A Similar Taste in Books (Love and the Library)
A SIMILAR TASTE IN BOOKS
By Linda Banche
Kindle Edition
***
Text copyright © 2012 Linda Banche
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
A SIMILAR TASTE IN BOOKS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
About the Author
Connect with me online!
Other Books by Linda Banche
End
Chapter 1
London, England
June, 1818
“Pride and Prejudice again, I see.” The thin, bespectacled clerk behind the circulating library counter at Hookham’s Bookshop curled his lip.
Mr. Justin Fellowes cleared his throat. “For my sister.”
“Indeed. The ladies enjoy these novels by Miss Austen.” The clerk sniffed. “I cannot understand why. All that talk about love and marriage.” He added the novel’s three volumes to Justin’s other selection. “I daresay, there is no accounting for taste.” Paper crackled as he wrapped the books.
Justin cracked a smile. “As you say.” How surprised would you be, my man, if you knew I am the one who reads “Pride and Prejudice”.
Justin’s liking for novels was his dark little secret. Many men, including Mr. Collins in the novel, loudly ridiculed the books. They were widely regarded as rubbish although, in all the libraries and book shops Justin had visited, the collection of novels was the largest one there, and probably also the most lucrative.
Pride and Prejudice was his favorite novel. He loved the wit and intelligence in the book. But most of all, he loved Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Justin’s heart warmed. Lively, intelligent, fiercely loyal, she was sometimes wrong, but willing to change her mind when more information appeared. And beautiful. Although the book never described her, such a lady must be beautiful. A veritable goddess.
The clerk consulted a ledger at his side. “According to my records, you have borrowed this book three times in the past two months.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “If your sister likes the novel so much, perhaps you should buy her a copy.” His disapproval vanished, replaced with a thin-lipped smile that was nothing short of irritating. “In the shop section, we have many copies for sale.” He gestured toward the front room.
Justin didn’t spare a glance for the other portion of the establishment. Patrons must pass through the shop before reaching the library, no doubt to encourage buying rather than borrowing. Book prices were high, due to the tax on paper, but Hookham’s had found a way to profit both from those who could afford to purchase and those who couldn’t. Still, Justin loved books and would prefer to buy Pride and Prejudice. Perhaps, if he saved a few pennies a week, he could afford a copy bound with paper-covered boards and forgo adding the leather or cloth binding.
The clerk secured the folds of paper around the parcel with a length of twine. “I would be most happy to fetch you a copy.”
“I will think on it.” With a curt nod to the officious clerk, Justin gathered up his package and stepped back. He collided with the person next in the queue. “I beg your par—”
Before him stood the loveliest lady he had ever seen. She was short and willowy, her dark pink muslin walking dress emphasizing every slender curve. Deep brown curls peeped from the sides of a gauzy matching pink bonnet to frame an oval face. Her skin was creamy, her nose straight and proud.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet! The lady of his dreams! His jaw sagged.
“No harm done, sir.” The vision lifted a shapely dark eyebrow. “If I may reach the clerk?” Merry chocolate-colored eyes twinkled up at him and sweet rosy lips dimpled in an amused arch of a grin. A whiff of lilac perfume, delicate as the lady, wafted toward him.
He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. “Oh, sorry.” Damn him for gaping like the veriest fool. Hugging his package to his chest, he stumbled away from the young lady and the plainly dressed woman, most likely her maid, who stood beside her. The maid flashed a grin as if she knew every one of his admiring thoughts.
He bumped into the table by the counter, and pain lanced through his elbow. Cradling his bundle with one arm while rubbing his throbbing forearm, he pretended to study the list of new books on the table, but kept his gaze fixed on the young lady. She was exactly as he had imagined Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Who was she? And how could he make her acquaintance?
***
Miss Clara Haley set her books on the counter and darted a glance at the tall young man perusing the list of new books. High cheekbones, a blade of a nose and a firm chin presented a most pleasing masculine face. His hair was black and cut short in a fashionable but restrained style. An unruly lock fell across his forehead, and he brushed the hair back with an impatient hand. When they had spoken, his slate-grey eyes had glinted with intelligence, humor and distinct male appreciation. A little feminine thrill at his regard still raced through her.
Like most men, he wore a double-breasted ink blue tailcoat, buff-colored trousers and shiny black half-boots. A gray waistcoat and utilitarian knot in his white cravat completed the modest simplicity of his attire. Unlike most other men, he was broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. The hard muscle that had pressed against her for the brief second they touched proved he needed no padding to achieve that breathtaking masculine form.
An unfamiliar wave of heat enveloped her. Gracious, what a handsome man. He looked just how she pictured Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the hero of her favorite novel, Pride and Prejudice. And he held a packet of books. Could he possibly share her love of reading?
How could she meet him?
The clerk cleared his throat.
Clara dragged her attention away from the fascinating stranger. “Good day. I am returning this book.” She set a volume on the counter.
“Very good.” The clerk set the tome on a shelf at his side. “Anything to take out?”
“Yes. Pride and Prejudice. All three volumes, please.”
“Of course, miss.” The clerk scurried to the stacks in the roped off area behind him to hunt out the books. Returning, he set them on the counter and then pulled out a sheet of wrapping paper. “Very popular, this novel. The gentleman before you also took out a copy.” The stiff paper crackled as he bundled up the tomes.
“Indeed?” Her pulse sped up. Gracious, had she found a like-minded gentleman? So many men made mock of novels. If this gentleman liked them, could he be her Mr. Darcy? Her heart fluttered. Mr. Darcy was the perfect man. Intelligent, kind, willing to acknowledge his mistakes and then change. And, although the book’s description of him was rather sparse, he had to be young and handsome, just like this man.
