Marian's Christmas Wish (25 page)

He smiled and kissed the end of her nose.

“And you must tell me all about your delightful
animals, and how you nurse them to health,” Lady Amanda continued, warming to
her subject. “Such a clever child you are! Gilbert tells me that you read Greek
and Latin.”

Suddenly it was too much. A tiny spark somewhere in the
back of Marian’s brain leapt into a flame. She drew herself up. “Oh, I am
remarkably clever. Lady Amanda, but my little stories will simply have to wait.”
She smiled a brittle smile at Lord Ingraham. “I am certain that Lord Ingraham
will not leave you comfortless if I take myself off. He is such a gentleman.
There is much to do yet, and you simply must excuse me.”

Lady Amanda pouted and sighed. “I own I should feel
guilty. It was naughty of us to put you to so much trouble.” She looked about
her at the decorations. “How clever you are.” Lady Amanda detached herself from
her fiancé’s side and approached Marian. “Perhaps tonight, while I am dressing
for dinner, I will let you help me.”

“I am all eagerness,” replied Marian. “I only hope I am
equal to the treat in store for me.”

Lady Amanda’s eyes widened. “And, my dear, perhaps we
will allow you to come to the dinner and the reception.”

Lord Ingraham cleared his throat. “I believe we had
every intention of that, dearest.”

Lady Amanda turned the full force of her smile on her fiancé.
“But, my dear, she is not out yet.”

He started to say something, but Marian cut him off. “Don’t
give it another thought, Lady Amanda. I am sometimes allowed
out, particularly if I have
been very very good.” She twinkled her eyes at the earl as she wished him to
the devil. “And I have been ever so good. Excuse me, please.”

Without another word, Marian turned on her heel and
left the ballroom. As she started up the stairs, she heard Lady Ingraham
calling to her, but she ignored the woman, went into her room, and locked the
door, leaning against it. She was beyond tears, past all emotion except an
enormous sadness, greater than any she had ever known before.

That she had been played the fool, she had no doubt. It
only remained to get through the evening as she had promised, spout the pearl
necklace again, and be on the morning mail coach to Picton before anyone was awake.

Marian stayed where she was until her breathing
returned to normal. The lamp on the dressing table had been lit for her. Her
gaze rested on the earl’s note that she had rescued and so carefully smoothed
out. Without a word, she tore it into tiny bits of confetti. Gathering the
scraps in her hand, she opened the window and let them go. Her face devoid of
all expression, Marian watched the wind snatch them and scatter them up and
down the Royal Crescent.

She stood a moment longer at the open window, breathing
deep of the bracing air. She closed the window finally, but still stood where
she was, looking out. “I would sooner trust Napoleon himself than you, Gilbert
Ingraham.”

Marian remained at the window until the evening sky had
turned completely dark and the lamplighters had done their work. Lights gleamed
and danced like gems in a necklace, up and down the crescent. How beautiful it
all was. She closed her eyes to remember it better, knowing that in the morning
she would be away from this place. It only remained to get through this one
last night and then hurry home, where she could lick her wounds in peace and
quiet, like one of her animal foundlings.

The idea of going down to dinner was repugnant to her.
Marian sat down on the bed as shame washed over her. How could I have imagined
that Gilbert Ingraham had ever felt the smallest spark of interest in me? she
asked herself. Have I that much pride? “If you are so clever, Marian Wynswich,”
she scolded herself, “why were you so stupid?”

There was no answer. She knew it was time to dress for
dinner, but she did not move. I cannot sit at table and watch Amanda Calne and
Gilbert Ingraham make love to each other with their eyes. She felt the flush
grow on her chest and then rise up to meet her hairline. And what has he told
her about me? Have they laughed together about the silly little girl from Devon who fancied herself in love with a peer of the realm? Have I already become a family
joke?

Marian sobbed out loud and immediately put her hand to
her mouth. Have a little countenance, she told herself. But still she sat where
she was. The room grew darker as she drew herself into a ball and lay down. Her
eyes closed and she was asleep.

“Marian, I know you’re in there. Open up!”

She woke with a start, wondering for a moment where she
was.

“Marian!”

It was Lord Ingraham. He was speaking softly, as if he
were bending over the keyhole outside her door.

Marian put her hands together under her cheek and
listened to him, making not a sound herself, scarcely breathing. She wondered
at his audacity, and then wondered why he was whispering so furtively. This was
his house, was it not?

Go away, she thought, grateful that she had locked the
door, as Lord Ingraham turned the handle quietly.

“Marian, there is no time. I have to speak to you.”

