Chapter 5 #2
Sarah looked up from where she sat beside a small evergreen tree, lengths of ribbon and sprigs of holly scattered around her like the remnants of some domestic battle.
Her hair had escaped its pins in wispy tendrils that caught the firelight, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion.
She looked utterly charming and completely flustered.
“George!” She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over a trailing piece of ribbon. “I wasn't expecting... that is, how lovely to see you.”
“I hope I'm not intruding,” George said, though her obvious pleasure at his arrival sent warmth spreading through his chest. “I brought something I thought you might enjoy.”
Sarah's eyes fixed on the package with curiosity that made him absurdly nervous. He'd chosen gifts for mistresses and female relatives countless times but never had the recipient's reaction mattered so much.
“A gift? But George, you've already been so generous with your time and advice...”
“Open it,” he said simply, settling into the chair opposite her previous position by the fire.
Sarah untied the string with careful fingers, and George found himself holding his breath as she folded back the brown paper. When she saw what lay within, her entire face transformed with wonder.
“Oh, George.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Elizabeth Barrett... but this is a first edition. It must have cost—”
“The cost doesn't matter,” George interrupted gently. “I remembered you mentioning how much her poetry moved you, and when I saw this at a private sale the other week...”
“The other week?” Sarah lifted the slim volume with reverent hands, her fingers tracing the gold lettering on the leather binding. “I can't accept this. It's far too valuable, too personal...”
“It's a Christmas gift between friends,” George said, though they both knew it was far more than that. “Nothing improper about it.”
Sarah opened to a random page and read silently for a moment, her expression soft with the particular joy she reserved for beautiful words. Watching her discover the book's contents was worth every guinea he'd paid and more.
“Listen to this,” she said suddenly, her voice gaining strength as she read aloud: “What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.” She looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “How perfectly she captures the way love colors everything else in life.”
The words hung between them, charged with meanings George didn't dare examine too closely. Sarah seemed to realize what she'd said, because color flooded her cheeks and she looked down at the book again.
“I mean... that is, it's a beautiful sentiment about... about love in general,” she stammered.
“Yes,” George said quietly. “It is.”
The silence stretched, filled with the crackle of the fire and the weight of things unsaid. Finally, Sarah closed the book and set it carefully on the side table, treating it like the treasure it was.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “It's the most thoughtful gift I've ever received.”
George felt something loosen in his chest—relief, satisfaction, hope all tangled together. “I'm glad it pleases you.”
Sarah glanced around at the chaos of decorating supplies surrounding her. “I was attempting to make this look festive, but I fear I've made rather a mess of it.”
“May I help?” The offer was out before George could consider the implications. Decorating the room with mistletoe and wreaths together was the sort of intimate domestic activity that belonged to families or courting couples, not whatever undefined relationship he and Sarah currently shared.
But Sarah's face lit with genuine pleasure. “Would you? I seem to have more enthusiasm than skill when it comes to such things.”
George shed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, telling himself this was simply one friend helping another. But as they worked together to arrange ribbons and holly along the mantlepiece the domestic intimacy of the scene was impossible to ignore.
“Higher on the left,” Sarah directed, standing on tiptoe to adjust a particularly stubborn piece of mistletoe in the doorway. “No, not that high... here, let me...”
She reached past him, her body brushing against his side as she repositioned the decoration. George inhaled sharply at the contact, his hands stilling on the branch he'd been securing.
“Perfect,” Sarah said softly, but she didn't step away. Instead, she remained close enough that he could feel her warmth, could count the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.
“Sarah.” Her name escaped as barely more than a breath.
She looked up at him then, her green eyes wide and uncertain. “George, this afternoon at the bookshop... what happened between us...”
“Nothing happened,” George said carefully, though his heart hammered against his ribs. “Nothing improper, at any rate.”
“No,” Sarah agreed, but her voice was troubled. “Nothing improper. But something... changed. Didn't it?”
The question was asked with such vulnerable honesty that George felt his careful restraint wavering. She deserved the truth—or as much of it as he dared share without frightening her away entirely.
“Perhaps,” he admitted quietly. “Perhaps I've been seeing you differently lately. Not as Alice's friend or my honorary sister, but as... as the remarkable woman you've become.”
Sarah's breath caught audibly. “George...”
“I know it complicates things,” he continued, needing to say this much at least. “I know you have other attachments, other hopes for your future. But I couldn't let another day pass without acknowledging that what I feel for you has grown beyond simple friendship.”
The confession hung between them like a bridge neither was quite ready to cross. Sarah stared up at him, her expression cycling through surprise, confusion, and something that might have been longing.
