Marian's Christmas Wish (13 page)

The stableboy looked at the earl in admiration. “Coo,
my lord, you should have been a Wynswich.”

The earl finally regained a semblance of control over
himself. “No, not that,” he declared. “I haven’t the stamina for it.”

“Was that your note this morning to Percy?” Marian
asked.

Ingraham nodded. “Wrote it with my left hand and made
it properly lawyerish.”

“And when he returns and wonders what is going on?
What, then?” she accused.

“What’s the trouble, Mare?” Alistair asked. “Are you
jealous because you’ve finally met your match?” He cast another admiring look
at Lord Ingraham. “No one likes to be shown up, sir,” he explained generously. “She’ll
come about soon enough.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” He looked at his watch. “And
soon your excellent vicar will be here to await Ariadne’s return and ask Percy
for permission to become leg-shackled.”

“And that was your doing too, wasn’t it?” asked Marian,
in better charity with the Earl of Collinwood.

“I only had to remind him last night that if he wanted
something, really wanted it, he would have to forge ahead.” He sat on the
railing. “Of course, this means you will likely lose Covenden Hall. I couldn’t
arrange a sudden legacy for the vicar, and truth to tell, I don’t think he
would have allowed it anyway.”

Marian smiled. “He would not. I would rather lose
Covenden Hall a hundred times over and see Ariadne happily married.”

“But where will you go, dear lady?” he asked.

She shrugged and stood up, looking him straight in the
eye. “I refuse to worry about that eventuality until after Christmas.”

They remained in the old part of the house until they
heard the front door slam and saw Sir William ride past the window in the gig.

The stableboy gave a low whistle. “Gor, he still looks
like a fire-breather.” He poked Alistair. “But you should have seen him when he
came in that room. I was curled up on the daybed, and he didn’t even see me. He
commences nosing about, and even fingering the curtains. And then I moans and
groans, and he nearly did himself an injury.”

Even Marian had to giggle.

Suddenly the earl put out his hand. “Listen! Is Sir
William returning?”

All eyes turned to the windows downstairs. Instead of
the gig, it was the family carriage, that shabby reminder of higher tides with
the Wynswiches.

Alistair looked at Gilbert. “My lord, it would appear
that they are back—rather sooner than we expected.”

Ingraham nodded. “And I would wager, my young friend,
that our spurned suitor may have exchanged a few words with his host on the
road.”

Alistair began to back carefully and slowly down the
hall.

“Come, come,” admonished the earl lightly. “You were so
brave with your mad uncle.”

“Ah, my lord, but this will be my mad brother. Daniel,
let us choose discretion a considerable distance beyond valor and test out the
backstairs.”

They were gone in a clatter and a clank of chains.

Marian retreated toward Lord Ingraham and reached for
his hand, which he promptly provided. “Your hand is so warm,” she exclaimed. “One
would think you are used to dissembling on a daily basis, to be so calm.”

“Perhaps I am more used to it than you think,” he
replied quixotically. “But come, come. Let us face the wrath. I will not desert
you,” he said, and added a rider, “particularly since you are less deserving of
his wrath than usual, in this instance.”

“Oh, I like that,” she said, but did not let go of his
hand as they went quietly down the stairs and back into the newer part of the
house.

They arrived in the main hall at the same instant
Percy, eyes blazing, face red, slapping his gloves from one hand to another,
stomped in the front entrance. Marian stood rooted to the spot. All of the earl’s
urgings could not propel her forward.

“There you are, you wretched sister,” Percy roared, his
mother and sister right behind him. “Let me remind you that you are not too old
to strop.”

Marian, eyes wide, stood speechless. Then the library
door opened and the Reverend Sam Beddoe stood before the assembly.

Marian sniffed. She knew that Lord Ingraham did not
smell of Christmas wassail. She leaned closer to Sam. The fumes were rising
from the vicar, who listed at an angle in the library doorway, his hand tucked
in his shirt front like Napoleon.

