87. Sarah
Sarah
Viola pulled me into her dining room for a late breakfast. She glowed with happiness and was apparently also starving. I welcomed the distraction of her joy.
George had kissed me and then regretted it. Of course he did. And I had eased his escape. I had said friends.
I refolded the napkin on my lap. Between bites, Viola told me about Jacob. “He was so ill with fever that he didn’t know the date. When he recovered, he immediately jumped on a train to come here. Had no idea we thought he was dead.”
“I am so happy for you and Jacob. My heart is near to bursting.” My voice cracked. So many reasons for my heart to explode.
She set down her fork and reached over to squeeze my hands in both of hers. “He told me. Last night. He said the words out loud.”
“Of course,” I said. “He loves you. Anyone can see it.”
She glanced at my untouched plate. “You should eat, too. It will be a busy day and a late night with the banquet.”
My stomach churned along with my heart. I couldn’t eat.
I picked up my fork and poked at the food.
All night, I had replayed my time in George’s arms, his kisses, the moments of perfect happiness.
I didn’t want to forget a single second, except for the part where he had apologized. What had I done wrong?
I said, “You and Jacob are perfect together.” Viola returned to her breakfast, attacking it with a hearty appetite.
I sipped my tea, but swallowed wrong and coughed.
Viola glanced at me. I returned the cup to the saucer with a clatter.
Then twisted it back and forth, unnecessarily repositioning the handle.
“But what if…” I said. “What if you had gotten over your love and past the kissing part? What if you had successfully become only a friend to Jacob? Would your friendship last? Could it survive if… if he continued to love you?”
Viola’s fork stopped midair, and she squinted at me. “Are you trying to get me to admit I was wrong?”
“No, no. That’s not it.” I hoped she didn’t notice the heat rising on my cheeks. “I’m only wondering…”
She smiled. “I will be the first to admit that I was wrong to deny my love.”
I fiddled with the napkin on my lap. “But do you think men and women can be friends if one of them feels more than friendship? If one of them is…” I swallowed. “If one of them is in love?”
Viola tilted her head close to mine, searching for answers in my face. I’d said too much. I tucked my chin to my chest, but couldn’t hide my face from her. Not unless I covered it with my hands.
“Sarah. What are you saying?” Fire burned all the way to my ears, and I tasted the salty sweetness of unshed tears on the back of my tongue.
The door to the dining room opened. Heavy footsteps sounded and abruptly stopped. The slightest breeze tickled across my neck, across the places where he’d pressed his lips.
Viola shifted her gaze to the person who stood behind me. But even before she spoke, I knew. Knew the footsteps. Knew the hint of sandalwood carried on the breeze. Knew the presence of the one man I would never get over.
“Good morning, George.” Silence, except for George’s exhale. I recognized the sound and pictured him with puffed-out cheeks. Viola’s brow furrowed. “Come on in, silly. We won’t bite. Breakfast is delicious today.”
I watched her face. After so many years of friendship, I knew the moment she put the pieces together—the moment everything clicked, the moment she knew that I was in love with George.
Her eyes widened. Then her lips parted to let out a tiny gasp. I shot her a warning look. Her eyes softened, reading the torment on my face. But then Viola’s lips curled up at the corners. And I knew that look, too. Already, she had a plan.
I gave my head the tiniest shake, but she only winked as she scooped up her plate and set it on the sideboard.
She grabbed George’s arm and forced him into her vacated chair.
On her way out the door, she said, “I’m off to knock on Jacob’s door.
Entirely improper, but I don’t want him to miss breakfast. Needs to build up his strength. ”
And then we were alone in the silence.
I wanted to disappear. If only the floor would open up and swallow me. I had wished for it before in George’s company. Not long ago. How had we gotten past that bit of awkwardness? I stared at my plate. I twisted the first two fingers of my right hand together and lifted them to tap my temple.
George huffed out a small sound beside me. Too close.
I peeked over at him without lifting my chin.
“Well said, Goldie.”
I caught a glimpse of his lips. Were they swollen? From kissing me. Oh, Pemberley.
He laid a hand lightly on my upper arm. “Hey?” He was comforting me. Mrs. Newman had been right—regrets were horrible.
Tears blurred my vision but I would not blink and send them tumbling down my cheeks.
“Sarah?” He took my hand. “Sorry doesn’t seem enough. I would rather cut off my arm than hurt you. You are… You are important to me. Your friendship is the best thing in my life. I hate that I threatened it. I messed up.”
I forced a smile, then turned to face him. His hair stuck out in wild clumps around his head. My lips twitched. “Your hair. You look demented.”
