"And the pillows you made and the sandwiches that always come with the coffee and whatever it is you do to make Colin's shirts smell good…"
"I tuck clove and sandalwood sachets in his linen drawer," Gillian answered.
"That's nice, too."
"Thank you, again." Gillian smiled.
Jarrod nodded toward the pillow. "Sewing a design like that probably takes a long time, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Gillian answered. "When you're first learning it takes quite a bit of time to do it right, but once you master the stitches, the degree of difficulty depends on the detail of the design."
"Why do you do it?" Jarrod asked. "When it isn't necessary?"
"It's a way of showing I care," she said. "My mother calls them 'loving touches' — all these little extra things we do to make our houses and the people we care about more comfortable."
Her mother. Jarrod often forgot that his friends had mothers who cared about them. He had been without one so long. And had never had one who cared about him. It seemed impossible that a good many people still did.
Gillian smiled at Colin as she continued her explanation. "When Colin puts on his shirts and smells the sachets, it's a reminder that I love him and care about his comfort. When guests enter our home and see vases of flowers, they know I love my husband and home enough to welcome our friends."
Jarrod closed his eyes and groaned. "Christ!" He thought back to all the times Sarah had followed him around the grounds at Shepherdston Hall, all the times she'd tagged after him between the village and Shepherdston Hall, when she'd bring him a lunch or share hers with him. How she'd always offer him a biscuit or a piece of gingerbread and how she gifted him with sticks of peppermint and carefully embroidered handkerchiefs bearing his initials or family motto or tiny stitched replicas of his family crest every Boxing Day.
He had taken the tokens for granted, considering them the gifts of a girl trying to curry favor. When all the time, she was trying to show him how much she cared in the only way she could.
And in all the time he'd known her, Jarrod had never once given her anything in return.
"What is it, Jarrod?" Colin asked.
"She did love me," he replied in wonder.
"Your mother?"
"No." Jarrod shook his head. "Sarah."
"Of course she loves you," Gillian said. "One has only to look at her when you're in the room to see it."
"She did love me," Jarrod repeated, "but I'm afraid I killed it."
"How?" Colin demanded.
"By always taking," Jarrod said. "And never trusting her enough to give her my heart." He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands. "I've never given her a thing."
"Then it's time you began," Griffin said from the doorway. "And you'll be getting a very early start on a very busy day, Lord Shepherdston, unless Dunbridge has withdrawn his challenge and gifted you with a couple of hours of additional sleep…"
"He hasn't," Colin replied.
Griff shook his head. "Then you have a duel at dawn." He turned to Jarrod. "Since we haven't heard from Dunbridge's seconds, I'll supply the dueling pieces. I know you dislike firearms, but the choice is ours and you're an excellent shot. Dunbridge isn't." He held up his hand when Jarrod would have interrupted. "Take it from me, sword cuts hurt like the very devil and take forever to heal. You have a better chance of surviving unharmed with a pistol, and it goes without saying that we want you unharmed for myriad reasons, including the fact that you've a breakfast at White's, a meeting at Whitehall at eight, a meeting with the archbishop of Canterbury at nine, and a great deal of shopping to do."
"Shopping?"
Griffin nodded. "You love the girl, don't you?" Jarrod looked bewildered.
"Is the world a better place when you're with her?" Griffin asked.
"Do you find yourself laughing and smiling and thinking of things you'd like to tell her at the oddest moments?" Colin added.
"Does she make you feel there's nothing in the world you can't accomplish if you put your mind to it?" Griffin asked. "Even when you're trembling in your boots at the idea of attempting it?"
Colin reached for Gillian's hand and squeezed it. "Do you find yourself looking forward to evenings at home alone with her? Or thinking about the sexes and names of your unborn children? Can you envision your life without her?"