Read Online Regency Christmas Gifts by Carla Kelly - Free Book Online

Naismith, and went to the
door.
    “ You’re not even going to wish me
Happy Christmas, gel?” the old screw asked.
    “ It slipped my mind,” Mary Ann said,
feeling surprisingly serene. “I hope you have the Christmas you
deserve.”
    She left Lady Naismith stewing over that one,
and did not look back. As she walked home, she passed sweet shops
with proprietors sliding marzipan and candy chews into cone-shaped
twists, a poulterer’s with forlorn-looking turkeys slung up on
hooks, and a linen draper’s with handsome swatches of fabric ready
for customers with a good deal more money than she had.
    She spent a long moment in front of a
clothier’s bow window, admiring a white rabbit-fur muff that Beth
would probably moon over, if she were there. It saddened her that
Beth has quit asking for anything, and angered her that Bart
Poole’s darling, brilliant child had learned to appreciate colored
pictures, instead.
    But at least there would be colored pictures
this year. She cast her cares to the wind and bought a slice of
beef for dinner to accompany the cake they had hoarded. They had
decided to leave it alone until Christmas Day, to eat with the beef
and potatoes, courtesy of Mr. Laidlaw, that would constitute a
respectable dinner.
    Tonight it would be milk and bread again, but
that was no hardship. As soon as it was dark, they would join other
carolers at St. Luke’s and stroll and sing of new babies and a
virgin mother and carpenter father who probably didn’t have much
between them and ruin, either, if they had to spend the night in a
stable. Afterward, the vicar had promised hot chocolate and
biscuits, and a little something for his students.
    Beth was finishing up her painting when Mary
Ann opened the door. She looked over her daughter’s shoulder,
admiring the bouquet of roses, perfect for some day in January when
winter seemed to be hanging on and on. Her own watercolor was
finished and dry, so she slid it into a paper sleeve with Happy
Christmas on the front and painted holly and ivy sprigs. They could
walk to 34 Notte Street tomorrow and deliver them in person as a
small token of friendship.
    When Beth finished, Mary Ann took her
watercolor pans next door and touched up last year’s Christmas
drawing of beef roast for Mr. Laidlaw, making the beef medium rare,
with that tinge of pink he liked. In no time at all she had added
dripping pudding, and then in the background, a slice of
cake.
    “ Done! I hope you have a Happy
Christmas,” she told the landlord as she cleaned her brush and
dried it.
    He nodded to her from the depths of his
ancient, rump-sprung chair, wrapped in a blanket and looking about
as content as a man could. “Same to you, missy,” he told her.
“Let’s have a better new year.”
    He said the same thing every year since Mary
Ann had arrived at his doorstep dressed in black, with a
tear-stained face and an infant in her arms. She said the same
thing she always said. “Let’s do.”
    By the time Mary Ann and Beth finished supper,
the sky was black with only a few tinges of light low on the
horizon. By the time they reached St. Luke’s, snow was
falling.
    The vicar and his wife were dab hands at
organizing caroling parties. In no time they started out, two by
two, to sing to anyone in Haven who was kind enough to open their
door and listen. One of the older girls, proud and careful, carried
the collection box, counting on Christmas generosity to make a
little difference in the lives of the poor.
    We’re not there yet , Mary Ann thought,
her hand on Beth’s shoulder. Where they would be in a week was
anyone’s guess, but it was Christmas Eve, and not a time for worry.
Feeling like a lion tamer with a whip in one hand and a chair in
the other, she forced her fears back into a corner of her mind and
told them to stay there through Christmas.
    They sang first for the merchants on Haven’s
modest High Street, which earned a few coins and marzipan for the
children. They sang past Haven’s