Six

At six o’clock the next morning, Sara flew down the stairs with a smile on her face as she struggled into her overcoat and scarf. She had slept barely a wink, still giggling and smiling as she had laid in bed reliving the most miraculous and wonderful evening of her existence so far. Her first kiss; her first true beau; her first time being so rapturously in love. When the sun had begun to peek through the lace curtains, Sara had slipped out of bed and readied herself for that day’s adventure of cleaning up Christopher’s home.

Sara stopped in the hallway near the mirror, adjusted the scarf over her waves of mahogany, tucked an errant ringlet behind an ear, and then turned to open the door–

–and step into Christopher. “Oh!” She looked up, the elation at seeing him again so soon bringing a bright smile that blossomed to a happy laugh, and a bout of light-headedness that she had always dreamed of. “Hello,” she greeted in a near sing-song voice.

Christopher smiled down at her. His hazel eyes twinkled, and his freshly shaven and handsome face looked red from the surprising bite of the early April air. The same rebellious curl had fallen down on the left side of his forehead, again giving Sara the almost over-whelming urge to brush it back. But she simply accepted the twist of affection and longing as the greatest gift from heaven she could possibly have wanted.

“Hello, and good morning,” he returned, his hands lowering from their instinctive and protective grip of her upper arms to gather her hands and give them a collection of gentle pressures. “I hope you slept some. Clean-up is never an easy duty.”

“I didn’t sleep a wink,” she admitted, still brightly smiling.

Christopher chuckled and then leaned slightly forward to whisper, “Neither did I.”

Her insides hiccuped and her eyes crinkled at the corners. Then Christopher gathered her hand into the nook of his arm and collected her down the stairs and into the carriage that would take them to Lake Manor. The sound of the horses’ hooves on the road matched the beat of her heart as she sat beside Christopher and occasionally looked over to meet his gaze and offer another smile of welcome, as well as what Teddy would have labeled ‘a sickeningly sweet expression of adoration’. Sara giggled and looked away, lifting her shoulders in a happy shrug as her very self seemed to float and flit above the carriage.

Christopher laughed, drawing Sara’s happy gaze. “You remind me of Gwin in a toy shop.”

Sara wrinkled her nose at him. “I can’t help but be happy, Christopher,” she told him. “You and your Sweet Miss have changed my life so much that I find myself unable to believe I was ever miserable. I haven’t ever been this happy,” she confessed, eyes wide as she gave a slight shake of her head.

“Not even with your mother?” he asked, expression warm with his small smile.

“I don’t know,” Sara admitted. “It’s been so long since she’s been with me.”

“What about George?”

Sara giggled at that. “Oh Christopher, don’t be daft. Of course George can’t hold a candle to you and Gwin. I was sweet on him when I didn’t know anything of life and love and what I wanted in a beau.”

Hesitancy slightly darkened his expression. “But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

“In my young way, I suppose,” she said, careful to keep her voice and expression as light and happy as possible. “But I knew he didn’t have a heart after God, not like what I needed.” She hugged his arm as she smiled up at him. “Not like you.”

Christopher’s ears reddened, but the hesitancy disappeared from his eyes as he gazed down at her. “A heart after God if He did what I wanted Him to do, remember?”

A playful frown lowered her eyebrows. “Oh pish posh,” she scolded. “Don’t every one of us have a tantrum when He does what is best rather than what we want? Certainly it took Him a little bit to soothe the hurt and urge you back again, but you kept going to church though you were mad at Him because you knew it was something Gwin needed.” She straightened and motioned toward him. “Even now you’re trying your best to be a man after God’s heart.”

A smile tickled his lips upward. “I try hard enough, but whether I do it or not is a different story.”

Sara’s expression softened and she reached up to brush back the curl before she could stop herself. The action caused a glorious surge of fondness within, especially when she saw the calming of his own expression. Then she clasped her hands within her lap as she held his gaze.

“We all of us have a tendency of ‘trying’ rather than ‘doing’, Christopher,” she told him, voice soft, “though you’d never hear us admitting there’s a difference. You should have heard me when I had to leave George behind and move back to London. I knew even then he wasn’t the man for me. I had heard God as plain as the wind in the trees when He told me to take the lesson to heart and keep praying for my future husband. But moaning over a ‘lost love’ was far more romantic than moving on, so I only ‘tried’ to do it.” Sara flushed and lowered her gaze. “Sick little soul that I was, I enjoyed the lovesickness.”