He relaxed into a goofy grin. “I am demented. I don’t want to lose you. And I’m an ass. And the women I… I’ve never…” He squeezed my hand. “When I kiss someone, it’s always been a lie. A promise I can’t keep. And then they’re gone. And I?—”
“It’s all right.” I swallowed. “It was the good news, the relief, the stars.” I steadied my walls. “There’s nothing to forgive. It… it didn’t count.” I lied. “We’re friends.”
“Friends?” His jaw tightened.
“Even though you’re a lunkhead.”
He dropped my hand abruptly as the door swung open and Jacob and Viola entered.
I jumped up and ran to hug Jacob. He grunted slightly. “Oh, sorry. I forgot about your ribs.”
Jacob laughed, and when Viola took his hand, he radiated enough happiness to ease the heavy weight on my heart. “That was nothing,” he said. “George squeezed me so hard he lifted me off the ground.”
“Sorry about that, my friend.” George gave me a sheepish look. “I seem to be having trouble controlling my exuberance of late.”
I frantically sorted through his words. I was important to him. And tonight I would put on my fine dress and go to the banquet. Out of the frying pan. Into the fire.
“You have never looked more lovely.” Mother squeezed my upper arms as she peeked over my shoulder in the mirror. I was transformed, but into what? A heroine? More like a Christmas ornament.
Olive-green damask fabric skimmed across the front of my body and gathered into pleats below my lower back. Below where his hand would rest if he guided me through the crowd. Or if we danced. But no, there would be no dancing.
A wide swath of deep burgundy velvet accentuated the pale skin exposed by the off-the-shoulder neckline. It dipped low, then swept across my shoulders to support full, wide sleeves gathered at my elbows.
I was important to him. I shouldn’t want more. Yet… I skimmed a finger along my collarbone, remembering the heat of George’s kiss. It had been only last night.
A hint of shimmering gold lace peeked from the dip of my neckline.
Gloria had outdone herself with my hair.
She swept the front portion to the side and under a matching burgundy velvet band.
Above it, she created a pile of waves, loose braids and curls.
She even tapped a dab of tint onto my lips and cheeks. Were my lips swollen?
I hardly recognized myself. But it was me. Would George like it? George had kissed me—really kissed me. And I didn’t think I had done it wrong. That wasn’t why he regretted it.
Mother clasped a delicate golden chain with a small emerald pendant around my neck.
“Perfect, my darling. It’s time. Let’s see what George thinks.
” My knees wobbled on the stairs, and I gripped the handrail.
The gathered fabric rustled down the steps behind me.
Ahead, the parlor door stood half-open, casting a long rectangle of warm light across the floor.
Deep breath. Mother had cinched my bodice in tight. Only a few more steps to reach George.
Mother entered the parlor first and nodded to someone out of view. Then, with a broad smile, she turned back and beckoned me forward. George was in there. My friend. My George. Shoulders back. Chin up. I glided into the room.
George stood beside Father. I’d given his face to every swoon-worthy character I had ever encountered in a book.
Now it was as if Mr. Darcy, Laurie, Romeo, Rochester, Andrei Bolkonsky, and Mr. Knightley stood before me with lips that had kissed me thoroughly less than twenty-four hours ago.
But no book ever looked at me like this.
No amount of reading could’ve prepared me to face George in this moment.
He strode forward to take my hands. He wore the same serious expression he had given me in the snow last night, right before he kissed me. He was no storybook hero. He was real.
Father’s voice rose above the pounding of my pulse. “Lovely, my dear, you are lovely.” Mother passed me a folded square of green damask bordered in burgundy velvet.
George had requested a pocket square to match my dress, but I hadn’t realized I would be the one to place it in his pocket. My usually nimble fingers struggled. They had apparently taken advice from my knees.
Sandalwood and heat. His breath brushed my cheek. So close.
I finally accomplished the task and needed a moment of support.
I didn’t dare look into his eyes. I pressed my hands flat to his warm chest and focused on the points of his white collar, which folded over an ivory cravat.
He wore a dark ivory vest under his black tails—the most handsome of men.
He cupped my elbows as I fought to step away from his gravity.
Why wasn’t he saying anything? After several fortifying breaths, I summoned my courage and met his gaze.
Possibility swirled in his emerald eyes.
Better than any fantasy. And I knew he saw me.
It wasn’t just my dress that kept him from blinking.
It was terrifying. And wonderful. And it sent a thrum vibrating through me.
We stood for a long moment, with my hands on his chest and his hands cradling my elbows.
He spoke in a whisper for my ears only. “I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I’m struggling. You…”
His words landed like a shooting star in my heart and sent a flush up my neck. My wobbling worsened, and I leaned more fully into him.
“Well. I can’t stand.”
He smiled, and it was a new smile. My favorite yet. “We’re quite a pair.” He squeezed my elbows.
I said, “You’re making me blush.”
“No, my dear. I think it’s you who’s making me blush.”
We laughed. He offered his arm, and we moved together into the snow, untouched by the chill.