Georgie nodded. “They are lucky to have her, and so am I.”
Reaching the far dining room window, they spied Emily and James, arms around each other in a fervent embrace, kissing.
“Eek. Don’t look.” Georgie shoved a gloved hand before his eyes.
“They shouldn’t stand before windows if they don’t wish to be seen.”
“Probably don’t realize just how visible they are, lit up like that when it’s dark out here.”
Forgoing the stairs, Colin hopped down from the veranda and turned back to offer Georgie a hand down. Ignoring it, Georgie hopped down herself and together they walked back around the corner of the house.
“Look there.” Colin pointed to the low-to-the-ground window that let light into the kitchen belowstairs. At the big worktable sat Mrs. Besley, Lowen, and Mr. Gwilt enjoying a late supper together and a bottle of cider on their day off.
“What shall we call this one?” he asked.
“I’d call itA Well-Deserved Rest.”
Above this, in the east-facing library window, they saw Sarah and Mr. Henshall deep in conversation. Neither was smiling. Yet they were alone together, or so they thought. And they were talking.
“Ah, now this one is interesting,” Colin said, crossing his arms. “I might call itWill They or Won’t They?”
Georgie sighed. “I’m not sure our romance scheme has helped.”
He sent her a sidelong glance. “Too early to tell.”
Georgie looked from the window to the snow still twirling from the sky. “I half thought Sarah might come out here by now. She used to love snow when we were younger.”
“Perhaps she has forgotten how magical it is,” he said.
“Sadly, I think she has forgotten a lot of things.”
In the library, Sarah turned to the window and observed, “The first real snowfall of the year. Georgie will be pleased.”
“Don’t ye like snow?” Mr. Henshall asked.
“I used to, very much. Snow was fairly rare in Gloucestershire. At least, rare for it to accumulate enough for sledding or sledging. So when it did snow, I lost no time going out to enjoy it. When Georgie was young, she used to look out the window and squeal in delight whenever flurries fell. I would bundle her up and take her outside, and we’d giggle and run about in it, then try to catch snowflakes on our tongues.”
“That I should like to see.”
She chuckled.
Voice low, he said, “We get a lot of snow in Scotland, ye know.”
“Do you?”
“Aye.”
Struck with a realization, Sarah felt her brow furrow. “Last year we had a great deal of snow here, and I never went out simply to enjoy it. I kept too busy worrying about and dealing with our guests—three men in the Duke of Kent’s employ. But I could have. I should have.”
“Three ... single men?” he asked with a quizzical glance.
“Well, yes. One was James, the duke’s private secretary, who, as you know, married our Emily. The other was the table-decker and keeper of the plate, and the third was the duke’s assistant cook and pastry chef.”
“A royal pastry chef ... here? I imagine ye found him quite ... interesting?”
“I did, yes. At first I resented his making free with what I’ve come to considermyworkroom, but in the end we came to an ... understanding.”
“An understanding?” His brows shot up.