Christopher chuckled, his close scrutiny lifting the hairs on the nape of her neck.

“I wouldn’t ever have stopped moping if it hadn’t been for Molly,” she admitted, once more meeting his smiling hazel eyes. “She was a French tutor that had lost her beau to a widow she worked for. When she first began to tell the story, I thought it to be the most lovely telling of tragic romance and lost love. But then I heard the end and saw that there was a bit more to the story. When she had moved to her next position, she met and married her husband. A history tutor, they had more in common than Molly had ever had with her beau. If she hadn’t moved on from the loss, she wouldn’t have seen his fondness and done her best to get to know him.”

“A good story for a romantic sixteen-year-old to hear,” Christopher admitted, eyes twinkling.

Sara softly giggled, causing Christopher to chuckle. Then Sara watched him watch her, her cheeks flushing and his ears turning pink... But such fun.

The carriage arrived at Lake Manor, the rocking of its stop tearing the surreal atmosphere, if only a little.

Christopher reached out to give one light stroke under her chin. “Thank you for the story,” he said softly.

She timidly smiled. “I never knew I had so many.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before standing and carefully stepping down. Then he handed her out and guided her up the stairs. “I hope you think of more. They’re fun to hear.”

“If I tell more, will you tell me some of yours?” she hesitantly asked, uncertainty coloring her eyes as she watched his profile.

Christopher met her gaze. “Of course, although I think yours will be more exciting than the few I have left.”

She smiled at him. “I don’t mind.”

His lips twitched upward. “Yes. I know.” Christopher opened the doors to Lake Manor and ushered her inside. “I’ll try and remember what stories I’ve told you so far and make a list of those–ཛྭ

“Don’t do that!” Sara protested. At his surprised glance her direction, she flushed. “It’s... It’s so much more fun when they’re spontaneous.”

Christopher smiled. “But what if I’ve already told you the story?”

Sara clasped her hands in front of her as she held his gaze, her lips caressed with her fondness. “I’ll listen again. Stories are the same as books,” she informed softly. “They’re always better the second and third time.”

He regarded her with a small smile before giving a slight shake of his head and a chuckle as he stepped forward to help her from her coat. Sara sighed, loving it more each time he was close and fighting back the urge to draw him into an embrace. Then he stepped back and hung her coat onto the rack and shrugged out of his own.

When he turned, he watched her again. The way he did so put rose in her cheeks and lowered her gaze to the ground. His scrutiny didn’t make her uncomfortable; it was... honest and... appreciative. The way she had seen him study a favorite painting. Even that wasn’t necessarily the perfect description of the expression in his eyes but it was, by far, the most romantic parallel she could imagine.

Then he suddenly and tenderly drew her close, his lips touching her temple with such a gentle warmth that it surprised Sara, if only for the merest moment. Then her mind, heart, and soul relaxed into the embrace and she sighed as her arms tightened around him.

Christopher released a slow and quiet breath, deeper than any she had ever heard, and immediately followed it with a softly spoken, “Dear Lord, thank You for bringing this woman into my life.”

A prayer Sara had been voicing for months.

Christopher held her for a few moments more before pulling slowly back and, with his breath caressing her face, whispering, “May I kiss you?” in the softly husky tone she had come to love.

“Yes, Christopher,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so calm when she herself felt as if she would bawl at any moment.

Almost with cautious reverence his lips touched hers, and Sara would never have thought that such a gentle touch could mean so much. Christopher didn’t kiss her a second time, and with the way emotions roared within at the touch of his lips on hers, Sara wondered how he so completely controlled himself. Dear Lord, am I wrong to keep him from doing it? She didn’t know.

When he met her gaze, his face burned as red as hers.

“I guess I shouldn’t,” he told her, voice somewhat gruff as his hazel eyes glowed. “But... But it’s such a relief to be in love again. I don’t care the struggles I need to go through now. Not...” His expression relaxed as he continued to hold her gaze. “Not when you look at me like that, as if I’m the only person in the world, and make me feel the way I do.” Christopher released a slow and deep breath, reaching up a hand to brush at a loose curl at her ear. “You don’t mind, do you, Sara?”