George's gaze drifted upward to the sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently above the doorway, its white berries catching the warm glow of the candlelight. A slow smile tugged at his lips as he looked back down at Sarah's upturned face.
“I'm going to kiss you since we are under the mistletoe,” he said softly, his voice rough with years of suppressed longing.
He didn't wait for her reply.
Instead, George cupped her face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing across her cheekbones as he lowered his head. Sarah's breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips found hers in a kiss that was both tender and reverent.
It was nothing like the passionate embraces described in her novels—there was no desperate urgency or overwhelming fire.
Instead, it was warm and sweet, like coming home after a long journey.
George kissed her as if she were precious, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize the softness of her lips and the way she sighed against his mouth.
When they finally parted, Sarah's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, her lips still curved in wonder.
“Oh,” she whispered, opening her eyes to find George watching her with such tender intensity it made her heart flutter. “That was...”
“Perfect,” George finished quietly, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “You're perfect, Sarah.”
“I don't know what to say,” she whispered finally.
“You don't need to say anything,” George replied, though his heart was breaking at her obvious distress. “I simply needed you to know that you have choices, Sarah. That someone sees your worth beyond any material considerations, beyond any social calculations.”
Sarah's eyes filled with tears that she blinked away quickly. “You're too good to me. Too patient and kind and...” She shook her head helplessly. “Why couldn't I have seen—”
“Because you weren't ready to see,” George said gently, reaching up to touch her cheek with infinite care. “And perhaps I wasn't ready to be seen. But we're here now, in this moment, and that's enough.”
Sarah leaned into his touch for the briefest instant before pulling back, wrapping her arms around herself as if seeking protection from feelings too large to contain.
“Tomorrow I'm supposed to go to Lord Castleton's,” she said, her voice small and lost. “I've been planning for it, dreaming about it...”
“I know.”
“But now I can't stop thinking about this afternoon, about the way you looked at me in the bookshop. About how safe and understood I feel when I'm with you.” She laughed shakily. “How is it possible to be so confused about something that seemed so clear just yesterday?”
George stepped closer, drawn by her obvious distress. “Perhaps because yesterday, you were chasing an idea of love, a fantasy of what romance should look like. But real love... real love can be quieter. It's built on understanding and respect and genuine care for the other person's happiness.”
“The way you've cared for mine,” Sarah said, understanding dawning in her voice.
“The way I've always cared for yours,” George confirmed. “The way I always will, regardless of what you choose.”
Sarah stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to reconcile this new version of George with the friend she'd known for years. “How long?” she asked suddenly. “How long have you... felt this way?”
George considered lying, offering some comfortable fiction about recent revelations. But Sarah deserved honesty, even if it complicated everything.
“Years,” he admitted quietly. “Since before you came out, though I didn't fully acknowledge it to myself until much later. You were Alice's friend, practically family... it seemed both hopeless and inappropriate.”
“Years,” Sarah repeated wonderingly. “All this time, while I was complaining about my lack of suitors, about feeling invisible...”
“You were never invisible to me,” George said with quiet intensity. “Never. Every smile, every laugh, every moment of joy or sorrow—I saw all of it, treasured all of it.”
Fresh tears spilled over Sarah's lashes, and George felt his heart clench at her obvious emotional turmoil. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn't have burdened you with this now, when you're already dealing with so much—”
“No,” Sarah interrupted, reaching out to catch his hand in both of hers.
“No, don't apologize. I needed to hear this, needed to know that someone... that you...” She took a shaky breath.
“George, I don't know what this means for tomorrow, for my plans with Lord Castleton. Everything feels turned upside down.”
George squeezed her hands gently before stepping back, giving her the space she clearly needed.
“Then don't decide anything tonight. Go tomorrow, see what you see, feel what you feel.
But know that whatever happens, whatever you discover about Castleton or about your own heart, I'll be here when you return.”
Sarah nodded, wiping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. “You promise? Even if I make a complete fool of myself tomorrow?”
“Especially then,” George said with a slight smile. “Though I have a feeling you're going to see things very clearly indeed.”
They finished decorating the drawing room in comfortable silence, the earlier tension transforming into something deeper and more peaceful. As George prepared to leave, Sarah walked him to the door, the new awareness between them making every gesture feel significant.
“George?” Sarah said as he reached for his coat.
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For the book, for helping with the decorations, for... for everything you said tonight. I know it couldn't have been easy.”
“Worth every moment of difficulty,” George replied truthfully. “Sweet dreams, Sarah.”