“Sir! You cannot speak that way of the sister of the
woman
I
adore. After all, you blaggard, these are modern times.
You touch one hair of Marian’s or Ariadne’s head, and I, sir, I personally will
call you out.”

Triumphant and pint-brave, the vicar took another look
around at the openmouthed inmates of the hallway. He shook his list at Percy
Wynswich, an act that set him off-balance. He teetered for a moment on one leg,
smiled a benevolent smile on these misguided members of his flock, and pitched
faceforward onto the carpet.

No one moved. In another moment, the vicar belched and
began to snore.

Ariadne shrieked and threw herself on the floor beside
the vicar. Lady Wynswich swooned into her son’s arms. Marian looked at Lord
Ingraham, who bowed to her and held out his arm.

“My dear, let us retire to the library for a moment. I
feel sadly inadequate to this occasion. Do close your mouth, Marian. You look
like a grouper.”

There was no question of a retreat to the library, no
matter how welcome the idea. Ariadne sat on the floor, her arms clasped around
the vicar. Her eyes entreated her sister. “Marian, what can be the matter? Tell
me he is not ill?”

“He is not ill,” said Marian, on her knees beside the
vicar, who continued to snore. “He is merely
...”
She leaned toward her sister and whispered in her ear.

“He would never,” declared Ariadne, clasping her
beloved parson to her bosom.

“I think that under the circumstances, he would,” Lord
Ingraham added. “My dear, consider the strain he has been under.”

“Well, perhaps you are right,” Ariadne said
reluctantly. She sniffed the air. “And he does smell like Papa used to.”

“Sister,” admonished Percy, who was rubbing his mother’s
wrists.

“Well, he does,” she said with more spirit than Marian
could remember hearing before.

Ariadne turned her attention to the earl, who knelt
beside Marian. “My lord, what should we do?”

“Allow me to shoulder this man and take him down to the
kitchen.” Lord Ingraham leaned toward Marian. “Do you feel Cook can stand the
excitement? The vicar will profit, I feel, from liberal infusions of black
coffee, the blacker the better.”

When no one disagreed, the earl picked up the vicar and
balanced him over his shoulder like a meal bag.

Sam roused himself long enough to protest, then sighed
and returned, upside down, to the generous embrace of Morpheus.

Percy was having better success with his mother. A pass
of the vinaigrette under her nose brought her around in time to see Lord
Ingraham start down the passageway with the parish good example dangling down
his back. “How very odd,” was all she said.

“Odd, indeed,” echoed Percy, his voice more grim. He
helped his mother to her feet. “I trust you have ample explanation. Marian. Sir
William held us up at the Picton crossing to tell an incredible story of a mad
uncle, and chains clanking, and something about the Wynswich secret. I never
would have believed it, except that he came from Covenden Hall, and we left you
in charge.”

Percy was in no mood for disagreement, but the spark of
injustice flared in Marian’s bosom. “Percy, I am innocent,” she declared in a
loud, clear voice, her head high. A crack of laughter from Lord Ingraham as he
descended the stairs dampened her protestation. “Well, I am, Lord Ingraham,”
she flared, and chased after him. “And you are perfectly beastly to tease me.”

“Marian, remember yourself,” Percy said in failing
tones. “You are addressing the Earl of Collinwood.”

“Earl, indeed!” Marian snorted as she followed Ingraham
down to the kitchen, Ariadne close at her heels. “You’re not to be trusted,
Gil, even if you were a tinker.”

“No more are you. What a pair we make. Come, Marian.
Summon your persuasive resources and beg Cook for coffee.”

In a few moments, all the Wynswiches sat at the kitchen
table as Ingraham propped the vicar into a chair, took off his already drooping
collar, straightened his blouse, and roused him sufficiently to down two cups
of coffee.

Sam Beddoe shuddered and sat up. He put his hand to his
head and patted it gingerly, carefully, as if it were two sizes too large. With
considerable effort, he looked about him, taking in the Wynswiches, Lord
Ingraham, and Cook, who watched him, all with varying degrees of interest on
their faces.