Sara smiled wide as she shook her head and whispered, “I don’t mind, and I like how you ask.”

Chuckling, Christopher stepped back and gathered her hands into his. “I like how you answer.” Then he kissed her knuckles and released her hands to motion deeper within the Manor. “We better survey the damage.”

Sara nodded, still brightly smiling as she turned and followed beside him. Cleaning the Manor wouldn’t be the ‘chore’ he thought it would. Not to her. Not ever again.

« § »

Cleaning after a party had never been such fun, and Sara was certain Christopher noticed how she ‘took charge’ of the project. She didn’t intend to do it, but instinct and training prevailed and had her directing him to a specific duty before she even realized that she had done it.

The first time, Sara had charged him in a matter-of-fact tone to take a tray when gathering the dishes, rather than making many trips with hands filled and risking a trip and fall. Then, when Sara had realized what she had done, she had shielded her mouth with a soft gasp and stared at him wide-eyed, not certain how he would take a command, no matter how innocently it had been offered.

Christopher had blinked at her, expression surprised as he held two punch tumblers in his hands. When she would have stammered out an apology, he had lowered his focus to the tumblers with a thoughtful twitch to his lips and said, “You know, I should have thought of that before. I’ve dropped I don’t know how many dishes with my balancing act to the kitchen.” His immediate chuckle and shake of head had soothed Sara’s heart, proving yet again that her life would be a collection of so many firsts that she would likely never be through with them.

“You’re drifting, Sweet Sara,” Christopher said in a low voice beside her, his baritone sending a wave of shivers up her spine as she sent him a smile. “What were you thinking?”

Sara lowered her focus to the damp cloth in her hand that had paused its duty of washing one of the many side-tables used the evening of the party. “I wouldn’t know where to begin to say what I was thinking.” She released a quiet breath and continued again with the duty of washing the table, if somewhat absent-minded. “My life has been a collection of adventures and blessings since coming to America. I’m still not at all convinced I’m not dreaming.” What a horrible prospect to believe she might wake up at long last and not see Christopher’s smiling face and handsome persona waiting for her on her doorstep.

Christopher took the cloth from her hand and dropped it into the small pail of sudsy and mildly dirty water on the floor. “Let’s see if we can prove it to you one way or the other.” Then, while humming a waltz that had played the evening of their engagement party, he took her into his arms and guided her around the floor.

Sara could feel the tears gather in her eyes as she held his gaze, praying Lord, thank You so much for him. Thank You so very much, and committing their future into more capable Hands.

“What about now?” Christopher asked, his tone as mischievous as the expression in his beautiful hazel eyes.

Sara shook her head, unable to voice how each tender moment with him, each laugh, each sigh... How they all continued to build into a dread that she was simply living a dream. That, one morning, she would wake to Mr. Brockle’s bellow for tea. That she would no longer be wearing Christopher’s ring. That Gwin would no longer ask to call her ‘Mamma’. That...

“Don’t cry, Sara,” Christopher soothed, drawing her a little closer and pressing his lips against her temple.

But Sara couldn’t stop the silent tears. As his humming rumbled through her, she felt them cascade down her cheeks. As the ease of their steps together made her close her eyes and surrender to the complete sense of being passionately in love, she heard her soft sobs and felt him hold her tight. She had only felt this intense of an emotion of love for her Jesus. Please, Lord, I don’t want to lose him. Don’t let me wake up. Please don’t... She would rather exist in a dream and feel love, respect, trust, honor... She would rather feel all those things than live life as she had for 12 years.

“Sara, don’t. Don’t cry,” Christopher pleaded, their steps coming to a halt and him pulling back to hold her face in his hands. “Please, Sara. Please tell me what’s wrong. I’ll stop it if I can.”

Again she shook her head, unable to stop the tears. Unable to confess how completely terrifying it was that she might lose him and her life there. She choked on a sob, the tears falling faster at the tender caress of his thumbs against her cheeks.

“Oh God, what did I do? Sara...” Christopher drew her tight against him, wrapping his arms so completely around her that she felt as if she were protected from the entire world.

“Please don’t leave me,” she choked out. “Please, Christopher. Please don’t leave me...”

