He slowly nodded. “I hope it shall be.”
The others went into the hall to gather coats and hats, or to bid farewell to those departing. Sarah lingered with Mr. Henshall.
She mustered her courage and asked, “I heard the words ‘my jo’ in the Scots version you and Effie sang. What does it mean?”
“Comes from the wordjoy,” he explained. “It’s an endearment that means sweetheart or darling or dear.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “You may not have realized but ... you’ve called me that a few times now, so I wondered.”
“It may have slipped out only a few times, but it’s how I often think of ye.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “My bonnie lass. My jo.”
Sarah’s skin tingled, and her heart did as well.
He studied her. “Do ye mind?”
“No. I rather like it.”
“I’m glad.”
He took her hand again, raised it to his lips, and pressed a warm kiss to the back of it. “Good night, Sarah.”
“Good night.” And she carried the warmth of it all the way up to her room.
SIXTEEN
Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweetens it.
—James Howell,Familiar Letters
Georgiana’s family had decided in advance to exchange small gifts on New Year’s Day instead of on St. Nicholas Day, as they had last year, or on Twelfth Night, which would be busy enough with the planned party—and because they were not giving gifts to everyone who would be in attendance.
They did, however, invite Mr. Henshall and Effie to join them for their modest time of gift giving over tea and leftover pastries. Of course, they had assured them there was no expectation of gifts being exchanged between the two families.
Given time off for New Year’s, James spent the day with them as well. William, Colin, Jack, and Mr. Hutton, however, had been invited to Salcombe Hill for a day’s shooting with local magistrate and landowner George Cornish.
When they realized Cora and Mira would be joining them, they selected a few small gifts for the girls as well. For athletic Cora there was a new Chinese diabolo to juggle. For Mira, a tiny knitted muffler and hat for her doll.
Much as last year, Mamma and the sisters exchanged primarily handmade gifts. Sarah had made fragrant lavender water and roselip salve in the workroom belowstairs. Claire had painted lovely designs on small decorative boxes for each of them. Viola had netted coin purses for her sisters and a fine needlepoint fire screen for Mamma.
In turn, Mamma gave them a shared subscription to a ladies’ magazine and beaded bracelets.
Emily, now being paid for her editing and proofreading work, bought a new history book for her husband and a small volume of Robert Burns poetry for Sarah, explaining, “I have lately become aware of your growing interest in all things Scottish.”
Georgiana noticed Sarah blush.
Emily had also purchased new sheet music for Viola. And for Mamma, quality writing paper, hot pressed for a fine, smooth surface and printed with her initials.
She’d bought a pretty hair comb and a new sketch pad for Claire. And, finally, a slender book on fencing for Georgiana.
“Emily, it’s too much!” Mamma objected.
“Not at all. You’ve had to suffer my neglect and homemade cards for the last few years. It is my pleasure to give nice gifts for once.”
James handed Emily a gift. “And for you, a new novel.”
Emily unwrapped a finely bound leather book. She opened it, and her brow puckered in confusion. “The pages are blank.”
“That’s because you have not written it yet.”
