“Here. Let an old Scot try.” Mr. Henshall bent low and with two gloved hands scooped a heaping fistful from the snow-covered grass. He packed the wet mass into a reasonable approximation of a snowball, and with no warning, launched it at Colin.
Slap.It struck Colin’s neck.
Colin’s hands shot up in self-defense. “Hey, now. Took me twenty minutes to tie this cravat.” He proceeded to bend and gather a snowball of his own. “Well, two can play that game.”
Sarah turned to Georgie. “Remember when I used to take you outside and we’d run about trying to catch snowflakes on our tongues?”
“I remember, but I didn’t think you did.”
“Of course I do.”
“I am far too big for you to carry now.” Georgie walked closer, the hand holding snow she had gathered behind her back.
“Perhaps so,” Sarah agreed, looking up. “Yet we might still try to catch snowflakes.”
“True,” Georgie said. “Or I might do this instead....”
Georgiana slipped the icy snow down the back of Sarah’s neck.
“Aiy!” she exclaimed, reaching up to try to remove the icy intruder, to little avail.
And within seconds, the sisters were bending to scrape snow off the grass and fling it at each other amid shrieks of gleeful outrage.
All the while the men undertook their own back-and-forth battle.
Eventually, the four called a truce and made their way back inside, swatting snow off one another’s backs, laughing, breathing hard, and exchanging playful barbs about who had bested whom.
As they stomped off their boots on the walkway, Colin sought Georgie’s gaze. “This might be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
Georgiana returned his grin. “Me too.”
After the snowball fight, Sarah led the way indoors to warm up, Georgie diverting down to the kitchen to find a treat for Chips.
They returned in time to bid farewell to William and Claire, who were leaving to take a sleepy Mira home. Viola and Jack departed as well.
Cora and Mamma, meanwhile, sat reading near the parlour fire with James and Emily until Mamma complained of being overheated and moved farther back, looking rather flushed.
To avoid disturbing the readers, the snowball combatants gathered in the library instead. When Georgie returned from tossing a piece of roast beef to Chips, she joined them. Effie came in as well.
Sarah was about to go down and make tea, but Mr. Gwilt had anticipated her and carried in a tea tray with cups and biscuits for all.
“Thank you. You read my mind.”
He grinned and retreated.
For several minutes, the group sat sipping tea and enjoying the crackling fire in relative quiet. Sarah was glad to find the feeling returning to her fingers and toes.
Then, since New Year’s Eve was rapidly approaching, Sarah asked Mr. Henshall if there were any special foods he normally enjoyed at New Year’s, or “Hogmanay” as he called it.
“Aye, several things. Venison pie, haggis, neeps and tatties, salted herrings, bannocks, black bun, shortbread...” He looked at her with dawning realization. “But I certainly don’t expect to have those foods here.”
“That’s a relief, for I don’t even know what most of those are.” Sarah grinned. And while she made him no promises, she secretly decided to attempt some of the dishes for which she could find a recipe and the ingredients.
“How else do you celebrate?” she asked, and was pleasantly surprised when Effie did not protest.
He gathered his thoughts. “Music, sometimes dancing, raise a glass to Robert Burns, recite a few lines as well.”
“Don’t forget First Footing,” Effie reminded him.