His eyes looked upon Ariadne, and her quiet beauty
seemed to fill him with the resolve that he needed even more than the coffee.
He rose to his feet, wobbled there a moment, and then placed a hand on Ariadne’s
shoulder. He cleared his throat, and his eyes went momentarily blank.

Lord Ingraham cleared his throat, too. and recalled the
vicar to his duty.

“Sir Percy. I wish your permission to offer for
Ariadne.” Percy opened his mouth to speak, and the vicar waved him to silence.

“I’ll have no disagreement, sir. Where, you ask, is my
fortune?” He slapped his chest dramatically and nearly toppled. “Sir, it is in
my heart. My love for your sister is worth more than rubies.”

Percy tried again, and again the vicar, warming to his
topic, dismissed him.

“What, you ask, is my future?” His hand went gingerly
to his head again. “Sir, it is my brains. I mean to be Archbishop of Canterbury
one day.”

Marian sighed in perfect delight. Lord Ingraham rested
his hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him in surprise, but the earl appeared
to have his whole attention on the drama playing in front of his eyes. He ran
his thumb softly against the junction of her jaw and the motion was soothing,
soporific even, with just an edge of pleasure that she felt down to her toes.
She inclined her head toward his hand, enjoying that same sensation she
remembered from last night on the stairs, and hoping that he would not become
suddenly aware of what he was doing and stop.

“But. Vicar, I—” Percy attempted, and got no farther.

“Nay, sir, say nothing. I may appear to have no
prospects, but, sir, Ariadne will not starve.”

“I should hope not.” said Lady Wynswich. “Now, if you
were required to feed Marian, this would be a different matter.”

Marian felt rather than heard the earl’s chuckle. “Shh,”
she said softly and reached up to touch his hand.

The silence around the table was broken at last by
Percy. “My dear Reverend Beddoe, we had rather hoped for more than that.”

Sam’s head went up. He struggled for a moment against
the fumes of last night’s wassail, and then the natural dignity that was his
alone took over. “I know, my lord. I will open my home to Lady Wynswich and
Marian, too. I wish that I had the means to keep Covenden Hall in the family,
but I do not.” He paused, less sure of himself, until Ariadne patted his arm.
He looked down at her and his courage returned. “Sir, there will be no shortage
of love for Ariadne. If this counts for anything, then there will be no
wealthier family in all of Devon than that of the vicar and his wife and
children.”

“Bravo,” said Ingraham softly.

No one heard him except Marian. All eyes were on Percy.
With a slight smile on his face, Percy motioned the vicar to sit down. “Vicar,
may I speak now?”

Sam nodded, his eyes stricken, his face reddening.

“On our way to Lyme Regis this morning, Ariadne assured
me that she would marry no one but you. She became quite insistent.”

Marian gasped and reached for her sister. “Ariadne! You
are a great gun, after all.”

Ariadne twinkled her eyes at her little sister. “Mare,
you’re not the only one in the family with a backbone.” Her glance lingered
next on the vicar. “Someone must keep this man sober for Sunday sermons and
parish visits.”

It was as close to a joke as Ariadne had ever come
before. She blushed and hid her face in the vicar’s shoulder.

“I have something to say about this matter,” Lady
Wynswich said.

The room grew silent again. With a frown on his face,
Percy took his mother’s vinaigrette out of his pocket and placed it on the
table. She snorted and pushed it away.

“No one has consulted me on this affair,” she said,
with a pointed look at Ariadne, “but I will tell you this.” Everyone leaned
forward, including Cook. “I do not think Sir William would have suited us
precisely. And, after all, we could not depend on Napoleon making threatening
noises on Elba and keeping our diplomats far from home, now, could we? At some
future date, we might have been forced to deal with him here in Covenden Hall,
and that would have been too, too bad.”