Christopher released a slow and deep breath, pressing his lips against her hair as he whispered, “I won’t, my sweet Sara. I promised to protect you, and the Lord Himself will be the only one to keep me from fulfilling that.”

Sara sniffed, hiccuping on her tears as she tightened her arms around him and very slightly nodded her head.

Eventually the terror drifted, the beat of Christopher’s heart and the hushed sound of his prayers over her inviting a feeling of peace and comfort. Then, when he once more kissed her temple as he very slowly loosened his hold, she sighed deep and apologized for “making an exhibit of myself.”

“Exhibitions generally involve more than one other person,” he said, his tone ringing with amusement. “I know how you hate drawing anyone’s attention, so this was a long time in coming.” Christopher pushed gently back, his hands remaining in a gentle grip on her upper arms as he sought her eyes. She kept them on her clasped and trembling hands. “Now I know why I’ve been concerned for you these past two weeks. Although I’m annoyed that I didn’t reason it out myself, what with your self-confessed history and the loss of so many pivotal figures in your life.”

Sara peeked up at him, cheeks flushing when he smiled in such a reassuring way.

Then his expression grew serious and almost solemn. “I won’t leave you,” he vowed, the huskiness of his voice deepening the red of Sara’s cheeks and preventing her from looking away. “No matter what happens. No matter who says what about whom. I won’t leave you alone. If we’re parted?” Christopher lifted her hand, the ring glittering in the light. “This will be proof that you aren’t alone. I’m there with you. Always.” He nodded, the action seeming to be a prompt. “All right?”

Silent, her eyes wide, Sara returned his nod.

He smiled. “All right.” Then he kissed the finger holding his ring and straightened. “That was unexpected, wasn’t it? I thought humming and dancing would have been romantic.”

“Oh it was!” Sara said quickly, cheeks burning immediately after. “It was,” she said again, calmer. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to hear you sing. I know I stand next to you in church, but I’m always so enthralled with the building and the lovely people singing all together that I forget to listen to just you instead of everyone.” Her blush climbed higher as he watched her with feigned serious thoughtfulness. “You’ve such a wonderful speaking voice; so calm and filled with emotion at the same time. I could listen to you for hours.”

Christopher’s ears reddened. “Thank you.”

“Could...” Sara worried her lower lip while sending a look over her shoulder to the entry of the dining hall. When she looked again to Christopher, one eyebrow was raised and he was looking as well. “Could you do it again?”

“ ‘Do it again’? Do what? Hum?”

Sara shook her head as she requested, “Could you... sing?”

Christopher’s entire face matched the color of his ears. “Oh. Well... Um... Certainly. I guess it would be all right, since no one’s here but ourselves and the washcloth and bucket. Um...” He cleared his throat. “Anything in particular you want to hear?”

Again she shook her head, eyes wide with expectation as she held her breath and clasped her hands in front of her. “Just... Just anything.”

“ ‘Anything’?” Christopher chuckled. “Sara, couldn’t you trim a few hundred titles off the bottom of that list?”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t know what to ask for. The thought of you singing is enough for me to be happy with what you choose.”

“Well, if you’re going to be charming about it...” Christopher tapped his lips with a finger as he regarded her, his scrutiny keeping the color in Sara’s cheeks as she held his gaze. Then he gave a nod and turned, making his way for the piano in the far corner of the room while inviting her to follow with a simply voiced, “Come along then, sweet Sara.”

Sara eagerly followed, moving to stand to his right as he lowered himself to the piano bench and played a few chords.

“I’m horribly out of practice, so extreme patience would be wonderful.”

Sara, who didn’t even know that he could play piano, made an exclamation of “You can play piano! How lovely!” at the same time as his request for patience.

“I tinker. Dix plays.” He sent Sara a wink while playing a few more purposeful chords, and then began to sing.

Rock of Ages, cleft for me.
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Save me from its guilt and power.

Not the labor of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s dem-ands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Sara slowly lowered herself onto the bench beside him as his baritone voice sang quiet and steady, the words mingling with the intensity of the meaning behind them. She had never heard a hymn sound so personal, filled with meaning, overflowing with warmth...

Noth-ing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress,
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the fountain fly,
Wash me, Savior or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When mine eyes shall close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgement throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.

With the fading of the last note, Sara was finally able to open her eyes and focus on Christopher as he watched her, one side of his lips tilted upward.

