90. George
George
Everyone slept late after the banquet, but I was the last to rise.
I’d spent most of the morning hours contemplating my ceiling and trying to ignore the flickering firelight from Sarah’s window, all while an exasperating, unfamiliar sensation hurtled through me.
Nothing to do with kissing her in the snow…
I wandered downstairs for breakfast, or would it be lunch?
Jacob spoke privately with Father in the library, while Viola waited upstairs.
Interesting. I downed a cup of coffee, and my alertness improved.
The banquet had been a dream. A wonderful, flawless dream.
The only way it could have been better, well…
it didn’t matter. Those kisses couldn’t happen, not ever again, not if I wanted to keep Sarah as my lifelong friend.
I wouldn’t risk losing her.
I tucked a hand into my pocket and traced my fingers across the smooth green fabric bordered in red, which now protected my lucky pennies. A square that smelled faintly of almonds. A token of good luck. I would need every bit of my luck for today’s mission.
After fortifying myself with another cup of coffee and Cook’s excellent spread, I inspected my appearance in the mirror, tamed my hair with my fingers, and decided against an overcoat despite the snow.
I pushed through the hedge and brushed snowflakes from my clothes while waiting at Sarah’s door.
Early afternoon light sparkled off the frosty windows.
In the parlor, Sarah’s mother ran a gilded brush over the white fur ball on her lap, and her father sat reading the Sunday Chicago Star in a chair by the fire.
The draperies were partially drawn against the chill. Sarah was nowhere in sight.
“A good afternoon to you both.” I brought out my dazzling smile and gave a little bow. Why was I jittery? My pulse jumped like I’d run here. Must have been the coffee. Bet Knightley never got jittery, even if he drank a whole pot.
“Ah, George. Excellent.” Sarah’s father folded the paper and stood to greet me. “Sarah tells us last night’s banquet was a splendid success.”
I shook his offered hand. “It was all Sarah. Her preparations and organization. Truly. She is a wonder.”
Mrs. Everson said, “Was the mushroom Wellington as divine as I remember? Yes, Mipsy, you would have gobbled it right up.”
“I cannot say which evening I enjoyed more.”
“Tea, I think.” She lifted the little dog to nuzzle it against her cheek. “And we will send word for Sarah to come down to join us, let her know she has a visitor.”
“In truth, I stopped by for a word with the two of you.” Wait. That sounded like I wanted to talk to them the way Jacob spoke to Father in the library. I sat in the chair Mr. Everson indicated, crossed my leg, uncrossed it, then crossed the other. Agh. Too much coffee.
“Oh, well, my goodness. Words with us, yes.” The dog sensed her excitement and punctuated her speech with little yipping barks. “Hush, now, my darling, time for us to listen.”
Mr. Everson regarded me steadily but said nothing. At least he didn’t look horrified.
I was just asking for Viola. This was about Viola. Entirely a favor for Viola. Not that I would mind having Sarah along…
“I wanted to ask…” My voice came out too high. I cleared my throat and started over. “As you know, Viola has been through a difficult time with Jacob missing and presumed dead until he appeared two days ago.”
“Yes,” Mr. Everson said. “A Christmas miracle.”
“Exactly. So we’re all especially keen to celebrate Christmas with Jacob’s family in Minnesota.
I’m not sure if you know, but Viola’s property is directly adjacent to his family’s farm.
Viola commissioned the finest farmhouse in the county and possibly the whole state.
It was recently completed and is ready for our arrival. ”
Mrs. Everson said, “Sounds lovely. It certainly will be a memorable holiday for you all.”
“Yes.” I uncrossed my legs again. “And that is why I stopped by today.” I swallowed. “We would all like Sarah to join us in Minnesota for the holiday. She is, after all, Viola’s oldest and dearest friend.”
She squeezed her pup to her chest. “Hmm, Viola did send an invitation…” Gloria entered with a tea tray and placed it near Mrs. Everson. I smoothed my hands over the arms of the chair.
Mr. Everson said, “You would like to invite Sarah? You would like her to spend the holiday with your family?”
“Yes, sir.” The truth of my words warmed my cheeks. Great. She wasn’t even here, and she was making me blush.
He nodded to his wife. “I have no objection to the plan.”
