66. Sarah
Sarah
After lunch, I took up position in my parlor. George had said he would come by in the afternoon but had neglected to give a more specific time.
Mother sat in her favorite chair with Mipsy tucked in beside her.
“I think a lady fur trader will do for me, and Mr. Everson can be a colonist or a Puritan or some such costume with a big hat and buckles and white stockings. He does have shapely calves. Yes, Mipsy, he will have white stockings. I will have a fur ruff, suede boots, and hat with a feather, and dare I wear trousers? It is a costume ball, so it would be acceptable. Yes, precious, there will be many more shocking costumes than mine. What should we do for Sarah? Maybe we should dress her as Cleopatra. But, no, there are always at least two of those at any masquerade, and she should be unique.”
I tapped my toes in double time. “I will manage my own costume, Mother. Something unique. I promise.”
Would I even go? George had offered to escort me last night, but it had been in passing, and I had not immediately agreed. Where did that leave things? He probably wouldn’t even remember. Would he come by today? The clock showed twenty-five past three.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket and counted my pennies.
Lucky seven. One by one, I clinked them back into my pocket.
I fidgeted. A lot. Couldn’t get comfortable, like my skin was the wrong size.
I must be worried about Viola and her trip.
George would take care of her and get her to Jacob.
Then he would come back and maybe take me to the ball.
At the stroke of three-thirty, the door to the parlor opened, and George was announced. He came in carrying a bag.
He nodded to Mother, “Mrs. Everson,” and then to me, “Miss Everson,” and waited to be invited to sit.
What was he up to with his bag and his Miss Everson? I waved a hand to the chair facing mine.
Mother settled back into her discussion with the puffball. “Mipsy, it is time for tea and biscuits. Yes, my dear, I will share a nibble with you. The ones you like. Cook made a fresh batch, such a delicious smell…”
George met my gaze. His hair appeared surprisingly tidy, as if he had combed it with something other than his fingers. Intense green eyes peered at me without the usual lighthearted crinkles at the corners.
My heart sped as if I’d run up the stairs.
He said, “Seven is my lucky number. And so I have seven things for you. The first item is a gift.” He reached into his bag, pulled out a small flat box tied with a green ribbon, and held it toward me.
I hesitated. It felt like a threshold. A door that would close forever once I passed through.
He pushed the box toward me. I accepted it with a tilt of my head. He bobbed an eager nod.
I slid the ribbon off the box, opened it, and turned back the tissue paper to reveal an embroidered bookmark in shades of blue, green, and gold with elaborate decorative needlework around the word “Pemberley,” which had been delicately stitched in the central rectangle.
A gold tassel trailed from the end. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Pemberley. Where did you find this?”
“I went first thing this morning. Rang the bell at the shop before they unlocked the door. Most of it is pre-made, with all sorts of colors and patterns to choose from, but then they customize the central portion according to the customer. It usually takes two days or more, but I convinced them to stitch quickly.” He gave me a tentative smile. “Do you like it?”
“Thank you, George. It’s beautiful.” I ran my finger over the stitching as stinging tightness prickled in my eyes at the perfect thoughtfulness of his gift. “I will smile every time I see it. But you didn’t?—”
He held up a hand to stop my words, and blew out a breath. “Number two is a truth.”
I raised a brow.
“The book you found me reading in the back garden… was Emma.”
“I knew it. Knew it was not some manly tome for work. Did you like it?”
He said, “More than I expected. That Knightley’s a solid chap.” After a short pause, he added, “But I didn’t like Mr. Elton or his wife.”
“Why? Why did you read that book?”
“It’s your favorite. Right? Now stop distracting me, or I will lose count. We are on number three. Number three is a treat.” He reached into his bag, pulled out a bar of chocolate, and placed it on the table beside me.
“This is too much. What are you doing?”
“Shhh. You confound me. I will have to start counting on my fingers.” He seemed to be warming to his plan. “Let’s see, number four. Number four is a dream.” Again, he reached into his bag. This time, he pulled out a rolled-up newspaper page, tied with the same green ribbon.
“Is that?”
“Yes. My secret project. I’m proud of it, but, well, I want your opinion.” His cheeks flushed.
I moved to undo the ribbon.
“Stop. Don’t look at it now. I couldn’t bear it. Wait until I’m not watching.”
I set it next to the chocolate.
“Number five is a favor.” He cleared his throat and dropped his voice low.
He enunciated every word and sounded like an actor playing a proper gentleman.
“Would you do me the favor of attending the Christies’ masked costume ball with me?
” In his normal voice, he added, “You would save me from the unrelenting boredom of facing it without you.”
A flush warmed my neck. “You don’t mean that. You’re never bored.”
“Come with me and find out.”
What number was he on? “Fine, yes, thank you, I accept your invitation.”
“Excellent.” He drummed his fingers on his thighs.
“This is going well, I think, and number six is easy. Number six is a smile.” He flashed his dazzling lady-killer smile, which morphed into his impish grin and ended with what I thought of as his goofy smile, which happened to be my favorite of the three.
