Marian's Christmas Wish (24 page)

“You’re not going to cry again, are you?” Alistair
asked anxiously.

“No, silly! I’m too provoked,” she retorted, tears the
last thing on her mind. “Gilbert Ingraham is either the biggest cad who ever
tied a neckcloth, or he’s involved in something that we don’t understand.” She
remained in silence for several moments and then sniffed. “That veal does smell
better than I thought.”

“Ugh, Mare, it’s cold.”

“Well, I am hungry. If you can’t stand it, leave!”

He grinned and went to the door. Marian hurried to his
side and gave his arm
a
squeeze. He looked down at her
and his eyes were bright.

“Do stay by me through the next few days, Alistair,”
she whispered. “I need you.”

“I will. That’s what brothers are for,” he said with a
flourish that made her laugh.

She leaned against the door for
a
moment after he left. “Alistair,
there’s hope for you,” she said to the paneling before she seated herself
again, pushed aside the invitations, and pulled the dinner tray closer.

The veal was cold, but far from tasteless. Marian
chewed thoughtfully. It very well could be that I am grasping at straws or
trying to whistle down the wind, she told herself. Likely Gil has had this bee
in his bonnet for many years, and now has become a creature of action.

The more she ate, the greater grew her optimism. If he
did not care, he would never have kissed me like that, she considered. Her
face colored at the memory. And why would he ask me to trust him?

Marian finished the invitations several hours later,
when all the house was still. Tomorrow all the servants would be dispatched to
deliver them, and there would be such speculation in Bath. Hopeful mothers of
eligible daughters will glower and fret, and young ladies who nourished dreams
of their own about the peripatetic Earl of Collinwood will spend time in their
rooms and change their New Year’s resolutions. She shivered and came away from the
window. It may be that I must change mine, she thought.

Marian walked slowly up the stairs and into her room. A
welcoming fire glowed in the hearth. Gratefully she put her hands to it and
then remembered the earl’s note that she had pitched toward the wastebasket
that morning. On hands and knees, she rummaged under the dressing table until
she found it. She smoothed it out.

“Trust me.” The words leapt out at her. “Trust you,”
she said softly. “I shall, at least until I find out one way or another what
this all means.”

In the morning, Lady Ingraham uprooted Marian from the
breakfast table almost before she had slabbed marmalade on her last bite of
toast. “My dear, there is much to be done. I have sent all the servants out to
deliver invitations, so you and I will go belowstairs and polish silver.” She
peered closely at Marian. “I trust you do not mind?”

Marian smiled as she followed her to the door. “It is
what I am well-accustomed to at home, Lady Ingraham. Mama always swore that if
we could not be beautiful, we could be useful.”

“And whoever told you that you were not beautiful?”
Lady Ingraham teased in turn.

Marian paused in thought for a moment. “It is something
I never gave overmuch consideration.” She hesitated for another second and then
plunged ahead. “This lady
...”

“Lady Amanda?”

“Is she beautiful? I mean, do you know her?” Lady
Ingraham handed Marian a polishing rag. “I am acquainted with her. Her parents
are Derbyshire folk, and her father is quite active in the Prince Regent’s
circle of friends. Manda has been out several Seasons.” Lady Ingraham rubbed at
a large silver tea tray, her eyes on the distant wall. “There was some
speculation as to why she had not made an advantageous match before now, but I
do not know. Yes, she is beautiful, and accomplished. I suppose you would think
that Amanda Calne had been grooming herself for years to become a diplomat’s
wife.” She rubbed the tea tray harder, and a tiny frown appeared between her
eyes. “And yet . . .”

Marian remained silent, thinking, Only a week ago I
would have pressed and pleaded and jumped about for her to keep talking. I
shall be silent and see what I learn.

“And yet,” Lady Ingraham repeated, “I cannot quite put
my finger on her appeal to Gilbert.” The tray forgotten, she sat in silence a
moment, and then smiled at Marian. “How I carry on! I am pleased, though. Be
sure of that. Gilbert danced to her tune a few years back.”

“And nothing came of it then?” Marian interjected
softly, not wishing to upset Lady Ingraham’s flow of thought.

“No,” Lady Ingraham said decisively. “He flirted and
teased.” She laughed. “And did it with a certain dogged determination, as I
recall, rather like he was told to . . .” Her voice trailed off, and the tiny
frown reappeared.

Lady Ingraham made no further attempt to explain
herself, and Marian stored it up as food for thought, something to chew on
later in bed that night when she could not sleep. She rubbed a silver creamer
vigorously.

“Are you waiting for a jinni to pop out, Mare, and
offer you three wishes?” Alistair spoke from the doorway. He was draped in the
brown garment that was St. Stephen’s undergraduate robe. He twirled around to
his sister’s amusement, crossed himself, and then sank to one knee in front of
her.

Marian gave him a push and he toppled over. “Alistair,
the next thing we know you will be in Holy Orders.”

He grimaced and righted himself, sitting in front of
her on the floor as Lady Ingraham looked on in appreciation. “It is a wonder
anyone goes to St. Stephen’s,” he said.

“I assure you, Alistair, that parents think it is
heaven on earth,” Lady Ingraham assured him. “Marian, shall we wager that in
twenty years or so, Alistair might look with a kindly eye on morning oatmeal,
Greek on hard benches, and bedtime at nine of the clock?” She laughed as
Alistair groaned and flopped on the floor again.

He raised himself up on one elbow. “Just for that,
Marian and Lady Ingraham, you may rub and rub on that creamer, and no jinni
will even grudge you one wish.” He sighed as they laughed, and then he
hurriedly left the room when Marian tossed him a polishing towel.