Marian said nothing and made no move to open the door.

“Marian! You are endlessly stubborn!”

Oh, I am. It may keep me alive for the next sixty or
seventy years without you.

Lord Ingraham’s voice became more urgent. “I have to go
downstairs and greet my guests. Sir Reginald Calne will be here soon and you
must watch him for me.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Marian sat up and wiped
her eyes.

“If he says anything to Amanda or gives her anything,
you must tell me at the earliest opportunity.”

Gracious God above, Marian thought scornfully, you are
jealous of her brother?

“Do you hear me?”

She nodded.

“Do this little thing for me. I shall explain later.” I
doubt that you can.

He was silent another moment, and then he spoke again,
this time in his normal voice. “Please, Marian,” was all he said, and then he
was done, his footsteps receding down the hall.

Marian continued to sit in silence as the guests
arrived. She heard them laughing and talking with one another in the entry
hall, and every now and then Gilbert Ingraham’s voice could be heard above the
others, and his laughter.

“I am the biggest fool that ever lived,” Marian said,
as she began to slowly unbutton her dress. “I might as well be foolish one last
time.” She would do as he said, she would see the thing through, whatever it
was, and then leave. It was a matter of no more than a few hours. She was not
such a child that she could not face him with equanimity and do as he asked. He
was doing the Wynswich family an immeasurable favor by furthering Alistair’s
cause, and the least she could do was what he asked.

In a moment the beautiful blue dress was over her head
and she was buttoning it up the back. She picked up the pearls from the
dressing table and placed the strand about her neck, grateful for one last
opportunity to wear them. Her hair was a simple matter. A vigorous brushing and
a velvet ribbon at the nape of her neck caught it up simply. She would not
disgrace the Wynswiches tonight. Heaven knows they had suffered enough at her
father’s vagaries. She dabbed on Lady Ingraham’s gift of rose water and took
one last look in the mirror.

She was pale, so she pinched her cheeks. What she saw
in the mirror did not disgust her. The dress was utterly simple and hung in
neat lines from high waist to ankle. She draped the dresser’s shawl about her
shoulders, took a deep breath, and went into the hall, moving quietly to the
landing, where she looked over.

Lord Ingraham, resplendent in evening wear, was
greeting the last of his dinner guests. Lady Amanda was arranged artfully at
his side. The numbness that was becoming so familiar to Marian returned, and
she nearly retreated to the safety of her room. She longed for Alistair to hold
on to, but he and Surtees had gone to Hammerfield and would not be returning
until later this evening. “Drat,” she said under her breath. She hesitated only
a moment more and then went down the stairs.

Lady Amanda saw her first. “Oh, my dear, how grown-up
you look. Such a becoming dress.”

“Thank you, Lady Amanda,” Marian replied. Her voice
sounded far away to her ears, but she noted with satisfaction that it was
steady and clear.

Lord Ingraham took her by the hand. He bowed over it as
Lady Amanda watched benignly, smiling at the other guests as if this were all
her idea. He kissed her hand and then looked into her eyes. “Marian, be
watchful,” he said softly in classic Greek.

She blinked, but did not hesitate. “I shall be
watchful,” she replied in the same language, utterly mystified, completely at
sea.

Marian went into the parlor, and in a few minutes
Gilbert and Amanda followed. Marian knew no one in the room but Lady Ingraham
and the elder Hammerfields, so she stood where she was, her eyes on Lord
Ingraham as he circulated about the room. Lady Amanda’s arm was tucked into the
crook of his elbow, kept there firmly by Ingraham’s hand over hers.

Marian watched more closely, and her wonder grew. As Lord
Ingraham made a stately progress about the room, nodding to friends, stopping
to chat, Lady Amanda tried several times to pull away. He merely smiled, and
visited, and kept an iron grip on Amanda. As they moved about the room, Lady
Amanda’s smile became more brittle. There was even a look in her eyes bordering
on desperation. Several times she glanced toward a group of men congregated
about the fireplace.

Marian looked in that direction and had little trouble
in picking out the likeliest candidate for Sir Reginald. He was tall and blond,
even as his sister, a striking figure in stark black evening wear. It could be
no one else, Marian decided.

As she observed those about her, Marian found herself
listening to another clutch of guests close by, who spoke in rapid French,
punctuating their animated conversation with softly whispered asides to one
another, and occasional laughter. I wonder if they are émigrés, she thought.
Gilbert has such interesting friends. She sighed. It was all so romantic. The
only Frenchmen who ever visited Picton were smugglers snabbled by the sea
watch.

