Marian's Christmas Wish Read Free Page A

cat and clean it up. I will send
up some food for it, too.”
    Alistair felt himself on more sure ground. “Mare, are
you never going to outgrow your tendre for strays and waifs?”
    She fixed him with a glare that made perspiration break
out on his upper lip. “Alistair! Don’t try me! Now take yourself up the back
stairs, and for the Lord’s sake, don’t show yourself. Billings will fetch your
valise.”
    Marian took off her apron, wrapped the cat in it, and
handed the bundle to her brother, who kissed her on the cheek and darted out of
the room. In a moment she heard him on the backstairs, whistling to himself.
She groaned and rolled her eyes. “We got past the worst interview, didn’t we,
Alistair?” she said out loud. “Mama you can wrap around your little finger, and
you will depend upon me to carry you through an interview with Percy.”
    She went to the window and pressed her nose against the
glass. The action teased a smile to her lips. When she was a little girl and
did that, Papa would rush outside and press his face against t he glass and kiss her through
the pane.
    “Dear, foolish Papa,” she said softly, her lips still
against the glass. “Why did you leave me the burden of this whole family?”
    Percy had no idea of the state of affairs at Covenden
Hall. As much as she now dreaded his arrival, and what it might mean id Ariadne and Alistair, she longed for it. She yearned to
cut away some of the weight she bore and pitch it onto his shoulders for a
change. The treaty talks could go hang, for all she cared. “It is high time
those Americans quit brangling and wrangling and you came home, Percy,” she
told the window.
    She rested her cheek against the glass and closed her
eyes. “Oh, Papa, I am weary of being the only sensible person in this entire
household. It’s not fair.”
    The bookroom was cold, and the chill finally penetrated
through her dress. She went into the hall, standing still as Hillings passed
her carrying Alistair’s valise.
    “The second-best guest room, ma’am?” he asked.
    She nodded and wondered only a second how it was that
the servants knew entirely what was going on. “And not a word to Lady Wynswich,
mind.”
    “Oh, no, miss,” he replied. “Cook has already started
on Alistair’s favorite dinner. I’ll see that he gets it.”
    She waved him on, marveling how the world loved rascals
so, while the virtuous were only put upon. I shall ask the vicar to compose a
sermon on the topic, she thought as she approached the parlor. That is, if his
wits have returned in any quantity at all. Ariadne simply must bring him up to
scratch so we can have good sermons again, sermons where he doesn’t stammer and
blush, track back upon himself, and stare continually at Ariadne.
    The object of her thoughts stood at the parlor door,
bidding farewell to Ariadne. He had possessed himself of his greatcoat and hat
again, but he had not yet freed himself from Ariadne’s handclasp. Marian
watched them a moment and resolved anew never to fall in love. I have not the
temperament for it, she decided as Sam finally let go and turned like a blind
man toward the front door. Marian hurried to open it for him so he did not
tumble into the frame.
    After seeing her love safely out the door, Ariadne
began a meditative progress toward her room.
    Marian took her by the hand. “My dear, did you suggest
to Sam that he approach Percy, and soon?”
    Marian’s words had the effect of cold water flung
without warning. Ariadne’s chin came up. “Marian, it is almost Christmas, and
that subject will be a sore one to Percy. Why must you be so practical-minded?”
    “Because someone must, Ariadne dear,” Marian began, and
then stopped. The one who needed stiffening was the vicar. Likely this would
fall her task, too. She sighed and hugged her older sister. “It’s just that
there must be some strategy, my dear. Christmas may come and go, and you might
find yourself pitchforked into an engagement entirely