“Now, my girl. I will finish this.”
Sarah looked up from her work at last. Her mother stood there in an elegant long-sleeved gown of fawn silk with lilac and green stripes.
“Mamma, you look lovely.”
“Thank you. Now it’s your turn. Go on.”
Sarah studied her a moment longer. “How are you feeling?”
“Impatient with a dawdling daughter at the moment, but otherwise fine.”
“Very well. I’m going.”
Sarah went up to change into a dress of blue silk taffeta printed with silvery ornaments. It had the newer low-fitted waist, and the celestial blue color flattered her complexion and brought out the blue of her eyes—or so the modiste had assured her.
Emily came in to help with her fastenings and to add some curls around her face with the hot iron.
“A lot of fuss,” Sarah murmured, “when I shall be busy serving most of the night.”
“No, you shan’t. You shall be enjoying the company of your family and guests. Come now, put a smile on that pretty face of yours.”
Again Sarah wondered if all the extra effort was worth it.
She went downstairs and, with a sigh, picked up a fallen hair pin from the floor. Georgiana’s, she guessed. Hearing footsteps on the stairs behind her, she straightened, turned...
And froze.
Callum Henshall slowly descended ... wearing a kilt.
Sarah stared, unable to do otherwise, cataloging every inch of his person, from his black buckled shoes, tall stockings tied around strong calf muscles, bare knees peeking out, to the belted tartan kilt in a subdued blue, green, and black pattern, over which an ornamental ... something ... hung on a chain. He looked like the man she knew yet startlingly different too. Dangerously new and not quite the civilized gentleman he’d seemed before.
The foreign garments stood in sharp contrast to those of his upper body—a traditional waistcoat, neckcloth, and tailored coat.
For a moment the strange image of a merman came to mind: gentleman above, wild Scot below.
Sarah’s mouth went dry.
He paused on the stairs, studying her, and when she remained silent, he continued his descent.
His gaze traced her face, her hair, her gown. “Ye look beautiful.”
“You are ... do too.”
His eyes shone. “I can see I’ve surprised ye. But a Scot must wear his kilt for Hogmanay.”
“Of course. I ... I don’t mind at all.”
In fact, Sarah decided then and there that her puny efforts for this holiday had been very much worth it indeed.
Effie came down next wearing a green dress with a tartan scarf over one shoulder.
Georgiana descended after her in a new gown of figured mulberry satin with a square neck and a single, plain flounce at the hem. She had rejected the modiste’s suggestions of festooned flounces, beribboned sleeves, and a ruffled bodice, even though Mamma favored them. She would feel foolish, she’d insisted, as though wearing a costume meant for some fine la-di-dah lady and not herself. Mamma had finally relented. Although rather simple, the dress suited Georgie, and she looked feminine and pretty in it.
Emily followed, beautiful as usual in a rose-colored gown, James handsome in dark evening attire at her side.
Finally, Cora came down, dressed in a frock that was both charming and familiar—a yellow dress with pink flowers embroidered at the hem and a wide pink ribbon at the waist. There had not been time to order anything new for her, so she wore a favorite dress that Mamma had saved, one that had been passed down through her daughters. She planned to have a new dress made for Cora after the busyness of the holidays had passed.
Soon their other guests arrived. Claire and William first, followed by the four Huttons: Jack, Viola, Colin, and Mr. Hutton senior. Mira had remained at the boarding house with Armaan and Sonali, but all three would join them on Twelfth Night.
