The Wizard's Daughter by Barbara Michaels

Author:Barbara Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061842542
Publisher: HarperCollins

II

It need not be said that Marianne dressed for dinner with unusual care. By the time she left her room she had tried on all the dresses she owned and reduced Annie to a state of quivering nerves. The results, however, were magnificent. Perhaps those few days in the theater had taught her something about creating an effect, or perhaps the basic instincts of a woman had warned her that the pastor would be more struck with virginal modesty than with ostentation. Her gown was the same one she had worn that fateful night at the opera, but with the trailing flowers and coquettish blue ribbons removed. It was now stark unadorned white, and Marianne’s only ornament was a black velvet ribbon that supported the locket with the pictures of her parents.

Her lateness was not a matter of calculation, but the inevitable result of prolonged primping. Most of the others were assembled in the drawing room when she made her entrance.

The room was extravagantly lighted by lamps and candles and by two great fires. Such light is flattering; Marianne knew she was the cynosure of all eyes as she stood in the doorway. Her own eyes went straight to his face, ignoring all the others.

In the white collar and unrelieved black of his calling he was as handsome as ever. His pale skin and fair hair looked like a faded watercolor above the stark black, but there was nothing faded about his eyes; they caught fire as they met hers.

But the formalities had to be observed. Her first duty was to the Duchess; then a mocking curtsy to Carlton. Then came the moment she had been waiting for. He was much taller than she. She tipped her head back and gazed up at him as he took her hand.

The atmosphere was changed from pulsating romance to sheer farce by the entrance of Lady Annabelle.

“I am dining,” she announced. “Heard you were here, vicar. Good to see you. Fluffy’s been sick again.”

“Her old trouble?” the vicar asked interestedly.

“Looks that way.” Lady Annabelle pushed him down onto the sofa, took a seat beside him, and launched into an explicit description of Fluffy’s symptoms.

St. John looked at Marianne. “I share Lady Annabelle’s interest in our animal friends, Miss Ransom. Not a sparrow shall fall, you know.”

“I am fond of animals too,” Marianne assured him eagerly.

“So am I,” said the Duchess. “But their ailments are not a suitable subject for drawing-room conversation. Later, perhaps, Annabelle. Mr. St. John, I believe you have done a great deal of good here since my last visit.”

A courteous but decisive inquiry into parish charitable matters followed. Marianne sat in demure silence, admiring the animation of the young pastor’s face as he described various needy cases. Finally, when the Duchess had finished her questions, Marianne said shyly, “I much enjoyed your sermon, Mr. St. John.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He beamed at her. “I hope I did not dwell too long on the Amalekites?”

A snort from Carlton won that gentleman a freezing stare from Marianne.

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