Marian's Christmas Wish by Carla Kelly Read Free Book Online Page A

and make them confess!”
    “Alistair, really,” said Ariadne, coloring up prettily
and looking away.
    “Very well, then.” Lord Ingraham closed his eyes and
stirred the pot. The smile on his face grew. As Marian watched him, she found
herself smiling along with him and then laughing out loud when he opened his
eyes, declared, “Done,” and took her hand and placed it over the spoon. “Make
it a good one,” he said.
    She began to stir. She had planned all along to wish
for Ariadne and Sam, and Alistair. Even during the summer, when it was warm and
she was tired of black gowns, she had thought of the Christmas pudding and
planned a special wish for Percy.
    Marian did none of these things. She closed her eyes
and stirred the spoon ‘round and ‘round with each word that came into her mind:
I wish Gilbert Ingraham will have the best Christmas.

3
    Nuncheon with Sir William was an unrelieved tedium, so
breathtaking in scope that Marian resolved to give up food for Advent.
    She had meant only to duck into the breakfast room,
where the Wynswiches took most of their meals, scavenge the sideboard for
bread and cold meat, and then prepare her kittens for a wet trip to the
stables. She knew Cook was still busy belowstairs readying the Christmas
pudding for steaming; the nooning could only be haphazard.
    She erred. Cook had been at work early to devise a more
elegant repast. Lady Wynswich presided at the table, with Sir William at her
left and Lord Ingraham on her right.
    “Come, come, daughter,” said her mother as Marian stuck
her head in the room. “Find yourself something and join us.”
    Lady Wynswich’s tone commanded obedience. Marian
hurried to the sideboard, filled her plate, and moved to her usual place, which
would have put her next to Sir William.
    Her mother took instant exception to this. “Marian,
Marian, how forgetful you are,” she exclaimed. “Over here by Lord Ingraham,
please! Ariadne—Elaine—will be along momentarily.” This last comment was
addressed to Sir William.
    He paid little heed to his hostess: his eye was on
Marian’s plate, with its two slices of Cook’s thick bread, the mound of meat,
pink and steaming, the jellies, the creams. He looked at Lady Wynswich with
that tight little smile Marian was already beginning to dislike.
    “Lady Wynswich, it is no wonder that your family is
hanging out over the chasm. When one’s daughters eat so much ... I mean,
what does it admit to economy?”
    Marian blinked and looked at her plate. It was no more
than she usually ate, and even then, she knew she would be in the kitchen
before dinner, pleading more meat and bread to hold her over until the advanced
hour of six o’clock.
    When Sir William continued to stare at her plate as
though it were alive and writhing about. Lady Wynswich spoke.
    “Marian, my dear, perhaps you should return some of
that to the sideboard. Doesn’t our vicar Mr. Beddoe speak to us from the pulpit
about starving children in London?”
    She stood her ground. “Mama, there is a starving child
here at Covenden Hall.”
    Lord Ingraham made an odd noise deep in his throat and
brought his napkin hurriedly to his lips. “Sorry. I have a touch of dyspepsia
once in a while. Goodness, where are my manners?”
    Marian looked at him. His eyes twinkled at her over the
napkin, and she knew it would not be safe to look again. Without a word, she
took her maligned plate to Lord Ingraham’s side and sat.
    Sir William would not abandon his train of thought. He
shook his head at her and cast his whole attention upon his hostess. “Only
assure me, Lady Wynswich, that Elaine consumes more ladylike proportions?”
    “Indeed she does,” replied Lady Wynswich. “She’ll give
you no cause to blush, Sir William.”
    Satisfied, he returned to his soup.
    Marian created a sandwich and cut it in half. “But do
you know, Sir William,” she said as she spread a dab of jelly on it. “I heard
Ariadne belch once. But it was only once, and she