“I don’t think I need to ask what you thought.” Christopher lifted a hand to tenderly brush a tear from her cheek. “The glimmer of tears tells all.”

Sara offered a tremulous smile. Unfortunately, a clearing of the throat from the entrance to the dining hall prevented anything further.

“Warnings and red-flags,” a familiar voice called. “Uninvited guests approach.”

Both Christopher and Sara turned toward the entrance, offering warm greetings and welcomes as Robert and Rachel Trent stepped farther within the dining hall.

“Terribly sorry to trudge onto what sounds to be a fun time,” Robert apologized, sending Sara a genuine smile that had her immediately forgiving him any and all offense. “Hank insisted on staying the night with ‘Gampy’, and so Rachel and I took that as a sign from the heavens to pay some much-needed visits to friends, new and old.”

Rachel watched her husband with a smirk, her green eyes twinkling as she absently teased the air around her face with the intricately painted Parisian fan. Sara enjoyed watching her with it.

Robert focused on Sara, drawing her gaze as he offered her his hand. “I sincerely hope this ‘morning after’ finds you well rested.”

Cheeks flushed, Sara accepted his hand and curtsied while softly verbalizing a “Yes, thank you, Mister Robert.”

Rachel closed her fan with a deft motion and used it to point toward Christopher. “It’s nice to hear you singing again, Christopher. Dix had made me promise to goad you into a song while she and Paul are away in England. ‘Whatever it takes, Rachel. The boy needs to sing, and I believe you and Rob are the ones to pester him into it.’ ” Rachel tucked her arm around Sara’s. “It seems he needed a timid request rather than an assured one.”

Chuckling, Christopher enclosed Sara’s hand into a gentle grip. “Yes, well, Rob knows the power of a soft request better than anyone.”

Robert’s eyebrow rose the same time Rachel’s did, she focusing on him as he asked, “Chris, what are you trying to do? Get me into trouble?”

Christopher laughed and gave Sara’s hand a pressure as he met her smiling gaze. “Coffee in the side-garden?”

Sara eagerly nodded.

“It’s open?” Rachel posed, she and Robert following beside Sara and Christopher as they led the way from the dining hall, through the front hall, and along a side passage to the side-
garden.

“Carla and I would always open it some time in April. The brisk afternoons are wonderful after a somewhat harried day. With the excitement of the engagement, choosing the ring, planning the trip to England as well as the journey and opening of the summer home in New York, I’ve definitely had a few harried days.”

“Which must feel like a breath of fresh air after the stagnation you suffered before,” Robert offered somewhat cautiously.

“Yes, so I’ve noticed.” Christopher sent Sara on his right a smile. “I’ve missed our lessons and display-planning sessions the most.”

Rachel sent Robert a knowing smile. “Christopher.” Christopher focused again on Rachel. “Do you need any help planning the trip? We leave day after tomorrow, do we not?”

“We do. I believe everything is under control. Some of the more massive trunks have already been shipped ahead, and the last of Sara’s will go this evening. The art was shipped this morning. That’s where Teddy is.”

“Robert and I are more than willing to request the Samson coach as an addition to the train.”

Christopher opened the double doors to the side-garden, escorting Sara through before propping it open and focusing once more on Rachel. “Our reservations are confirmed, but...” He looked to Sara as he offered her his arm. “What do you think? It might be nice to have an entire coach to ourselves rather than a cabin. More room for Hank and Gwin to play, at any rate. You’ve never traveled in a custom coach, have you?”

Sara shook her head, her eyes wide as she accepted his arm and matched his pace into the garden.

Smiling, Christopher reached over to lightly touch her under the chin and then met Rachel and Robert’s gaze. “That would be an exciting ‘first’. Thank you for the invitation.”

“I had planned to ask over coffee,” Robert admitted, sending his wife a lopsided smile that twinkled in his brown eyes. “Point for you, dearest one.”

Sara wondered how a man could look and sound so mischievous while gazing at his wife in adoration at the same time.

Robert looked up to meet Sara’s gaze, causing a flush when she found herself staring, and then he offered her the same friendly smile she remembered from the engagement party. “The opportunity of finally discovering the whereabouts of your father must be surreal.”

The quad halted and moved to one side of the garden’s path to sit at a collection of marble benches positioned beneath a large tree. Christopher remained standing just behind Sara, as Robert did the same behind Rachel.

