Marian's Christmas Wish by Carla Kelly Page B

Ingraham.
    “Midafternoon. That should be ample time. Courage, Mr.
Beddoe.”
    The vicar bowed and came up with a grin on his face. “The
same to you, my lord.”
    They were out the door before the earl remembered. “I
almost forgot,” he said as he dug into his pocket and pulled up a handful of
coins. “For the choir.”
    The vicar took the coins and looked long and hard at
the amount of them. “My lord, they are not a very good choir.”
    Ingraham waved away his protestations. “Mr. Beddoe,
merely remember that all things are possible on Christmas. Or so Marian would
dictate.”
    And you could even be home for Christmas, my lord,
Marian thought as he took her hand and hurried down the steps into Picton’s
main thoroughfare.
    The village was deep in sleep. Many lights flickered in
the butcher shop as they walked by, crunching the snow underfoot.
    The doctor turned the corner by the shop and pulled up
his horse. “Care for a ride, my lord? Miss Marian?” he asked as he tipped his
hat to Marian. “We can crowd together.” The doctor nodded. “With your
condescension, my lord.”
    Ingraham shook his head. “It’s a lovely night, sir.
Were you successful?”
    The doctor nodded and spoke to Marian. “The butcher has
a daughter at long last, my dear. Good Christmas to you both.”
    They walked into the quiet of the December night.
Marian longed to ask her escort what had transpired in the vicar’s study, but
an unaccountable shyness settled over her and she did not. She hurried to keep
up with Lord Ingraham, who seemed to be thinking of things other than his
stride. The wind ruffled a skiff of snow in front of them and an owl hooted in
the spinney nearby.
    Ingraham stopped. “Oh, I do not mean to hurry so fast.”
    “Hold still a moment, then,” Marian said, out of
breath, “and I will wind your muffler tighter. You must not neglect that. And
you must not forget to put on that salve before you retire for the night.”
    “Yes, your worship,” he said, and bent down while she
wound the scarf tighter. He looked right into her eyes. “Aren’t you just
desperate to know what is going on?”
    She stared right back. “Of course I am! You know I am,
and I think you are perfectly dreadful not to tell me.”
    “Well, I will not.” He softened his words with a hand
on her shoulder as he started her into motion again. “I will only be silent
because it is wisest. But no matter what happens tomorrow, my dear Marian, do
trust me.”
    She let herself be pushed along. Midnight in a snowy
field was hardly the time for mutiny. “Very well.” A dreadful thought occurred
to her, and she stood stock-still, her eyes wide. “Gil, you do not think that
Sir William took advantage of our absence to propose?”
    “I think it highly likely. He never was one to waste
much time.”
    Tears stung her eyes.
    Without a word, he wiped her eyes with the corner of
his muffler. “Now trust me, brat,” he said softly. “The vicar and I had a good
talk. I wished him godspeed in his wooing and he wished me the same.”
    Marian clapped her hands, instantly diverted. “Gilbert
Ingraham! And are we to wish you happy, too? I do wonder that you can bear to
spend Christmas in Covenden Hall.” She put her hands on his chest and gave him
a little push. “It is a wonder to me that you could bear to be away from your
lady love. I do not understand men at all.”
    He started her moving again. “And what would you do in
my case. Miss Wynswich-who-knows-everything?”
    “I would fly to her side and not rest until the matter
was settled to my complete satisfaction.”
    He chuckled and she blushed, grateful for the darkness.
    “That is, if I were ever to fall in love and marry. And
I have already told you, I plan to do neither.”
    “I seem to recall your mentioning that.”
    Covenden Hall was dark when they tramped up the front
driveway. Marian opened the door a crack. There was a single candle burning on
the hall table. She tiptoed in behind