Free Joan Smith by The Kissing Bough Page A

get her shawl.
    She walked westward, toward the pond, but did not plan to join Nick and Aurelia. She had some deep thinking to do. Pelham’s offer of marriage had been offhand, hardly an offer at all, really; but his behavior since speaking indicated a certain seriousness. She felt sure she could have him if she showed the least interest. Life as Mrs. Vickers would be comfortable. Pelham was well off, well liked, and of good character, if a trifle lazy. He was not handsome, to be sure, but appearances were not really important. Like any woman, she wanted children to fill her life.
    She stopped to admire the holly, with its red berries peeping through the snow. Mistle thrushes were busily stripping the berries from the bough for their Christmas dinner. They were joined by a blackbird and a flock of hedge sparrows. She saw fox tracks in the snow and followed them. They led her toward the pond. She stopped behind a stand of blackthorn bushes, not wanting Nick and Aurelia to see her. She could not say why; perhaps it was her conscience nagging at her, because every fiber of her being wanted to spy on them.
    She caught a glimpse of Aurelia’s blue shawl through the bushes. Strangely, she wasn’t moving, but standing perfectly still. Jane peered around the bush and soon discovered the reason for it. She was in Nick’s arms, being embraced very thoroughly indeed. Jane felt a painful tightening in her breast. She turned and fled back to the house. If Pelham offered for her again, she would accept.
    Pelham, however, had fallen into a doze by the cozy grate. The reading material by his side was not the Book of Common Prayer but a hunting journal. He looked unappealing with his mouth open, emitting gentle snorts. She would cure him of these lazy habits after they were married. In the meanwhile, she went to ask Lady Elizabeth if there was anything she could do to help. Lizzie and Mrs. Lipton sat in Lizzie’s parlor, knitting.
    “You might run up and take a look in on Goderich, if you don’t mind, Jane. He was asking for you.”
    “I would be happy to.”
    Goderich was awake and happy to see her. “Ronald tells me it is Christmas,” he said. Of course, he meant Nick. “He looked gallant in his red jacket. It is good to have him home. I meant to go to church on Christmas. I think I could have made it. It don’t seem like Christmas without hearing the story.”
    “Why don’t I read the Christmas gospel to you?”
    “Ah, I would like that. Saint Luke, if you please. I could almost recite it with you. I have heard it three score and ten times. I daresay this will be the last.”
    “Nonsense, you will hear it again next year, and the next.” She read the time-honored phrases. She knew them nearly by heart herself. “At that time there went forth a decree from Caesar Augustus,” she began, and read the piece through in a clear, plain voice to the end. “Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of good will.” She set the book aside.
    When she looked up, there were tears in Goderich’s eyes. He brushed them away, smiling. “That was nice, my dear. Thank you. Ah, and who is this who has come to visit me? Your mama, I believe.”
    It was Emily Lipton who had appeared at the doorway, but she did bear a strong resemblance to her sister. “Willie Winston has just arrived, Jane,” she said. “I spotted him at church this morning. He was asking for you. If you want to go down and say hello, I shall sit with Lord Goderich for a while.”
    “You are spoiling me with all this attention,” Goderich said happily. “What do you say to a hand of cards, Lily?”
    Emily did not bother to correct him, but got out the cards and settled in for a boring hour of nonsense while Jane went to her room to freshen her toilette.
    Sir William Winston, Baronet, was a cousin of Nick’s, and not one to boast of either. He was a ne’er-do-well who, having squandered his own patrimony, moved about from one relative to another, seeking