Robert propped his foot up onto the bench while he drew a pipe from the inside pocket of his suit coat. He gestured toward Sara with it. “You’ve been waiting for this particular opportunity your entire life, I imagine.”

Sara very slightly nodded, her clasped hands tightening the same moment she felt the reassuring and gentle touch of Christopher’s hand on her back. She tremulously smiled. “I have.”

“I wish you would have told me, Chris,” Robert said, adjusting his foot upon the bench as he placed the unlit pipe within his mouth. “You know I make it a regular policy to search out the orphanage children’s next of kin. I could have helped. Been glad to.”

“This isn’t your crusade, Robert my love,” Rachel reminded. She focused on Sara while closing her fan with a motion that was complete grace. Sara offered her a small smile, which Rachel accepted while returning one of her own. “I have heard rumors that your father is an artist who made his home in New York.”

Sara could only nod, her mind and imagination already busy with all the projects and adventures she and her father would experience and share once he was found.

“While I’m certain that Christopher has already set about a thorough search of galleries and museums of the entire state,” Rachel continued, “When we arrive, why don’t we ourselves begin a search of our own. It might be a thrill to do so; to feel as if you are involved and not simply waiting patiently for your future to be found for you.”

“Oh...” Sara’s hands tightened in her lap as she once more felt Christopher’s hand touch her back. “I... I wouldn’t...,” she attempted. She met Christopher’s understanding gaze. “I w-wouldn’t want to c-cause trouble for you.”

“You wouldn’t, Sara,” he assured. “He’s your father; you’re entitled to do a search. Especially if it would ease your heart.”

Robert and Rachel exchanged unnoticed smiles, Robert immediately hiding his behind the biting of his pipe and Rachel behind her fan.

“I should have asked if you wanted to be involved from the first,” Christopher continued. “I only thought you were still overwhelmed with the whole prospect of settling in America.”

Sara’s smile softened. “I was. I still am,” she admitted quietly. She reached out to place a hand on his arm briefly, causing his ears to slightly flush. Then she lowered her hand and focused again on Rachel. “I’ve always wanted to solve a mystery.”

“Then it’s settled,” Rachel directed, closing her fan and performing a mild smack of it into the palm of her hand. “Upon our arrival in New York, we begin a tour of all possible artist studios, museums, and galleries in search of one Timothy Kreyssler.”

Robert chuckled, giving his head a slight shake. “Who said what about something not being their crusade?”

Rachel smacked his arm with the fan but laughed the same as everyone else. “This is an entirely different matter, Robert Leonard, and you know it. Giving her a duty while she waits for this mystery to be solved will ease her heart, as Christopher so aptly said. Don’t grouse.”

Robert caught the second attempted smack and placed a kiss on her lips. “I enjoy grousing, Ange,” he said in a low voice, “for it makes it necessary for you to scold me with eyes of emerald fire and soprano songs of romantic fury.”

Pointing at him with her other hand, Robert still holding the fan as he grinned boyishly down at her, Rachel warned, “Don’t start what our hosts would rather I not finish, Robert my love,” in a voice that sounded more as if she were... in love than angry.

Sara flushed and lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.

Christopher chuckled, shaking his head as Robert laughed and released his hold on the fan while sending his wife a wink. “Yes, dear.”

Opening the fan and stirring the air about her slightly flushed face, Rachel focused on Sara. “I apologize for my husband, Sara. He seems to thrive on the prospect of pressing certain buttons in company, knowing that I don’t conform to society’s views of ‘appropriate’. To a certain extent, of course.”

Sara sent Robert a peek from under her lashes, noticing the mixture of adoration and mischief aimed at his wife as she spoke.

“I remember one particular instance,” Rachel continued, her cheeks still a mild rose, “I allowed myself to be goaded into a display that was...” She sent him a glance, saw his expression, and immediately smiled. “You knew exactly what you were doing, knew that I wouldn’t back away from it - no matter the reaction in company - and yet you still did it.”

“Did what?” Christopher pressed, leaning forward much as a boy listening to a mystery story. Sara restrained a laugh, enjoying instead his nearness and the absent way he rested his hand on her shoulder.

