“Oh?” Viola stopped playing and came over to sit with them. “About what?”
Sarah told her sisters about the gift, her reaction, and his frustrated response.
“Have you decided against him?” Vi asked.
Sarah blinked, not ready for a second inquisition so soon. “I have not decided anything. If things were different, I might have, but I don’t think Mamma is ready for me to leave ... permanently.”
“Mamma ... or you?”
Sarah picked up a stray piece of string on the arm of the chair, left from one of the parcels. Claire reached out and laid a hand over hers, stilling her movements.
She said gently, “It seems to me you have been living in near-constant motion the last few years while I was gone, endlessly striving just to keep your head above water. But those trying days are over.”
“Are they?”
“They could be. That’s up to you.”
When Claire lifted her hand, Sarah began toying with the string.
“He has not come out and asked me to marry him, by the way.”
“Oh, come, Sarah,” Claire gently chided. “Don’t be daft. Traveling all this way to spend Christmas with you? I think he has made his intentions perfectly clear.”
Yes, Sarah knew that he had.
And she had reacted poorly. And ruined everything.
The next day, Georgiana and Effie had just finished a game of draughts when Colin came by. She heard the door open and Mr. Gwilt welcome him and offer to take his coat.
Leaving Effie to reset the pieces for another match, Georgie went to greet Colin in the hall. “How was the shooting party yesterday?”
“It was all right. Our host served a hearty meal with excellent roast partridge at midday.”
“I was not asking about the food. I was asking about the shooting.”
“Do you mean if I bagged any birds, that sort of thing?”
“That is generally the point.”
“Not for me. I like being out-of-doors. The good company. Jocularity among fellows. And I like the dogs. That Cornish fellow has the smartest dogs, and so well-mannered. Springer spaniels, pointers, cocker spaniels... I’d like to have a dog one day. Would you?”
“So you did not bag any birds.”
“Nah. My father did. And Jack is a crack shot, of course. Hammond has less experience than I, but even he managed one pheasant.”
“Were you disappointed?”
He shook his head. “Not keen on shooting birds.”
“You don’t mind eating them, I notice.”
“True. The sauce they served with the partridge ... delicious!”
“Perhaps your brother might give you shooting lessons.”
Colin shrugged. “It was not that I shot and missed. I did not even shoot. Except once. Thought I spied another clump of mistletoe high in a tree. Wanted to test our theory that shooting would be the best way to bring it down.”
“And was it?”
