Christmas Surprises Read online

  “I may never learn to hold my tongue,” she whispered through parched lips.

  “Mary?” The word was both anguished question and disbelieving hope.

  She studied the desperate hope in the deep blue of his eyes and felt the solid pull between them. She had chosen rightly then. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “You may call me that.”

  She heard the exclamations of joy and wonder a little while later as the doctor rushed in to declare her fever broken, but her fingers clung firmly to a strong male hand.

  * * * *

  “Surely you’re not going to place that tatty tin angel at the top of that glorious tree,” a feminine voice teased from behind him.

  “I most certainly am,” he declared firmly, reaching to see that it sat properly where it belonged. Once assured it was secure, he turned to take his lovely wife in his arms.

  She smelled of cooking spices and lavender, and he grinned as he buried his face in the thickness of her silky chestnut hair. The bulk of her burgeoning pregnancy filled his hold, and he reveled in the intimacy of holding their child between them. Amazing, how just a year wrought such changes. He no longer desired to bury himself away from friends and family but embraced the warmth and familiarity of their presence. The reason for that rested contentedly in his arms now.

  “I love you,” he whispered, “even if you did sell my brandy decanter at the Christmas auction.”

  ‘You don’t use it anymore,” she answered serenely, “and the squire paid a handsome sum for it. The orphans can use the money more than you need a decanter.”

  “Your father says your sister Elizabeth used to sell his best pipes at the auction. Am I going to have to glue everything to the tables so we have something left for our golden years?”

  “What good are things when those children need food in their stomachs and a roof over their heads? We have all we need right here between us.” She turned in his embrace to rest her head against his shoulder, and sighed happily when he rubbed the place where their child kicked vigorously.

  “You’ve been talking to the angels again,” he accused with a hint of laughter.

  “That’s your province, my love,” she answered dreamily, closing her eyes in enjoyment of this briefly peaceful moment. “I just shove you in the right direction once in a while.”

  No finer truth had ever been spoken. Smiling, Jeffrey lifted her into his arms. “Nap time, Clarissa,” he whispered into her ear.

  Snuggling closer against the masculine fragrance of his wool vest, she smiled to herself. “That means you’re going to make love to me,” she said smugly. “You call me Mary when you’re really angry.”

  Angry wasn’t precisely the word. Exasperated, overwhelmed, and amazed came much closer. But his lovely, very human wife didn’t seem to understand or remember anything about an angel named Mary who threw pinecones and had a penchant for tripping people she didn’t like. Clarissa merely laughed when he caught her behaving badly. At least, to this date, she hadn’t tripped another soul.

  And the vicar was so thrilled with his daughter’s recovery that he didn’t even notice when she behaved more like an adolescent than the serious woman she once had been. The sound of her laughter and the roses blooming in her cheeks overcame all else.

  As the young couple laughingly left the room, the tin angel on the treetop tilted slightly to the side and seemed to bob its head in approval.

  Copyright © 2011 by Patricia Rice

  Originally published by Signet/Topaz in various collections

  Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.