“It will. And it is the 5th of December and we have made no preparations at all,” Sabina agreed. She considered her fifteen year old sister anxiously. The child was so pretty with her bright blue eyes, and her black curls as dusky as her mourning gown. It had been difficult for them both, these seven months, to adjust to life in London, life without their beloved parent. Dearest Papa loved the holiday, and adored to play the squire of yore, with the Yule Log, and Wassail, and any other archaic custom he could discover. Arbourfield had been so delightful decked with greens, and full of cheer.

"Perhaps we should visit the shops and purchase some gift for Grandmama?" Ianthe said, rather listlessly.

They must certainly do something, Sabina thought, as she seated herself at the walnut desk near the fireplace. Her sister's lack of spirits was most unusual. She drew towards her the newspapers that had been placed on the desk by her grandmother's devoted butler. It would be a quiet Christmas this year with a household of only three, but surely she could think of some way to entertain her sister and her grandmother.

Mrs. Burch was not of the first stare of fashion, but she occupied a respected place in society. Her activities, modest as they were, had necessarily been curtailed by the death of her son-in-law. She had been happy to welcome her granddaughters to live with her, but adjustments had had to be made by them all. Since arriving in London, the young ladies had seen some of the sights of the metropolis but had attended no more than a modicum of quiet entertainments. Indeed, their fondness for their father, and the depth of their grief, had made them indifferent to the lack of society until their first sharp sadness had passed. In the last month or two, Sabina had noticed an increasing restlessness in her young sister, and had herself felt a corresponding unease.

She opened The Times and idly perused the Agony Column. She had discovered that other people’s problems could put into perspective one’s own difficulties or, at least, they could idle away an hour.

The very first entry caught her eye with a start and a clutch of excitement:

St. James’s Church—A gentleman, who stood in the north west gallery on Friday last, near to a lady who was in a front seat of the back part of the gallery, dressed in black, with black earrings, and was seated between an elderly lady and a young lady; after the service was over, the gentleman saw them get into a carriage that was waiting for them near to Eagle-street, and they went on towards the Haymarket. If the lady alluded to is in that situation as to permit her for a moment to consider and think of the cause of this advertisement no doubt but she will remember the person who would think himself greatly honoured by her inclination to know the true motive of this address.**

Could this notice be meant for her? Surely not. But she had been in St. James’s Church on Friday last, with her grandmother and her sister, in the gallery, for the service of celebration for the restoration of the king’s health. She had noticed a tall gentleman, curly-haired and broad-shouldered, holding his beaver hat, and clad in an elegant caped greatcoat. He had stood with his back to them for some time and then had at last turned for a moment.

Sabina had experienced a pang as his brown eyes had discovered hers. They had exchanged a surprised look before she had lowered her gaze modestly. The gentleman had looked very familiar, and it had been the work of a moment to recall why he did. But when she lifted her gaze again, he was gone and, with the end of the service, the crush of fashionables had made it impossible to spy him again.

The notice would serve to distract her sister. “Ianthe, do you remember the Blyths? They lived at Hawke Hall until Mr. Blyth inherited, quite unexpectedly, his uncle’s title. He became Lord...Lord Lanfield, I believe.”

Her sister cast down the fashionable journal she had been leafing through and narrowed her big blue eyes in thought. “I do remember…there was a boy, wasn’t there? Gilbert? Gavin? A horrid boy and you were used to run off and meet him to fish and to ride and you would leave me behind.”

“Giles...Giles Blyth. And, you were only seven. I was five years older than you and he another four. It was not often that I saw him, for he was at school most of the time. I think I was about eight when they moved into Hawke Hall and only fourteen when they left.”

“You liked him excessively.” Ianthe grinned. “I remember that, for I was used to tease you and you would go so very red.”

Sabina waved a dismissive hand, knowing that her cheeks were pinkening as they had used to do. “We were friends merely. But the interesting thing is, I thought I saw him last week. But I was not at all certain. The man I saw was more grave and thoughtful than ever I remember carefree Giles being. He would be older, of course, near six and twenty now. I dismissed the encounter as mere fancy. But now, come look at this...”

Her sister crossed the elegantly appointed chamber with some haste, and read over Sabina's shoulder the notice she pointed out.

“Bina!!” She exclaimed, using the nickname her father had bestowed upon Sabina in infancy.  “It must be him. Shall you respond?”

“I think I must, though it must be thought unmaidenly. It is too great a coincidence to be ignored, surely. But Grandmama will be horrified. Such a lack of breeding, such a lack of discretion it displays to answer a newspaper advertisement...”

“Such nonsense. You must answer, and she need not know! What shall you say?”

St. James’s Church—If the gentleman who requested the consideration of a lady in mourning will respond to this notice with his name and his intentions and address it to Miss S. D. at the Bell Receiving Office, Mayfair, he may be certain of a thoughtful deliberation.

