December 22nd, 1890 — Crawford Home

Samuel had debated a thousand different ways to do this - some dramatic flaire, something bouyant and showy - but that didn't seem right, not until at least he was sure of the outcome. He wasn't sure he could take another rejection, and he wouldn't put Hope in a position where she might be subject to ridicule or gossip should her inclinations take her another path. He had planned something for afterwards! A sleigh ride in the park, and a dinner - should all go well. The week before, at dinner, he had spoken with her father already, a quiet word asking if he would not out and out forbid such a pairing. He had shaken Samuels hand and said that the decision was Hope's* - that was something at least.

What a tumult of a year, and now at it's close he had the prospect of something good in his future. Someone good.

There wasn't a formal invite for this evening, although by the expression on Mrs. Crawfords face when she showed him into the sitting room and quickly departed she probably suspected why Mister St.John-Black had arrived unannounced, top hat in hand, fidgeting with the rim of his black satin rim, and gloveless on a snowy winters evening.

Samuel could not help but pace, as he waited for Miss Crawford to see him - if she would see him. The box in the pocket of his coat felt like it weighed a ton.

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