Lady Ingraham retrieved the cloth. “Gilbert was telling
me of your Christmas wishes. Did yours come true, my dear?”

She nodded. “Oh, indeed! I wished that your son would
have the best Christmas ever, and see how it has come true for him.”

“I wonder, has Gilbert’s come true?” his mother asked.

“I do not know,” Marian said. “Perhaps he will tell us
. . . when he returns.”

There was no word from Lord Ingraham the next day, or
the next. Acceptances to the New Year’s Eve reception poured in, as well as
morning callers who came and sat and drank tea and tried to pry information
from Lady Ingraham. Between visitors and tradesmen and quartet rehearsals,
Marian made a quick trip to Mme Bresson’s for a final fitting on the blue dress
that Lady Ingraham had commissioned. It arrived early on the morning of New
Year’s Eve, wrapped in tissue paper. Marian sighed over it briefly, smelling
the new material, touching the beautiful sleeves, and ran it upstairs to her
room before hurrying back to the ballroom to hang the ivy.

She was perched atop the ladder under the chandelier,
attempting to drape the ivy strands in an artful fashion, when she heard
footsteps below. She sat on the ladder, chin in hands. “Washburn, what do you
think?” she asked, not bothering to look down.

“A little more to the left.”

Lord Ingraham stood below her. How long he had been
watching her, Marian had no way of knowing. He reached out his hand to steady
the ladder.

“Tell me, Marian, is there not a servant in this house
who will climb this ladder, or do you long for further adventure?”

She looked down then, hoping for a moment that he would
have changed somehow, and would not look so good to her. She hoped, that after
five days, she would find him not at all to her taste and leave her chuckling
over what she could possibly have seen in him.

She was doomed to disappointment. Marian gazed down at
Gilbert Ingraham from her perch, marveling that he could have improved so much
in such a short time. She said nothing, and began to descend the ladder. The
suspicion grew in her that love of Lady Amanda Calne had ripened Gilbert
Ingraham. She looked at him out of lowered eyelids, noting with a chill on her
heart that he looked so calm and content, much like a cat sleeping in the sun.

“Honestly, brat, I wish you would leave ladders to
others,” he scolded as she reached the bottom rung. “How would it look if you
returned to Picton in three pieces in an egg basket? I fear Percy would not be
pleased, and Lord knows, he is long-suffering.”

That was her answer. There was nothing loverlike in his
voice or his demeanor. This was not the man who had kissed her with such
abandon under the mistletoe. For all she knew, she had dreamed the whole event.
A chill spread throughout her body, and she shivered.

“I am quite surefooted,” Marian said, matching him calm
for calm as she prayed he would not keep her long. To her intense irritation,
Lord Ingraham continued to regard her, standing too close, saying nothing else.

What are you waiting for? she thought as she took a
step back. Are you waiting in anticipation that I will utter some flippant
remark, make some outrageous comment? I hope to God I am finally growing up,
she thought as she forced a smile to her face and held out her hand.

“I want to wish you happy, Gil,” she said, her voice
softer than she would have liked, but unable to muster any volume.

He took her hand, and his look of calm contentment
deepened until she wanted to cry out. “Thank you, my dear. Coming from you,
that means a great deal to me.” He shook her hand and
let it go. “I expect we will
be very happy. Only think how much of this I owe to you and Alistair.”

“Yes; only think,” she echoed, and put her hands behind
her back, feeling suddenly very young and very foolish. She wanted to leave the
room the quickest way possible, but the door to the ballroom looked miles and
miles away.

And then a woman was standing there, a tall woman
dressed in a traveling cloak trimmed with white fur. Marian sucked in her
breath in spite of herself, and Lord Ingraham looked around. He smiled, took
Marian by the hand, and walked quickly toward the woman.

“Manda,” he called out, “here is someone I especially
wish to make known to you.”

Marian found herself face to face with the most
beautiful woman she had ever seen. She had all the perfection of a pattern
card, with eyes of an impossible shade of blue and ash-blond hair with not a
strand out of place. Her lips seemed to curve in a natural smile as she extended
both hands.

“Gilbert,” she said, and her voice was as soft as dove
down. “You did not tell me she was such a pretty little thing. Oh, dear, are
you Marian Wynswich?”

Marian could only nod, stunned, as Amanda Calne
gathered her close in a gentle embrace and brushed the air by her ear with a
kiss.

“My darling Gilbert tells me that I have you to thank
for this wonderful turn of events,” she said, her voice tinkling bells, little
notes that graced the ballroom like summer fireflies. “He told me how you and your
delightful brother brought him here and put some heart into him. See the
results?”

She extended a hand, shapely and white, and Marian
gaped at the diamond on her finger. Marian stared in stupefied silence at the
ring as Lady Amanda grasped Lord Ingraham’s arm and rested her cheek against
him. “The silly boy just insisted! I tried to tell him it was too much, but,
Marian, he said nothing was too much for me.”

“I am sure he did,” Marian managed to say. The room was
beginning to dip and whirl as though the evening’s entertainment had already
begun. She took another step nearer the door, acutely aware of what an elegant
couple they made as they stood so close together.

As she edged closer to the door, Lord Ingraham put out
his hand to hold her there. “Don’t go.” he said. “Mama tells me we have you to
thank for the invitations and the decorations. She says you even managed the
cook this morning when Francois was all of a twitter because he could find no
pheasant.”

“Tell us, my dear, tell us,” Lady Amanda chimed in. “I
love a funny story, don’t I,
Gilbert?”