Mariel Read Free

choice.
    Her frustration with the situation fueled her rage with the new parson’s impertinent assumption that she gladly would set aside time in her day for him. She smiled wickedly. There were ways of dealing with such problems. She had done it before. Reverend Beckwith-Carter might be surprised with the result of his presumption.
    Walking slowly across the beautifully trimmed lawns of the estate, the object of Mariel’s rage simply enjoyed the perfection around him. This lush garden did not resemble the crowded yards of London or even the green carpet of his family’s country home. Established here at the time of the birth of the Church of England, it had become one with its surroundings, like the Cloister itself.
    He admired the lines of the house, trying to ignore the scorch marks on the stones. Stained glass twinkled at him in the sunshine. Three floors high, the building had weathered over time to match the color of the sea on a cloudy day.
    Steps led up from the drive to a pair of plain-looking doors. A servant opened one as the new minister approached it. Curiosity emanated from his elderly face as he asked, “Did you find her, Reverend?”
    â€œYes, thank you.” He stepped into the foyer, noting what he had seen before. A thick, oak banister wove its way up the stairs to showcase an intricate window on a landing. From the first floor, he could not determine its exact pattern, but he suspected it was a depiction of the family crest. “Will you direct me to the front parlor? Lady Mariel asked me to meet her there.”
    The butler could not hide his shock. “Are you sure you understood her correctly?”
    Ian laughed shortly. He did not need to tell the impeccably dressed man that he had been forewarned by many about the headstrong Lady Mariel Wythe. Those who had spoken to him had exaggerated neither her stubborn nature nor her incredible beauty. He did not intend to let her waylay him from doing the work he had come here to do.
    â€œThe front parlor she said,” he answered.
    Dodsley, the butler, nodded. He appreciated the parson intentionally misunderstanding him . It would not be proper to show that Lady Mariel seldom bound herself to such normal conventions of behavior. “Please follow me, sir.”
    The room to which he led the auburn-haired man was warm with spring sunshine. After the butler said he would see to the tea tray, Ian sat on a green upholstered sofa. He glanced at the fine collection of antiques. Some of the pieces looked as if they had been purchased at the time the house was built. Heavy with wood and dark with age, they clustered in the corners of the huge room. Near the center, where he sat, the furniture was of a more current style, with horsehair upholstery and carved rosewood arms and legs. To one side, a huge piano waited with its keyboard exposed. He smiled as he noted it had not been draped to hide its legs, as society dictated was proper. He should have guessed Lady Mariel’s family would not accept such prudish practices. From her outspoken reaction at their meeting, he was sure that she did exactly as she wished.
    The musical instrument sat beneath a portrait of a woman dressed in the Elizabethan style. Her coloring matched Lady Mariel’s enough for him to guess this must be some distant ancestress of hers. He dismissed the portrait as he glanced at the ceiling. A plaster ceiling medallion was surrounded by designs he could see needed refurbishing. Like the weathered stone on the outside of the Cloister, the interior showed signs of its many centuries. He rose politely as Lady Mariel Wythe entered the room accompanied by another woman and, surprisingly, an enthusiastic spaniel. He ignored the black and brown dappled dog as he regarded his hostess. Although his face remained serene, he was shocked by the transformation. The dirty-faced scamp had become the archetype of a titled lady in this sixtieth year of Queen Victoria’s