After a moment of amazed silence, Percy burst into
laughter. “Mama, Mama, you’re—”

“A great gun, too?” she said. “Of course I am.” She got
to her feet, and the others rose, too. “Come, Ariadne. Only think of all the
plans we have to make. There’s nothing quite like a wedding to take one’s mind
off eviction.”

Percy groaned. “Mama, you have such a way with words.”
He directed his attention to the vicar, whose eyelids were beginning to droop
even as he struggled to stay awake. “Vicar, I believe that we have an empty
guest room now. I recommend that you repair there for a nap.”

“Allow me,” said Lord Ingraham, offering his arm to the
vicar. ‘Twill see you safely there.” He looked at Cook. “And if Cook will
permit, I will mix you something that will help.”

“Really?” asked the vicar, “Immeasurably. Come, sir.”

“Excellent,” Percy said, rubbing his hands together. “And
let us all convene in the old hall when it is dark. I think I want to light the
Yule log early this year.”

Marian clapped her hands. “Percy!”

He leaned across the table and kissed her on the
forehead. “I am a great gun, too, sister. I believe we have something to
celebrate, and it needn’t wait for Christmas Eve.” He waggled a finger at her. “But
do locate Alistair for me. I am all eagerness to find out more about the
Wynswich secret.”

Ingraham bowed. “You can lay a considerable portion of
the blame for that at my door, Percy.”

Percy returned the bow. “I fear this disordered
household
has
ruined you,
my lord.”

“I am certain of it, too. We will speak of this later.
Percy. Marian. Your servant.”

The others left the kitchen, but Marian remained, idly
toying with the strengthening beef broth which Cook set before her.
She
sipped it thoughtfully, with
less than her usual gusto, wondering about Ariadne. Just when we think we know
somebody, they do something altogether surprising, she told herself. It must be
that love has made Ariadne bold. There must be a lesson in this.

Marian considered for a moment the very real prospect
of eviction, and then discarded it. The vicar said he would open his home to
them. She looked about her in the low-ceilinged kitchen, close and cozy with
the cooking smells of centuries. I shall miss Covenden Hall, she thought, but
the fact gave her no start or pang. It would be enough that Ariadne would be
happy.

She wandered out to the stables and looked in on Mama
Cat and kittens. Alistair or the stableboy had restored Solomon to his perch in
her workshop. He sat, eyes unblinking, uttering only an occasional who-who, as
if in apology for his unseemly part in that morning’s activities. His
condescension complete, Solomon even permitted her to touch his feathers and
feed him a mouse.

Marian strolled slowly through the stables, talking to
her father’s horses. Her mother would likely fetch a good price for them, if
she could hold on until spring, when outdoor interests waxed again and sporting
men took to the fields with their hounds. She sighed. Alistair would convince
Percy to let him go to sea, and Percy would return soon to his diplomatic
duties. Marian leaned on the loose box holding the gelding Lord Ingraham said
he would purchase. And he will take you to America.

The thought filled her with a sudden rush of sadness.
The empty feeling nearly took her breath away. Tears welled in her eyes and she
blinked them back. What a goose I am, she thought. I don’t even care for
horses. What can be the matter? I should be so happy.

But she was not. She had rarely felt more miserable. I
am not hungry, she thought as she closed the stable door behind her and picked
her way across the slushy yard. It must be that I am tired.

Covenden Hall appeared deserted. She went quietly up
the stairs, grateful that no one was about. She passed the second-best guest
room and paused for a moment with her ear to the door. Sam Beddoe snored long
and loud within.

The door opened suddenly and she nearly fell in. Lord
Ingraham reached out to steady her. Marian looked beyond his hand on her arm to
the vicar, sprawled out on the bed.

“Gil, do you think he stayed up all night after we
left, drinking his Christmas punch?” she whispered.

“I think it very likely, Marian,” he whispered back. “It
must take a great deal of courage to propose.”

“Surely it is not such a difficult thing. Surely you
must have proposed to dozens of women.”

He drew back in surprise. “Madam, I am not a Turk.”

Marian smiled up at him. “But did you not say last
night that the vicar wished you happy?”