54. Sarah
Sarah
Viola bounced on the carriage seat beside me. “The architect approved the final plans today. They can assemble some segments, and ship everything to the site via train. My house will be built in record time, hopefully by Christmas.”
“You’re deserting me in the middle of winter?” I asked, forcing my voice to lightness.
George’s knees brushed mine in the tight space. “Sounds like a lot of work,” he said. “Maybe you should just stay here. You know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“Does anyone ever, dear brother?”
“Precisely,” George said as the carriage came to a stop.
He helped Viola down, then offered his hand to me.
The engagement ball for Bart Bergen and Penny Christie was the summer’s most anticipated event.
A string of glowing lanterns guided us, along with the rest of Chicago society, into the Bergens’ sprawling home.
As soon as we entered, George’s usual crowd swept him away.
Viola tugged my arm. “Come on, Sarah. I see a good spot.” We positioned ourselves at the edge of the ballroom. Inevitably, we’d each dance a few times, but mostly we observed. We were outside society’s game. Not that I wanted to be a player. That would require talking. To people.
I said, “Millie’s dress reminds me a bit of that caramel velvet you picked for your chairs. Such a familiar color. Where have I seen it before?”
“Will you ever stop teasing me about upholstering my chairs to match a man’s eyes?”
“Never. Tell me true. How is your plan for friendship progressing? Or should I say… regressing? Oh dear. Is there a proper way to ask about falling out of love?”
She sighed. “It’s difficult to maintain my resolve when his lips are so, well… kissable.”
“Sounds terrible.” My gaze drifted across the room to the musicians, unfortunately positioned behind George. I tried to watch the cellos, but he blocked my view.
“Kissing is not part of my plan, and love is making me miserable. I will get rid of it.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed how you’re miserable every time I see you with him.”
“I will steer us back toward friendship.”
In the crush of people, at least two women fought for George’s attention, but he didn’t encourage them—at least not that I could see from thirty paces. I gave a dramatic sigh. “I think you will miss the kissing.”
“I have a plan,” Viola said. “The next time I see Jacob, I will make it less personal, less intimate. Just crops, weather, and such. Plus, I’ll arrange to meet him in a crowd, in broad daylight, with a chaperone or two.
I’ll stand at least three feet away and will not look at his mouth. That should cut down on the kissing.”
“I will not make you promise to stop kissing handsome farmers—especially ones with caramel-colored eyes that, by some strange coincidence, match your furniture.”
My chest tightened. She was really leaving.
“What do you think Jacob will say about your farm?”
“When I tell him, I will make it into a silly farce, like a pretend business meeting. He will think it a great lark and probably fall off his chair laughing.”
Something rippled through the crowd near the door.
I turned to see Tessa Milton entering with Henry Higginbotham as her escort.
Fans stilled mid-flutter. After a collective inhale, the room buzzed with speculation.
While everyone else strained to watch Tessa and Henry, George turned toward me and winked.
I made a tiny curtsy.
He’d called between our windows a few times to chat for a moment and say good night.
Three times he mentioned needing my help with something, but he changed the subject before telling me what.
Probably he’d asked someone else for help instead.
He had plenty of friends to choose from. Maybe I should get a dog.
Fine. So maybe I’d spent years imagining the exact moment his eyes finally met mine across a ballroom… but this was not that. This was winking co-conspirators. This was George—my partner, my friend. Not rainbows and swooning.
Viola poked me with her elbow. “Here comes Higgles.”
A murmur rose when Henry asked me to dance. I forced a smile and managed not to fall on my face despite the scrutiny of the crowd.
Almost as soon as Henry returned me to Viola’s side, she was asked to dance, and I stood alone. Might as well get used to it.
George watched me from across the room. He jerked his head backward in a come-hither motion.
As if I would accept an invitation to join his group of admirers and friends. As if they would accept me.
I shook my head.
He smirked, crossed two fingers and tapped his temple—our secret signal for damnation… I mean Pemberley.
I burst out laughing. The man wasn’t used to anyone telling him no. Not with that dimple. Two matrons hovering nearby gave me disapproving stares.
George wound his way through the crush, clapping shoulders, smiling, nodding. After several minutes of maneuvering, he stood at my side, gazing out over the ballroom. I caught a whiff of his soap.
He nudged my arm. “Why not watch from my side of the room for a while?”
“Your friends don’t like me.”
“They don’t know you.”
“They call me the ice queen.”
George harrumphed. “Impossible. There is no way an ice queen could survive this heat.”
“You don’t have to keep me company out of pity. You can go back to your friends. I like being on the edge of things. And Viola will be back soon.” My throat tightened. Soon Viola would be gone.
“Not pity. Just looking to cool off. I heard there was some frosty royal personage over here who might be willing to help.”
I nodded toward Tessa and Henry and the tension in my throat eased enough to let words pass. “Our plan worked.”
“Prime teamwork. Fancy a spin?”
I turned with a start, certain I had misunderstood. Yet George held out his hand. I could only stare as if he had sprouted feathers, while my stomach performed ridiculous flips. We had not danced together since, well, ever.
He gave me a crooked smile. “Come on, Goldilocks. You danced with dog-brain.”
I bit back my laugh. “You shouldn’t call him that.” I placed my hand in his. “At least not where others might hear.”
For the second time that night, all attention was on me as I moved around the dance floor.
Yet I didn’t care, because there it was again—warm and gentle, steadily guiding me—his hand on my back.
And this time, as I danced through the center of things in George’s arms, my smile was almost entirely genuine.