It had been one thing for him to kiss her cheek alone under the mistletoe, but with all these people watching? Georgiana huffed to cover her unease. “How silly! Oh, very well. Get it over with.” She held out her hand as Sarah had done. Instead he leaned in close and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek. A cheek that now blazed with embarrassment.
He smiled into her eyes as he slowly pulled back, then turned to the others.
“NowI shall usher last year’s troubles out the back door. And with that, I bid you all good night.”
He bowed and slipped out of the room, heading, Georgie guessed, for the back stairs and the rear kitchen door below.
Was he hurrying off to play the role of first footer at another house? One with other females to kiss—slightly older, far prettier young ladies? Probably.
“Look, Georgie,” Effie enthused, pointing out the window. “You got your wish. It’s snowing again!”
Georgie walked to the window that overlooked the veranda and the outside world beyond. Feathery white snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, clinging to tree branches and glazing the ground.
It was beautiful, yet she felt oddly deflated. What was wrong with her?
Yes, she had got her wish. It had snowed not once but twice. Then why did some tender shoot of longing yet remain? Like a hunger pang, but one that originated in her heart instead of her stomach.
At Effie’s pronouncement, Sarah and a few others rose and joined them at the windows to enjoy the sight of fresh new snow christening the fresh New Year.
It really is lovely, Sarah thought, glad that her first thought was not, for once, about the practicalities: having to sweep the outside stairs and walk or needing to clean up all the wet footprints that would soon muddy the hall.
“Now, if ye will indulge me,” Mr. Henshall said, “let us join hands and sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ which means ‘old long since.’ We have sung it on Hogmanay in Scotland for generations, and I gather it is now sung here as well.”
Those standing at the windows walked toward the middle of the room, and those sitting stood to join the circle, clasping hands.
Sarah found herself holding one of Effie’s hands and one of Callum Henshall’s. Her hand felt warm and secure in his sure grip.
“The song reminds us not to forget days gone by or old friends,” he said. Then to Effie he added, “We’ll sing the more English version, aye?”
She nodded. Then in his rich, lilting voice, he began to sing and the rest of them joined in:
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o’ lang syne?
“For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, For auld lang syne.”
After a few more verses, he looked at Effie and prompted, “The next verse as we sing at home?” His stepdaughter nodded, and the two sang together:
“And here’s a hand, my trusty fiere! And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right guid willy waught, For auld lang syne.
“For auld lang syne, my jo, For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet, For auld lang syne.”
Sarah’s ears caught on the phrasemy jo.
On the last chorus, the jocularity faded from Mr. Henshall’s expression, and his fair eyes took on a nostalgic light. He looked somberly into the distance, his voice slowing and deepening as he sang the familiar words with true feeling.
“We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, For auld lang syne.”
After the final note, a few moments of silence reigned. Then around the circle, people began to separate. Sarah gave Effie’s hand a final squeeze before releasing her, then turned to Mr. Henshall. She made to slide her hand from his, but for a moment longer he held fast, gaze boring into hers.
She pressed her lips together and then echoed, “A guid New Year to you.”