Lord Ingraham, his fiancée firmly in tow, came to stand
before her. “Marian, I have asked Sir Reginald Calne to take you down to
dinner. Come with us, please, and let me introduce you.”

She followed at Lady Amanda’s side, noting that the
Frenchmen had become quiet, intent on Lord Ingraham. If the earl noticed, he
did not show it. He did not loosen his grip on his fiancée as he introduced
Marian to Lady Amanda’s brother.

“Reginald, may I
make you known to Marian Wynswich? I believe you are
acquainted with her brother Percy.”

Sir Reginald nodded and bowed over Marian’s hand. “Charmed,”
he said.

At that moment, Washburn announced dinner. Sir Reginald
tucked her arm in his. “Will you allow me?”

I can say no, she thought suddenly, and take no part in
whatever is going forth this evening.
I
can turn my back on Gilbert Ingraham. The hurt flooded
back into her heart; she turned to the earl, opening her mouth to speak.

She could not. There was an expression in his eyes that
calmed her, even as she knew now through painful experience that she could be
mistaken about that look. If it is my imagination, so be it, she thought. It is
my last evening here.

Marian turned back to Sir Reginald, who was eyeing her
with a quizzical expression of his own. Marian laughed and touched his sleeve. “I
am so naive, sir,” she said.
“I
was about to inquire whether it should be
I
who has this honor. Yes, Sir
Reginald,
I
will go
down to dinner with you.”

It was an easy matter to keep conversation flowing at
the table with her partner. Sir Reginald knew everyone, pointing out in low
tones who presided over which rung of the Prince Regent’s circle, who was
ambassador to where, who sat on which department in the House of Lords, and
who commanded which regiment. Sir Reginald was a garden of information, a
flowering of facts. Marian took it all in. noting the glances that passed
between the Calnes, even as Sir Reginald rambled on like a river in full spate.

Marian discovered how easy he was to charm, leaning
toward him and using her low-cut gown to full advantage. “Tell me, sir,” she
whispered during one of those moments when their heads were close together. “Those
men over there? Are they
French?”

“Émigrés,” he replied, his eyes on her bosom. He
giggled and put his hand over his mouth, leaning closer until their heads
touched. “Some say they are spies.”

She gave him the full force of her wide eyes, noting as
she did so that Lord Ingraham was looking her way with another of his
inscrutable expressions. “Oh, surely not,” she whispered back.

Sir Reginald only gave her an arch look and inspected
her bosom one more time. During the remove of fish, he managed to place his
hand on her knee. Marian turned her little squeak of surprise into a cough, but
not before Lord Ingraham looked her way again.

The men remained at table as Lady Ingraham led the
female guests back into the parlor. The ladies separated into their own little
circles of acquaintance, at leisure momentarily to dissect their neighbors who
were not present, and laugh over the dresses of those in other cliques.

Marian sat by the door and wondered if any of them had
ever possessed two thoughts to rub together at the same instance.

Lady Amanda strayed to the door several times, and
Marian promptly engaged her in conversation. “La, it is hot in here,” the
beautiful lady proclaimed finally, interrupting Marian in midsentence. “I must
go into the hall for a breath of air.”

Marian rose. “And I shall accompany you,” she said. “It
is rather close in here, isn’t it? I have long suspected that the fireplace
does not draw well.”

An expression closely resembling genuine irritation
flitted briefly across Lady Amanda’s face. “You needn’t trouble yourself.”

“It is no trouble,” Marian declared, and followed her
into the hall, which was empty except for Washburn, who bowed and nodded to the
ladies and then opened the dining-room doors, almost as if on cue. Marian
regarded him thoughtfully.

The men, smelling of cigars and brandy, entered the
hall. Lord Ingraham smiled to Marian and blew Lady Amanda a kiss. He came
quickly to his fiancée’s side and appropriated her again, pulling her with him
into the parlor again and then down to the ballroom, where Marian could see
other guests assembling.

It was no surprise to the guests when Gilbert led his
lady onto the floor for the first dance. No one raised any eyebrows when he
kept her on the floor dance after dance, relinquishing her to no one, not even
to her brother when Sir Reginald came to claim his sister for a mazurka. Lord
Ingraham was constantly at her side, bestowing her with fleeting kisses,
smiling deeply into her eyes.

Marian watched his graceful antics with growing
appreciation, and the slowly enlarging realization that she was witnessing an
adroit, professional performance. She continued to heartily wish Gilbert
Ingraham to the devil, but a small light was beginning to burn somewhere back
in her brain. What game he was playing, and so coolly too, still eluded her. It
was enough to watch and wonder.