Read A Wreath of Snow for Free Online

for the going was hazardous, and Stirling was a long way off.
    Holding her arms out a bit to keep her balance, Meg studied him as they tramped through the snow together. His gray wool suit gave no solid clue regarding his profession, though his neatly trimmed beard and polished boots marked him as a gentleman. And a handsome one, with his fine, long nose and strong chin.
    He was not a civil servant, she decided, or a clerk who handled money, like her father, who had been employed by the Royal Bank since before she was born. Rather, this man depended upon his intellect for his income. She was certain of it. Something about his eyes, his high forehead. Was he a solicitor, perhaps? Handling wills, estates, conveyances, and the like?
    Meg’s curiosity got the better of her. The gentleman might be a stranger, but in such circumstances one was permitted to speak a bit more freely.
    “Tell me, sir, are you from Stirling or Edinburgh?” she asked, thinking one end of the line or the other would likely be his home.
    He didn’t answer immediately. “Glasgow,” he finally said.
    Not the answer she’d expected, yet the industrial town suited him. Lean. Energetic. Maybe if she revealed somethingof her life, he would follow her lead. “Stirling is my childhood home,” she told him, “but I’ve lived in Edinburgh for the last six years.”
    A good bit of information.
Your turn, sir
.
    When he didn’t respond to her volley as swiftly as she wished, Meg pressed on, throwing propriety aside as if it were a soiled pair of gloves. “Might you have business in Edinburgh? Or do you have family there, awaiting your arrival for Christmas?”
    “I have …” He slowed his steps to look at her. “I have no family in Edinburgh, but I do have business there, aye.”
    When other passengers began closing in from behind, he lengthened his stride, and she did the same. Their shoulders were a hand’s-breadth apart—a necessity if they meant to stay between the rails. It also allowed them to converse without being overheard by the entire group. She sensed the gentleman wanted that.
    “Business, you say?” she prompted him.
    After a long pause he said, “I write for the
Glasgow Herald
.”
    Meg hid her surprise. A newspaperman? She would not have guessed that. A respectable occupation, at least in most circles. Certainly the
Herald
was above reproach.
    “That’s why I was in Stirling today,” he explained, “interviewing the new editor of the
British Messenger
.”
    Meg nodded with approval. The Drummonds, one of Stirling’s most respected families, published the monthly magazine.She pictured the three-story building on Dumbarton Road with its impressive bank of windows. “You were quite near my parents’ house.”
    “On Albert Place,” he affirmed, then began stumbling over his words. “You said … That is, I believe Mr. McGregor mentioned your address.”
    Aye, and my name too
. He missed very little, this tall newspaperman from Glasgow.
    Meg looked about, taking in what she could of their surroundings. How quiet and still their frozen world had become! The snow fell in utter silence, and the air sounded hollow, as if they were standing in the midst of a great cathedral, its vaulted ceiling stretching toward heaven.
    “Christmas Eve,” she said on a sigh, her warm breath visible. “I shall miss all the candles in Edinburgh’s windows.”
    “At least we have light.” He nodded toward the bobbing lanterns carried by laborers and gentry alike. “Once we reach Stirling, I imagine you’ll see plenty of candles burning around King’s Park.”
    Meg heard a coolness in his tone at the mention of her neighborhood. Did he think less of her family for living in the fashionable part of Stirling? She didn’t entirely approve of it herself, and not just because the move was Alan’s idea. Her father was a middling bank clerk—a stable position but not a highly lucrative one. Purchasing even the smallest house inKing’s Park