have told you that. Does this mean you have given him an answer?”

“Not yet. Though I will tomorrow.” With another squeeze and a smile, Sarah floated to her room.