A Christmas Gambol Read Online Free PDF Page A

sort of annoyance that had been plaguing her brother throughout the trip.
    “No, not yet,” she said, forcing a smile.
    “Pity. You and Lord Fairly must be growing impatient. But I daresay you will find yourself in the family way soon. You really ought to take better care of yourself. You look hagged.”
    “It’s the late nights that have destroyed my complexion,” Lady Fairly replied, darting a glance in the closest mirror. Mirrors were plentiful in the beauty’s mansion. As she observed her reflection next to Sissie Caldwell’s, she was struck with the difference in their appearance. She was the same age as Sissie, yet she looked a decade older. Sissie still had the full, pink cheek and glossy eye of youth. “Why do you stay up so late?” Cicely asked.
    “We go out a good deal. Do come in and have a glass of wine.”
    Cicely turned a critical eye on the saloon as she entered, taking notice of the rich appointments, all to be recorded in her notebook for future use. Was it possible she counted a dozen lamps in one room? “Could I have tea instead?” she asked.
    “Certainly. Coddle, tea for Miss Cicely.”
    “And some biscuits, if it’s not too much trouble. I am famished. I was so excited I couldn’t eat a bite of breakfast. Montaigne had an apple en route. Papa sent a peck of apples. You always said our apples made a better tart than those from the abbey, though they’re a little sour to eat out of hand. You might want to make a tart the next time you have a dinner party.”
    “How nice. Thank you,” Lady Fairly said, casting a speaking glance to her brother. Apple tart indeed! As if she would serve such a thing to her guests—though she wouldn’t mind having Cook make her up one for her own private treat. They took up seats by the blazing grate.
    “This is a lovely little house, Meg,” Cicely said.
    “My dining room seats two dozen, and the ballroom can hold over a hundred,” Lady Fairly replied.
    “I’ve been explaining to Sissie that London residences are smaller than country estates,” Montaigne said, swallowing a smile.
    “Monty has told me why you are here,” Lady Fairly said, hoping to deflect the conversation from further aspersions on her mansion and her person. In particular, she disliked the way Sissie kept studying her face.
    “I’m happy to oblige him. It will be great fun to meet other writers.”
    “Then you have written something?” Lady Fairly asked with mild interest.
    “Yes, a novel. A serious novel, not a ludicrous thing like your aunt’s book. I hope Mr. Murray doesn’t think I can write nothing but potboilers.”
    The brother and sister exchanged another of those speaking looks.
    “It is the potboilers that keep the publisher solvent,” Montaigne told her. Then he turned to Meg. “Unlike the rest of Society, Sissie doesn’t care for our aunt’s book.”
    “I thought it was excellent,” Lady Fairly said, as much from anger as conviction, though she had enjoyed it.
    Cicely laughed merrily. “You always had wretched taste in novels, Meg. Do you still read those things from the Minerva Press?”
    “Certainly not,” she replied, shoving her current marble cover under a cushion. “And furthermore, you are the one who introduced me to them, Sissie.”
    “When we were youngsters,” Sissie said. She saw the familiar marble cover sticking out from behind a cushion. Her instinct was to make fun of Meg. She happened to catch Montaigne’s eye. He was watching her like a hawk. She decided to show him she could be discreet when necessary and said nothing.
    The tea tray eventually arrived. As Coddle had brought three cups, they all had tea. Sissie also ate several biscuits and a slice of bread and butter.
    “I had best not eat any more or I shall spoil my lunch,” she said, looking hungrily at the bread.
    “And your figure,” Meg added playfully.
    “True. It’s you who should eat something. You look like a scarecrow.” Then she gasped in shame. “Not an ugly