“It will be so quiet without her at home, but yes, I see it would be good for her to go, still, it is so far…”
“We would travel out and back in our private train car. Viola would send her maid, Greta, along as an escort for Sarah on the return trip, and my father and I would also accompany her and ensure her safety. We hope to leave this week and return in early January.”
The door to the parlor opened, and Sarah entered.
And even though she wasn’t decked out in her finery, my breathing changed.
Ridiculous. She smiled at me and raised a questioning brow.
And for a breath, everything inside me went quiet and sparkly.
I stood and did my best to walk casually over to clasp her hands.
Just a friendly neighbor stopping by. “Good morning.”
“It’s afternoon, George.”
Right. Afternoon. Perfectly normal time of day to forget how to speak. I couldn’t seem to let go of her hands.
Mrs. Everson said, “I suppose I have no real objections.” She stared down her nose at me with calculating brown eyes for a long moment. “Yes, my dear, you may go.” Relief and panic collided in my chest.
Sarah spun to face her mother. “You mean…? Can I go for Christmas?” Her mother nodded and then laughed when Sarah rushed to throw her arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. Sarah even reached out a hand to pat Mipsy and rub behind her ears.
“Thank you,” she said with her face buried in her mother’s hair.
I said, “Yes, thank you. It’s sure to be the perfect Christmas.” Or terrifying. Or impossible. What had I done?
Sarah straightened, and like a devoted puppy, I trundled over to stand beside her, close enough that our shoulders brushed with a spark of heat that made me fidget.
Dangerous. When I nudged her with my elbow, she nudged me back, and I nudged her again, and so on, like two unruly children in church, but it didn’t feel childish.
It felt… well. Finally, she linked her arm with mine and pulled me toward the door.
She said, “We need to tell Viola the good news.” She didn’t stop tugging on my arm until we were out the door, through the hedge, and standing in my entryway.
It turned out we had to wait to deliver the news.
Viola and Jacob were deep in private conversation in the parlor and were not to be disturbed.
I tilted my head toward the couch at the end of the first-floor hall.
It was a more refined style than our usual couch upstairs, but still comfortably squishy.
Sarah plopped down next to me, not at the other end, but right up against me. My arm moved around her shoulders before I even considered the motion. Completely normal. We were friends. Friends who had been through the wringer together.
In my youth, my father talked about bubbles and cocoons.
After Mother died, he said, “The comforting cocoon of her love will always surround us. Can you feel it? Safe and secure.” I had felt it when I was eight and I felt it still.
I moved through life inside a charmed bubble of protection.
But it raised my hackles when people, especially women, crossed the barrier and entered my bubble.
My mind would shriek, “Intruder.” This was one of the reasons why my relationships were so famously short-lived.
How could a relationship work when one person winced whenever the other was within snuggling distance?
But with Sarah, it was different. Not that we were in a relationship…
maybe I got used to her being in my bubble because we played together as kids.
Now I wanted to keep her in the bubble with me.
Someplace safe and close at hand, far from the pain of the outside world.
Just protecting my friend. Sharing my fortress. Nothing alarming.
She tucked her head against my shoulder with familiar ease. “Do you think he will ask her?”
I curved gently around her. “He spoke with my father in the library all morning.”
“It’s like a story.” She sighed. “I think the universe wants them to be together.”
I inhaled her familiar scent. My lips brushed her hair. “Careful, your romantic heart is showing.”
“I must be ill. I’ve hardly uttered a cynical Pemberley in ages.”
I laid my hand across her forehead. “Hmm, no fever. Do you have any other symptoms?” My fingers swept lightly over her silky hair, smoothing it under my cheek.
“Symptoms?” She gave a loud exhale and counted on her fingers. “Sleeping poorly, difficulty concentrating, insides all wobbly, lack of cursing, jittery like I drank too much coffee.”
See, she got jittery with coffee, too. No other reason.
“Might be contagious.” I tucked one of her fingers down with each of my statements.
“I feel like I drank two large cups of coffee because I did exactly that less than an hour ago. And I stayed up late last night, having an excellent time at the banquet, so I slept very little. And I am easily distracted, wait, what am I going on about?” I laced my fingers with hers.
She snorted out a tiny laugh. “And what about your romantic heart?”
“It is cursing like a sailor and all wobbly like I haven’t got my sea legs.”
“Nope. Think you have something different.”
“Not so sure—” I tightened my arm, tucking her more firmly against me.