I smiled back until my cheeks hurt.
He said, “Aha, there it is. Success. You see, number six was your smile, rather than mine.”
He lifted a hand. “Where are we, hmm?” He made a show of counting on his fingers as I endeavored to stop beaming at him. “Excellent. Lucky number seven it is.”
“I am glad your lucky number is not forty-two.”
“You and me both. Is that anyone’s lucky number, do you think?”
He leaned forward in his chair, propped his elbow on his knee, and looked into my face.
“Only one more to go, we’re almost there.
For lucky number seven, I give you clarity.
Sarah, it was ever and always my intention for you to be by my side at the banquet.
But I am a lunkhead, as you have pointed out on more than one occasion, and I neglected the obvious step of asking you.
Please, dear friend, will you be my guest for the holiday banquet? ”
He smiled with such earnest hope that, although I had intended to make him suffer through a long pause, I immediately blurted out, “Of course I will.”
He clapped his hands together and lounged back in his chair.
We smiled at each other until Gloria carried in the tea. I had grown so used to ignoring Mother’s constant barrage of words that I couldn’t remember anything she had said. She couldn’t have been silent that whole time. Could she?
Would wonders never cease…
Igrinned down at the newspaper page spread across my bed.
George had brought his dream to fruition, and I was fiercely proud of him.
Most of society thought he was a flirt or a happy-go-lucky figurehead, but they didn’t see the intelligent, driven, and capable man behind his carefree manner. His father would undoubtedly approve.
The gold tassel of my bookmark glowed in the firelight.
He’d gone to so much trouble for me. He was notorious for his flirting and flattery, but this was not that.
Right? I ran my finger over the bookmark’s tidy stitching.
He simply knew me better than anyone else, even Viola, so he knew what I would like.
George… How had he gotten past my walls and into my heart? How had he become the most essential person in my life? He had called me “dear friend,” and our friendship eclipsed any imagined infatuation.
I returned to my seat, bookmark in hand, and lined up my pennies around the only cookie left on the tray beside me.
Seven is his lucky number, too. I sipped the half-full cup of warm milk mixed with grated chocolate from the bar he’d given me.
Did my best not to gulp it down. Yes, I am a picture of restraint today.
I couldn’t get the words of my book to register in my befuddled brain.
Useless organ. My mind spun about from Viola, to costumes, to the banquet, to the paper.
And I still had to fit in thinking about George with every other breath.
A niggling tickling sensation at the back of my mind didn’t help the spinning.
Plink. Clink. Plink, Plink.
George leaned out of his window.
I pushed mine open and wrapped my favorite wool blanket around my shoulders. The cool October air raised goosebumps along my arms.
“Leaving tomorrow, Goldie.”
“Again, thank you for your lucky seven.”
He waved a hand. “What do you think? I mean, if you’ve had a chance to look at my page.”
“It’s excellent, George. You should be proud.”
“I’ve been so worried you wouldn’t like it.”
“Silly lunkhead. It has my favorite column, of course I like it.”
“Musings?”
I nodded.
“I happen to know who writes that one. A wise, charming chap. Tremendously talented and handsome. Distantly related to Mipsy.”
My laughter echoed between our houses. “You? Of course.”
“Just between you and me. Wouldn’t want everyone to know I can spell.” He sat and rested his crossed arms on the sill. He must have a stool under his window, too. “Any suggestions?”
I considered his question. “I don’t think I’m qualified.”
“You’re a reader. That’s the best qualification. And I trust your opinion. Anything you would change? Anything you would add?”
“It is exceptional as it is. Truly. I would not take anything away…”
Does he really want my input? I hope so.
“But,” I said, “you might consider adding a small feature with a logic puzzle, cryptogram, riddle, or something like that. People like to put their cleverness to the test. You could publish the solution in the next week’s paper. It would encourage at least a few people to buy the next edition.”
George sat up straight. “Brilliant. All this time… how did it never occur to me?” He stood and shifted from foot to foot. “The missing piece. I knew it needed something. Blazes. You are an inspiration! Thank you. You know, Goldie, people are promoted for ideas like that.”
I said, “You’re making me blush.” His compliments were not empty, and his good opinion warmed my cheeks.
“Ha. Wish I could see it in the dark.”
Great. Now my cheeks are on fire. Overachiever.
I asked, “What costume will you wear? To the Christies’?”
He leaned a shoulder against the side of the window frame and rubbed his arms in the chill. “I’m not telling. Ordered it today. You?”
I leaned forward, allowing the chill night air to cool my burning cheeks. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”
“Tempting. Very tempting. But I want it to be a surprise.”
I said, “Good luck on the trip. I’ll be thinking of you… and Viola and Jacob.”
George stilled. His voice, rich and haunting, carried across to me. “Be thinking of you too, Goldie.”
The fire fueled by his words seared me all the way through.
He was good at making me blush. But it wasn’t just a blush. It was so much more than a blush.
“Night, George.”
“Night.”