“Grandmama, do you recall that I said we had no acquaintance in London?” Sabina had thought very carefully about the manner in which she would approach Mrs. Burch with her news. She hoped the way she had chosen would allay suspicion, and she said a quiet prayer for forgiveness of her deception. It had been a week since she had answered the advertisement, and yesterday a letter had arrived. “Well, I have received a note, advising me of my error."

The dim December day was fast fading and a footman slid into the room, lighting the candles and the Argand lamp upon the desk.

Sabina watched the door shut after him before adding, "Do you recall Mr. John Blyth, who inherited unexpectedly from Viscount Lanfield?”

The old lady prided herself on her knowledge of the ton, and was silent briefly, appearing to thumb through the mental volumes of her facts. “Blyth? I know of Lanfield, certainly.” Mrs. Burch stared thoughtfully at the teacup before her on a small table. “Ah, did they not reside briefly in the neighbourhood of Arbourfield? He was a man I could not like…much taken by his own pride when he inherited...looked down upon your dear father immediately, as I recall." She sniffed. "Your papa’s family was much the older. In the Domesday Book, when Lanfields were still peasants.”

“Mr. John Blyth, Viscount Lanfield, has been dead these two years, Grandmama.” Sabina found her hand shaking, and set her teacup carefully on the table at her side. “His son, Giles, is now Lord Lanfield, and we...” She cast a rueful look at her sister. “I...was used to spend time with him in the school holidays.”

Mrs. Burch bent a surprised, but keen, look upon her. “I recall that gangly boy...you were naught but a hoyden when he was around!”

“That boy is a viscount now, Grandmama, and how he obtained our direction, I cannot know, but he has asked permission to call upon us.” Sabina crossed her fingers behind her back to counteract the falsehood she uttered and with her other hand, clutched the letter that resided in her silk work-bag.

Dear Miss S.D.

You can only be Sabina Denford, and I am Giles Blyth... now for my sins, Viscount Lanfield. You may imagine my surprise upon spying you at St. James’s Church. I was not certain of your identity, though your vivid colouring has stayed in my mind these seven years. There was such a crush I could not approach you, and after could not think how to discover your direction. As a last resort, I penned the notice you read.

You must know that my father would never permit our return to visit in Cheshire, so our estrangement from Hawke Hall was quite complete. I watched for your debut in town (we were much in London), but knowing your father’s predilection for the country, I was not surprised you were not permitted a season in the ton. My father passed on two years ago. By the time I was comfortable in my inheritance, and able to revisit the scenes of my youth, your father had died, and you were several months gone from Arbourfield. That cousin who inherited knew only that you were with your grandmother, and he could not at all recall her name, but only thought you must be in London. I have been on the watch ever since.

May I call upon you? I have such warm memories of your family’s kindness, your father’s generosity of spirit, and your happy home, that I should be glad of the opportunity to pay my respects.

The old lady had been deliberating while Sabina recalled the letter. She sighed with relief when Mrs. Burch did not ask to see the 'note' Sabina professed to have received. “I cannot suppose him to be as proud and disagreeable as his father, and it will be pleasant for you girls to renew an old acquaintance. Yes, I think he may call, and he might bring his lady wife with him, as I expect he must be wed. He’ll be thinking of the succession, I imagine, as the titled always do. Yes, yes, reply with all modesty and discretion. He should of course have writ to me, but we can forgive the gentlemen their errors, I suppose.”

Sabina looked up to receive an excited glance from Ianthe. The child had been in much better spirits since the whole matter had developed. Sabina was herself more thoughtful. Giles might indeed be wed; or a thoroughly unpleasant fellow, though his letter had sounded very like the young man she had known. Who knew what changes seven years had wrought?

“Now…we must think about Christmas, my dears.” Mrs. Burch had set aside her tea and drawn over her tambour frame. “Ianthe, do you find a pencil and paper, and we shall make some lists of all your favourite Christmas fare. We may be in mourning but, as I recall, your papa loved Christmas-tide and all its celebrations and it cannot be thought disrespectful to enjoy the season in his honour.”

Lord Lanfield,
It would be a great happiness to my sister and I to renew an acquaintance so long neglected. We shall be remaining in London for the foreseeable future, and most mornings will find us at home at No. 38, Portman Square. My grandmother, Mrs. Burch, directs me to invite your wife, as well, to call upon us. She remembers you with kindness.

When Lord Lanfield was announced a day later, Sabina rose on suddenly trembling knees and shook out her black muslin skirts. The jet necklace she wore felt cold round her neck. Outside the window, upon which now hung a wreath of holly, she was aware it was snowing. Ianthe, who had been practicing her scales at the pianoforte, was suddenly silent.

Giles was there then, bowing before her, just the same but yet older. He was not solemn at all but his dark eyes were alight with the old mischief. He was unaccompanied.

“I shall fetch Mrs. Burch,” the butler intoned, and withdrew, leaving the door open wide.

Sabina’s knees strengthened as Giles smiled at her, quirking his left brow in a well-remembered gesture.

“There is no Lady Lanfield,” he said, by way of greeting, not noticing Ianthe at all.

Sabina held out both of her hands in impulsive welcome. “Happy Christmas, Giles,” she said.