Regency Christmas Gifts Read Free

“That is what I would like for Christmas this
year.”
    “ You wanted one last year, too, as I
recall,” Mary Ann said. She reached in her reticule and handed her
daughter a small tablet and a pencil. “Better draw it.”
    While Beth sketched the fur muff, Mary Ann
wandered next door to a lending library and bookstore. There it was
in the window: a copy of Emma , out only a year, cozied up
next to Guy Mannering, and the scandalous Glenarvon ,
by Lady Caroline Lamb, who dampened her petticoats to make them
cling and carried on a torrid romance with Lord Byron. Mary Ann had
learned a lot by listening to Lady Naismith’s low-brow
daughters.
    “ Mama? Is it to be a book for you
this Christmas?” Beth asked. She held out her drawing of the muff,
which Mary Ann tucked into her reticule.
    “ I believe so, dearest.” Mary Ann
pointed to Emma . “That one. I should find employment in a
bookstore. I could read a book overnight and return it the next
day, no one the wiser.”
    They laughed together at such nonsense. Mary
Ann drew the book cover and added it to Beth’s sketch in her
reticule.
    For good measure, Beth drew a pair of kid
gloves, dyed a gorgeous lavender, declaring, “I will give these to
you, Mama,” which meant that Mary Ann had to draw a darling chip
straw bonnet for Beth.
    They exchanged glances, and Mary Ann was glad
for the package that went astray, so they could have a half-day
like this in Plymouth. We need to do this more , she thought,
which yanked her back to earth and the reality that in a week she
would be unemployed, with empty hours on her hands.
    But now it was time to smile and hold out her
hand for Beth, so they could cross the busy road and find 34 Notte
Street.
    And there it was, a pastel-blue house, part of
a row of houses but nothing like their modest dwelling in Haven.
These were two-story symphonies in stone, probably built to mimic
Bath’s Crescent Row. Each bore a different pastel shade, with
shallow steps leading up to a door under an equally stylish
cornice.
    “ My stars,” Mary Ann said. “Perhaps
the S.M. stands for Stunningly Magnificent.” Her reward was a
giggle from Beth.
    They had found the house, but the issue became
which entrance to use. Beside the front steps ran a wrought-iron
fence, behind which were more steps leading down to the servant
entrance.
    “ We’re not servants or staff, but we
certainly weren’t invited and aren’t expected,” Mary Ann said,
eyeing the distance to the front door and a brass knocker. What
do I feel like today? she asked herself. A secretary in Lady
Naismith’s house, or a widow touring Plymouth with her
daughter?
    She decided she felt like a tourist. Maybe, on
that short trip from the street to the front door, she could
pretend it was her house. Those few seconds of dreaming would be
enough, even if the footman who answered the door shooed them
downstairs.
    Her hand in Beth’s, Mary Ann took her time
mounting the steps. Beth wanted to use the knocker, so Mary Ann let
her.
    An older woman opened the door. She was neat as
a pin, with a serviceable apron about her middle. Perhaps
Stunningly Magnificent Thomas Jenkins employed a housekeeper rather
than a butler or footman. Never mind , Mary Ann decided. He
was evidently wealthy and could be eccentric if he
chose.
    “ I am Mrs. Poole, and this is my
daughter, Elizabeth,” Mary Ann said. She held out the opened
package. “This was delivered to our address in Haven, but I’m not that Mrs. Poole.”
    She remembered to dip a small curtsey, hoping
the housekeeper would invite them in for a glimpse of grandeur
within, although it certainly wasn’t necessary. She did want that
five pence.
    She could see that the woman was mulling over
exactly that: whether to just take the package and thank them for
their honesty or usher them inside. As it turned out, Beth decided
the issue.
    “ I like your house,” she told the
woman, who started to smile.
    “ Between you and me, you’d get tired
of