Winter Wedding Read Free Page A

Allingcote, Lady Lucker’s sister Peg, sent in an acceptance to the wedding invitation. She was to come with Marguerite, her eldest daughter, to arrive on the twenty-sixth of December. A few exceptions to the rule of a three-day visit were tolerated within the close family. A sister would be a useful creature to have around the house to share last-minute wedding preparations.
    The two ladies were once again in the library, working on a list. On this occasion they were endeavoring to juggle a list of rooms and expected guests, the latter far exceeding the former. “I didn’t realize Oglethorpe had so blasted many relatives,” Lady Lucker said. Clara, being one of those relatives, said nothing. “I am glad Peg is not bringing all her brood with her,” Lady Lucker continued. “Children are an infernal nuisance.”
    “Just the two Allingcotes then, your sister and Marguerite?” Clara asked. The name Ben had not crossed her lips since its first mention a week before, but it had often been in her mind. “They could share a room, could they not?”
    “I always give Peg the green suite. Maggie will take the dressing room, but I have no positive word on Ben. He was off visiting again. Peg forwarded his card somewhere or other. If he does not get it, she says he will be home for Christmas, and she will give him the message. She thinks he will come. He has had an invitation from Scotland, and is eager for an excuse to decline it.”
    Clara kept her head lowered, for she had a strong notion that her eyes were sparkling with pleasure.
    “See what she says: ‘Ben is looking for an excuse to evade the Scottish squab.’ That is Lady Gwen, poor thing. And she’s pigeon-chested, too. Really a regular little squab. But rich, of course. Very well to grass. So if Ben comes, that will take up the gold suite, and where do we put Oglethorpe’s Uncle Maximilian?”
    “Put him well away from the ladies, ma’am. Uncle Max is a pincher,” Clara warned her.
    “Is he indeed! And he a magistrate. If he is that sort of reprobate, I shall make him share a suite. He can share with Ben, and the two of them can help each other find out all the pretty girls. Much luck they’ll have. As I glance over this list, it strikes me there isn’t a single beauty coming. You may well find yourself the belle of the ball, Clara.”
    “If that is a compliment, ma’am, I thank you,” Clara said, laughing.
    “There is nothing amiss with your looks, Clara. So Max the pincher goes in with Ben. Ben must take the dressing room and sleep on a truckle bed. He will cut up stiff over that. He is a great cutup, but very fond of Prissie. I wonder what he will give her. Peg says she will wait till they get here to buy a present after she sees what Prissie wants. I wonder if we may expect two gifts, or if they’ll go snacks. Two, I shouldn’t doubt. They are both awfully fond of Prissie.”
    The talk turned to other guests, and no definite word was received of Allingcote’s coming. Clara was fully occupied during the ensuing days, overseeing the arrangement of cots and beds for the guests, getting mats ironed to cover scratched dresser tops in seldom-used rooms, and seeing to the airing of the beds.
    Through all this busy time, Prissie was treated like a duchess. She sat in state in the gold saloon, serving tea to callers, shopping endlessly, and thumbing through fashion magazines and home-furnishing catalogs.
    She never stirred a finger to help her mama and Clara prepare her party. She sighed wearily to be put to the bother of delivering an opinion on anything. Clara had to wonder at this blind spot in Lady Lucker’s makeup. She would squeeze some use out of any chance caller. Every resident within miles had some little function to fill, but Prissie just sat there, the cause of all the furor, looking pained at having to say “please” or “thank you,” and often neglecting even that.
    The days left little time to think of Lord Allingcote, but Clara thought