Free Marian's Christmas Wish by Carla Kelly Page B

anything? It is so long and thick. And do you not
admire blue eyes? They are so much more interesting than brown. And you have
such a lively way about you.” Ariadne tilted her head to continue her perusal. “In
truth, you look a great deal like Mama, back before she took to her bed every
time the wind blew or anyone made demands. I would say you are pretty.” She
kissed Marian again. “Goose, what is it? Are you going to catch a husband so I
do not have to? Is that it? Too bad there is no one here for both of us!”
    Marian drew up her dignity. “You know I have no wish
ever to marry, and besides, my dear, you already have someone who loves you
amazingly. The matter simply must be brought to a head. I believe I will think
on it.”
    Ariadne smiled for the first time as she pulled Marian
to her feet. “Then go along with you and think! You were always better at that
than anyone in this disordered household, excepting Percy, of course.”
    “Of course,” agreed Marian, “although I cannot imagine
what maggot was in his head to bring us Sir William Clinghorn on a platter.”
    The mention of Sir William brought the frown back to
Ariadne’s face. “Oh, Marian, do apply yourself.”
    She applied herself all afternoon in her room, adding a
little more wood to the fire than she usually permitted herself, resting her
stockinged feet on the grate, and pulling her skirts up to her knees to catch
the little drafts of heat that billowed up.
    Think as she would, the matter of giving unsought
advice to the parish vicar was a tangle she could not resolve. For most of the
afternoon, she found herself thinking instead of Gilbert Ingraham.
    Such a life he had led. I have been no farther than
Lyme Regis on occasion, and once to London, she thought. And he has been to the
United States of America on a special mission, in a desperate sea battle,
shipwrecked and cast ashore on foreign soil. How blue his eyes are. And Percy
says he is an earl, and Mama says he is exalted, but he is ever so much fun,
and not at all stuffy. And he is tall and calm and rational and orderly and
entirely what I would imagine a diplomat to be.
    When the wood was ashes, she did not add another log.
Marian wrapped herself in her favorite blanket and lay down. I shall think
better this way, she thought as her eyes closed.
    The room was in shadow when she woke, but it was not
the shadow of night. She folded her arms across her stomach and listened. The
rain had stopped and there was the softest sound of snow falling. She threw
back the blanket and ran to the window.
    Snow cast its gray and white shadows all over Covenden
Hall. It fell straight and heavy, and covered the mud of the front drive,
turning the soggy ground into something magical. Marian closed her eyes and
listened. I can truly truly hear snow fall. I wonder if Ariadne knows that you
can hear snow? As she pulled on her shoes and tried to smooth the wrinkles from
her dress, she decided that it would not be a matter of interest to Ariadne.
    Marian’s stomach rumbled; she wondered what kind of
mood Cook was in. She tiptoed down the backstairs to the kitchen and looked
about her in satisfaction. The Christmas pudding, wrapped and rewrapped in
cheesecloth, steamed in its pudding pot. A tray of ginger cookies tempted
Marian. She took one and bit into it, uttering a little cry of delight.
    Cook shook a wooden spoon at her as she ate another and
then another.
    “Cook,” she asked, her mouth full, “will you make
toffee and marchpane?”
    “You know that I will,” assured Cook, and then glanced
about her. “Only do not tell Sir William Clinghorn. He would call it a fearful
extravagance.”
    Marian swallowed. “Whatever do you mean? Why should it
matter to him?”
    It was all the avenue Cook needed. “Such nerve I never
hope to see,” she exclaimed. “Who should walk up and down in here this
afternoon, like the devil in Job, peeking in pots and pans, looking in the pantry,
and all the time