Page 36 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)
NINETEEN
CHRISTMAS goes out in fine style with Twelfth Night. It is a finish worthy of the time. Twelfth Night is ... brilliant with innumerable planets of twelfthcakes.
—Charles Knight, Leigh Hunt’s London Journal
Sarah had originally planned the Twelfth Night party to please Georgiana. Now she looked forward to it for reasons of her own. It would be her last night as a single woman. All her family and many friends would be there, and she would enjoy the company of the man she loved—dance with him too.
As the guests began to arrive, they were welcomed with glasses of spiced cider or punch and urged to partake from an appealing array of dishes spread on the long sideboard: smoked salmon, roast ham and beef, jellies, mince pies, and more.
Guests filled their own plates, and when everyone had seated themselves in the dining room or drawing room, Mr. Gwilt went around offering tea and coffee.
The Twelfth Night cake sat at one end of the sideboard, and received, to Sarah’s satisfaction, appreciative glances and eager comments from those who beheld it.
Soon Sea View’s public rooms were warm with firelight, candlelight, and good company. The pleasant hum of friendly conversation punctuated by laughter and teasing warmed Sarah’s heart all the more.
When she judged the time right, she began cutting slices of cake and Mr. Gwilt handed them around. When all the guests had been served, she insisted their servants take slices as well, in old Twelfth Night tradition.
Mr. Gwilt was still busy offering refills of tea and coffee, so Sarah set a piece aside for him, while Jessie carried down slices to Mrs. Besley, Lowen, and Bibi Cordey, who had come over to help in the kitchen for the special night.
“Chew carefully now,” Sarah warned. “And do let us know if you find the bean or pea.”
“Looks delicious,” Mrs. Denby said, taking a big bite. She chewed for a moment, then her face puckered. She gingerly worked something to her lips and extracted it with pincer fingers. “A pea.”
Georgiana clapped. “How perfect! You are the Queen of Twelfth Night, Mrs. Denby!”
“Am I indeed? I have never been a queen before.”
“It suits you.”
Sarah took a tentative bite and paused to consider her work: good texture, moist, spicy, flavorful.
A delicious cake, though she said it herself.
She watched the others as they chewed, wondering who would find the bean, hoping it had not cooked too soft to be noticed, and hoping it landed in a man’s piece, if at all possible.
Her gaze landed on Mr. Gwilt, standing in the background near the rear door, chewing thoughtfully. His usually pleasant expression creased into a frown.
Becoming aware of her scrutiny, he looked up and said, “I’m afraid I have stumbled upon the piece with the bean. I do apologize, I do. Please appoint another man.”
Emily spoke up. “Not a bit of it, Mr. Gwilt. If you found the bean, then Bean King you are! On Twelfth Night, everything is topsy-turvy. It’s only right that a dear humble soul should be raised to such lofty distinction. So enjoy every moment.” She grinned. “You only have till midnight, after all.”
“If you are sure. And if Miss Sarah and Mrs. Summers do not object.... Again, I am happy to give over to one of the gentlemen, I am.”
“No need, Mr. Gwilt,” Sarah said. “But if you will help me pass the bonnet and hat?”
“Certainly.”
Colin Hutton rose in playful protest. “Nay, nay! The king must be served, not do the serving. I shall pass the hat to the gents. And Miss Georgiana, perhaps you might pass the bonnet to the ladies?”
She grinned. “With pleasure.”
Colin handed the top hat to each gentleman in turn while Georgiana went around to the ladies with the bonnet. One by one the guests picked a folded slip and read with amusement or mutterings.
When Major Hutton unfolded his, Viola leaned over and read it. “And here you bemoaned having to act. No need, Major Matchless.”
“And what is your role tonight?” he asked.
Viola looked at her slip. “Lady Racket.”
“That’s rather more out of character.”
“I agree. Sounds like fun.” Viola turned to her twin. “What did you get, Em?”
“Mine is Miss Romance.” She read, “Miss Romance to accept for her partner proposes, One who’ll print in his press ev’ry work she composes.”
Viola laughed. “That’s perfect!” She turned to Georgiana and teased, “Are you sure you did not assign these parts?”
“I did not!” Georgie insisted. “It’s the hand of fate at work—that’s all.”
“If you say so.”
When everyone had their assigned parts, Georgie clapped her hands to gain their attention. “Now it’s time to choose your costumes. Ladies first, if you please.”
She rolled Mrs. Denby’s wheeled chair into the library. There, while the other ladies helped themselves to masks and props, Georgie and Effie spread a cape around Mrs. Denby’s shoulders and placed a felt crown on her head.
They had not assigned formal roles to the youngest attendees, but they dressed little Mira as a cupid with wings and a toy bow and arrow.
