The Memory of Your Kiss by Wilma Counts Page A

that kiss. In fact, she had done so—if only for a moment. But it was a moment she would remember—cherish—for the rest of her life.
    She could not help comparing Zachary’s kiss to Henry’s. She had welcomed Henry’s kiss; it seemed born of genuine regard and affection. But Zachary’s kiss, born of longing and passion, had stirred her very soul.
    Stop it! she told herself. You are not being fair to Henry who is, after all, saving the Waverly family. He deserves better of you. As she had informed Zachary, she had every intention of making Henry a good wife. And she would do so, this interlude in Bath notwithstanding. Thus did she put the last three weeks firmly behind her as she was caught up in plans for the wedding, her removal to Paxton Hall, and helping her father entertain their guests.
    “Will you have to live at the Hall all the time?” Marybeth asked. The little girl had perched on Sydney’s bed as her big sister was packing away some mementos of her own childhood. Eight-year-old Marybeth sounded wistful. Sydney knew that, like most children, her little sister was wary of change in her life.
    “Yes, darling. But I will see you every day. It won’t be like it was when I was away at school and we did not see each other sometimes for weeks.”
    “Oh. Well, I guess it will be all right then.”
    Sydney laughed. “Good. I am so glad to have your approval.”
    “You will leave Brownie with us, won’t you?” Brownie was the family’s cocker spaniel and Marybeth was especially attached to the pet, though the dog had come into the family as one of Sydney’s rescue projects.
    “Yes, Marybeth. Brownie will stay here to protect you and Geoffrey and Papa.”
    Sydney recalled vividly Brownie’s entrance into the vicar’s household. Muddy, shivering, and starving, the bedraggled puppy had appeared at the kitchen door one day. When Sydney allowed it in, Mrs. Travers, the Waverly family’s usually indulgent cook-housekeeper, had objected mightily to having it in the kitchen. Marybeth squealed with delight and Dora, the kitchen maid, squealed in shock when the pup shook itself, showering her with cold rain. Called to the kitchen by the commotion, the vicar had wanted Stanley, the stable hand, to take the animal away.
    “Give the poor brute to one of Paxton’s tenant farmers,” he had ordered.
    However, both Sydney and Marybeth had already succumbed to the appeal of the puppy’s big brown eyes and wagging tail.
    “Oh, Papa, no,” Sydney pleaded.
    “Sydney, you cannot rescue every stray that happens along,” her father told her. “Two cats in the house. Heaven knows how many in the stable. And you do remember how devastated you were when that robin’s wing mended and he flew away.”
    “But Brownie won’t fly away,” she said, observing how Marybeth held the small squirming body close to her. The puppy licked Marybeth’s face and the little girl giggled.
    “Good grief. You’ve already named this mutt?” He threw up his hands and returned to his study. The vicar knew a lost cause when he saw one. “Just see he stays outdoors.”
    “Yes, Papa,” his daughters chorused.
    Fed and cleaned, the puppy responded with unconditional love and soon wriggled his way into all the Waverly hearts. Geoffrey and Marybeth were known to sneak tidbits from the table to him and Brownie not only regularly slept on a rug near the vicar’s bed, but also accompanied the churchman on his daily walks.
    Marybeth’s voice abruptly brought Sydney back to the present. “Did you see my dress?”
    She jumped from the bed and skipped down the hall to her own room. Moments later she returned, clutching a bundle of blue silk. Sydney shook it out and examined it carefully.
    “Papa had Mrs. Beck make it for me while you were gone,” Marybeth said. “Isn’t it pretty?”
    “Indeed it is,” Sydney agreed. “Mrs. Beck did a fine job and you will be the prettiest girl at the wedding and the breakfast afterwards.”
    “Oh, no,