Emerald eyes sparkling, Rachel focused on Sara and Christopher. “He began speaking to me in prose; free-form poetry he created there at that moment.”

“Oh how wonderfully lovely,” Sara breathed.

“Indeed it was. However, what you must realize is that I stood across the ballroom from him - a very crowded ballroom - and he on the other side. When he began the recitation, each individual could hear each word, understand each inflection of his voice, and know each hidden meaning in the metaphors and symbolisms. Of course, he also recited in such a way that it wouldn’t allow me to remain silent, or ignore his existence. It was a type of ‘call and respond’ prose.”

Rachel sent Robert a very meaningful smile as he continued to gaze at her in love and mischief. “The challenge spoken, I couldn’t allow him to best me,” she admitted in a quiet voice that was as full of emotion as her eyes. “I believe it was then that I fully and truly spoke myself into loving him. Deeply. Passionately. Without fail or folly.” Rachel lifted a hand to cup his cheek, Robert taking a gentle hold of the hand to press the palm to his lips.

Then, with a glance toward Sara and Christopher, she delicately cleared her throat and lowered her hand. “We recited prose for nearly 45 minutes, in plain view of all; each line recited drew us closer until we stood in the middle of the ballroom embroiled in the most moving display of poetic passion since Shakespeare, in my opinion.”

“I wish I could have been there,” Sara admitted, eyes and imagination filled with the possibilities of what it must have been like to be so brave as to so publicly declare her love.

“Nonsense,” Rachel said sternly yet gently, drawing Sara’s full focus. “Wishing to be there and creating your own moment are two entirely different matters. If you truly want to see the experience, take the opportunity to create it for yourself.” She sent Christopher a mischievous glance, partially hidden behind her deftly risen fan. “The repercussions can be quite amusing,” she said in a low tone.

Cheeks rosy, Sara nervously giggled.

“No plotting, Rachel,” Christopher protested, his hands raised. “I get enough of it from Paul, Teddy and Gwin.”

Rachel laughed, the sound so full of amusement that it had Sara laughing as well. What a joy she has, Lord. Nor was she afraid to show it.

“Plotting and pranking is great fun, Christopher. If the prankster takes great care, it can be fun for the pranked as well.” Rachel sent Sara a sidelong glance, causing Sara to lower her gaze. “You will be surprised how a bond of friendship can grow and tighten when someone takes the thought and time to bring a laugh.”

“Ange, they don’t need your or my help in regard to deepening their friendship,” Robert said, the impish expression focused on Sara in the form of a wink. “Or have you forgotten the scores and scores of sketches Chris has done with her as the main, and only, subject during and before college? Not to mention her charcoal of Chris and Gwin.”

Sara smiled brightly, questioning, “Did you like it? I had so much fun with the colors,” while unaware of Christopher’s flushed face and his warning frown to Robert.

Robert simply continued to look amused. “I loved it, my dear. Brought Rachel and myself near tears, it was so life-like. In fact, I believe I’ll have you do something for my father. A portrait of the Trent family, mine. What say you? Are you up to it? I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

“Oh I couldn’t accept a thing, Mister Robert,” Sara refused, wide-eyed. “Not with you being so gracious as to offer to chaperone and allow me to stay with you. I would so much rather have you take it as a ‘thank you’.”

“Nonsense, although I am honored you would attempt to offer me something as resplendent as your art by way of thanks. If you won’t accept payment outright, I’ll write Chris the check. He can accept it on your behalf, as your sponsor.” Robert sent Christopher a wink. “You’d accept it, wouldn’t you, old man?”

“I certainly would.” Christopher held Sara’s gaze when she turned to voice a protest. “Sara, what did I say before about giving away your art? It was the last time you would be allowed to do it. These images are for your future.”

“But I have you,” she said without thinking. Then she shielded her mouth, cheeks flushed a deep rose.

Robert and Rachel restrained their amusement as Christopher continued to smile down at Sara, his face now red. “I appreciate that, but as your sponsor I can’t let you do it again. They’re worth too much. What kind of fiancé would I be, even, if I didn’t set something aside for you as well as for Gwin?”

“But–”

Christopher shook his head and then focused on Robert. “We’ll discuss the cost later, depending of course on what you had in mind.”

Watching Christopher’s determined expression mixed with his handsome smile, Sara felt her expression soften.

In process...