And for Cora, they had fashioned butterfly wings and pinned bobbing antennae to her curls.
Both looked charming. Effie, meanwhile, reenacted her role as princess from the play.
Sarah was the last to come in, her expression wavering between incredulity and amusement.
“I drew Miss Busy, although I imagine you planned that.”
“I did not!” Georgie replied. “I would have given you something more out of character.”
Seeing an apron and feather duster on the desktop, Sarah pointed. “I suppose those are mine?”
Georgie glanced to the doorway, then said, “Actually, change of plans. You are no longer Miss Busy, but rather Miss Busy Bride-to-Be.”
Mamma entered with a long white veil and a wreath of fine white and blue silk flowers. These were stunningly beautiful items—not mere props.
She said, “I know there is not time for a new dress, but we thought you might wear this tomorrow. It will look well with the blue gown you wore as Claire’s bridesmaid.”
“It’s lovely,” Sarah breathed. “But how did you ...?”
“We ladies put our heads together for something special for you. I purchased this veil from a local lace maker, and Fran created the wreath.”
Tears shone in Sarah’s eyes. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
When all the ladies were costumed, Georgie returned to the drawing room and summoned the men.
Serious Major Hutton groaned, but his wife gave him a playful jab to the side and urged him not to be a curmudgeon.
In the library, Georgie handed the major a sash and faux medal and one of James’s practice foils. He took one look at them, grimaced, and walked out again empty-handed.
Colin shook his head. “Viola is right. He is a curmudgeon. Good thing it does not run in the family.”
“Yes,” Georgiana agreed. “I am glad you are game for any diversion. Which character are you to be?”
“Sir Tim Spruce.”
Georgiana burst out laughing.
“What is so funny?”
She took his slip from him and read it. “Spruce and fly I’ll always be. For I’m a Buck of high degree.”
“So?” he challenged.
“So you are perfect as you are.”
Colin grinned. “Well, if you say so, who am I to disagree?”
Mr. Henshall turned out to be Giles Diligent, a perfect match for the former Miss Busy turned Bride-to-Be. They handed him a straw hat and a pitchfork.
Finally, each guest was outfitted for their role.
Except Georgiana.
Colin asked her, “And what about you? Which character did you pick?”
In all the busyness, she’d barely glanced at her slip. She looked at it now. “I am Miss Gadabout.” She read, “Yes, all I like is gadding about. To the play or a ball, the park or a rout. And what if I get a push or a squeeze? A crowd so delightful can never displease.”
She expected him to laugh, but he did not. Instead he said, “I know you like to play ball and walk, but the rest of it?” He shook his head. “It’s not how I see you.”
She wanted to ask how he did see her, but did not dare. “It’s only a game,” she reminded him—and herself as well.
Wearing the veil, Sarah returned to the drawing room with the others, everyone ready to recite their parts. The major was nowhere to be seen.
Mr. Gwilt had to be cajoled to enter in his long cape and felt crown, a toy scepter in his hand. The kindly, humble man looked supremely uncomfortable.
The others encouraged him. Emily said, “You look perfect, Mr. Gwilt, I mean, Your Majesty. Now, it is your place to begin the proceedings.”
His Adam’s apple rose and fell on a hard swallow. Then, rising to the occasion, he straightened and read, “Fate decrees me your King: grave and glad, wise and fools, must consent, for this night, to submit to my rules.”
Emily clapped. “Well done.”
Taking her cue, Mrs. Denby adjusted her spectacles and read, “I am your Queen and tonight shall reign, as the Queen of the cheerful, happy refrain.”
She tittered, and the others laughed in response.
One by one, the guests read their introductions, some like Armaan and Sonali self-consciously, while others, like Colin, read theirs with comic, theatrical air.
“You’re next, Sarah.”
Too happy to be truly offended, Sarah rose and began to read, “Yes, Busy I am from morning till night. For Betty my maid can never do right—”
“Oh!” Emily interrupted, taking the slip from her and handing her another. “Read this one instead.”
Sarah looked at it and read, “Happy am I, Miss Bride-to-Be. For my true love and I are soon to mar-ry.”
Emily gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It’s the best I could do on short notice.”
Mr. Henshall stepped up beside Sarah, took her hand, and said, “By any name, Sarah, you’re my heart’s desire.
” He glanced at the slip in his other hand and crumpled it into a ball.
“I drew Giles Diligent. The verse is nonsense, but my devotion is true. I shall love ye diligently all the days of my life.” He kissed her cheek.
“Awww!” Georgie exclaimed.
“Hear, hear.” Colin applauded, and Sarah noticed the two share triumphant, conspirators’ smiles.