Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance (36 page)

Marjorie put a finger to his lips and laughed.

“I missed you, Marjorie.”

“You missed me so much that you stayed away for three weeks,”
she teased. “Traveling to … say, where did you go?”

“Oh, New York for a spell. Then Chicago, Miami, and finally
New Orleans. I can happily report that they don’t eat opossum or
squirrel.”

“Mm. Chicago, Miami, and New Orleans,” she repeated. “Quite
a colorful itinerary for a man supposedly pining for the woman he
loves.”

“`I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,” he declaimed,
“`But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, then falls thy
shadow, Cynara, the night is thine, and I am desolate and sick of an
old passion, Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara… ”’

“In your fashion,” Marjorie grinned. “Speaking of faithfulness,
have you spoken to Sharon recently?”

Creighton brought a hand to his forehead. “Oh no! I knew I
had forgotten something.”

“You’d better talk to her and explain your feelings. I saw her in the
dressmaker’s shop the other day, looking at a bolt of white satin.”

He blanched. “White satin?”

“She seems to have some definite plans for you.”

“For me?”

Marjorie watched as his face went from white to red, and back
to white again. She could no longer suppress her laughter.

“Oh, I see. Very funny.”

“You’re right;” she laughed, “revenge is sweet. In truthfulness, I
wouldn’t worry about Sharon. She’s found someone to replace you.”

“You’re kidding. Who?”

“Robert”

“Robert?” He tilted his head back and chuckled. “Poor guy. Talk
about going from the frying pan into the fire!”

Marjorie took a step back and placed her hands on her hips.
“What do you mean `frying pan’?”

Creighton blushed, “Oh, that’s-that’s just a jazz term I picked
up in New Orleans. It means you’re so hot, you’re sizzling.”

“Nice save. I’ll let it go this time,” she said coolly, “but only because your explanation was so creative. Although, why I should be
so nice to you is beyond me. After all, you brought a gift back for
everyone but me.”

“Mmm … I kind of lied about that, too. I did bring something
back for you, but it is rather small.” He reached into his jacket pocket,
pulled out a small velvet box, and with one deft motion, popped it
open, revealing a marquis-cut diamond ring.

Marjorie gasped.

“This is why I stopped in New York,” Creighton explained. “I
hope you like it. It’s two carats, flawless, and the setting is platinum.”

“Does this mean what I think it means?”

“It means `Will you marry me?”’

“I-I don’t know. It’s so sudden. I’ve only just broken my engagement with Robert. What will people say?”

“Do you care?”

“Yes … I mean no … I don’t know what I mean. I wasn’t expecting this. I need some time to think it over.”

“You can have all the time in the world, my darling,” he closed
the box with the ring still inside. “I’ll be waiting.”

Marjorie frowned. “Why are you putting the ring away? Can’t I
wear it while I’m deliberating?” she asked sheepishly.

“I don’t know. What will people think?” He quipped while he
took the ring out of the box and slipped it on her finger.

She held her hand out admiringly. “Then again, maybe I should
take more time. Why, I don’t even know your birthday.”

“October 18,1901.”

“Or your middle name.”

“Yes you do. It was on the card I gave you when I met you. Not
that you gave it a second thought.”

“Or your favorite color.”

He gazed into her eyes. “Green. Emerald green.”

She pressed her nose to his and smiled. “Or your childhood
nickname.”

“You know that too, you stinker. You guessed it.”

Marjorie burst out laughing. “Wart! That really was your name?”

“Yes, it was. I told you, you’re too smart for your own good.” He
started laughing too. “Now that that’s over with, and you know everything you could possibly want to know, would you care to join
me for dinner?”

“I’d love to.”

“Very well.” The rain having ended, Creighton collapsed his umbrella and scooped Marjorie into his arms. “This way, Mrs. Ashcroft,”
he declared as he carried her off toward the house.

She slid an arm around his shoulders and giggled despite herself.
“I accepted your proposal for dinner. I didn’t say I accepted your
proposal for marriage.”

“No, but you will,” Creighton answered confidently. “You will.”