She peeked at him again. He was right beside her. If she dropped her handkerchief…
The clerk knotted the string around her parcel. “Said the novel was for his sister.”
Her delicious little air castle collapsed. She gave a wan smile. “A doting brother, to fetch a book for his sister.”
Would she ever find a man who shared her love of novels?
***
How could he discover her name? Justin stole another glance at the lady as she completed her transaction. She borrowed Pride and Prejudice, as he had. A kindred soul?
The bell over the shop door jangled and a formidable-looking matron entered. Her footwear tapped on the wooden floor as she crossed to the library counter, where she drummed impatient fingers. “Clara, are you done yet?”
Her name is Clara! Justin forced himself not to look up from the reading list. Now, if fate were kind, perhaps he could find out her last name.
<
br /> “Almost, Mama.”
The clerk looked up. “Good day, Lady Haley. Most pleasant to see you again.” His angled his body so only Justin could see his left side. He rubbed his forefinger along his nose and grinned.
An ally! He owed the clerk.
Miss, or was it Lady? Clara Haley smiled at the clerk, picked up her parcel and then followed her mother to the exit.
Justin straightened as she passed.
She cast him a shy smile.
He grinned back. She’s interested!
The door-bell jangled again as mother and daughter left, leaving emptiness behind.
Justin leaned one arm on the counter before the smirking clerk. “By any chance, would you know where the lady lives?”
The clerk huffed, puffing out his thin chest like a ruffled pigeon. “Sir! We do not give out such information!”
“Well…” Justin pulled a crown from his waistcoat pocket and held the coin between forefinger and thumb. The silver glinted in a sunbeam. “Perhaps you can make an exception?”
The man’s outrage vanished, replaced with that annoying, ingratiating smile. “I believe I can.” He pulled a book from a shelf beneath the counter, flipped pages and then ran his forefinger down to an entry. “Miss Clara Haley, daughter of Viscount Haley and his wife, lives with her family at Number 3 Saville Street.”
Justin slid the crown across the counter. With a hurried glance to confirm the library was indeed deserted, the clerk grabbed the coin and dropped the silver into his waistcoat pocket. “Thank you, sir. May your hunting prove successful.”
Justin nodded and left. Well, he knew her name and where she lived. Now he had to find someone to introduce them.
Outside, he paused on the shop’s top step. A stiff breeze blew up, and he grabbed his hat brim to prevent the air current from flinging his headgear away. The wind had cleared London’s ever-present coal smoke, and late afternoon sunlight, a mirror for Justin’s jubilant mood, flooded Old Bond Street. The muted colors of the grimy city gleamed as if in thanks, and the raucous clangor of people and vehicles muted to an inoffensive buzz.
He drew in a deep breath relatively free of the rank odors of horse manure and smoke. What a splendid day.
His mind a joyous whirl, he clattered down the library’s steps. Who would know Lord Haley?
“Ah, there you are, Fellowes.” Swinging his gold-tipped walking stick, Mr. Randall Trant sauntered up. As usual, his top hat tipped at a jaunty angle over his forehead, he wore a complicated knot in his cravat and his shirt points were high enough to restrict his vision. Add in his dark blue tailcoat, tight pantaloons and Hessians polished so highly they probably glowed in the dark, and he cut a figure straight out of the latest advert for gentlemen’s clothing.
Mr. Francis Wynne and Mr. Godfrey Coffey, similarly, but not quite so smartly attired, trotted in his wake.
Trant lifted his diamond-handled quizzing glass to his eye and snorted at Hookham’s façade. “Tsk, tsk. Another day in the library. I vow, I cannot understand your fascination with books.”
“Part of my job at the bank is to fetch and return the head clerk’s books to the library.”
“Yes, yes. That man treats you like a lackey.” Trant heaved a weary sigh. “I pity you, old chum. So many wonderful entertainments in our fair town and you spend your time reading.” He cocked a disapproving eyebrow at the parcel in Justin’s hands. “But you take altogether too much pleasure in your duty. Indeed, I might almost think you borrow books for yourself.” He released the quizzing glass to fall against his cravat. “You might even read novels.”
Justin swallowed and looked away. Good thing the book was wrapped.
With a disdainful sniff, Trant turned away from the building. “Would I pay Hookham’s two guineas a year for the privilege of taking out twelve books? Never. I would put the blunt to better use, like towards a new coat.” He flicked a speck of lint off his immaculate shirt cuff. “Although, the price does serve to keep out the riff-raff.”
Coffey, his watery blue eyes drooping in his perpetually bored expression, yawned. “Enough about books. What shall we do?”
“Well, today is Friday and our working slave here is done with his labors for the week. Shall we away for a good meal?” When the others nodded, Trant took up his usual place at the forefront of his friends as they strode down the pavements. “And tomorrow is Saturday, when Fellowes and I have our usual fencing match at noon. Ready?” He arched an elegant eyebrow. “I plan to beat you, you know. Care to make a wager?”
“You know I do not wager.” Although Justin was a gentleman, his family was not rich. He couldn’t afford to gamble like the deep-pocketed Trant, even if he had the inclination. That crown he paid the clerk had almost beggared him. He had better steer his friends to a cheap restaurant tonight or he would owe them. “And you may plan to beat me, but you will not. You have yet to do so.”
“So speaks the confidence of the underdog.”
Wynne, his usual genial smile splitting his round face, laughed. “Fellowes’s confidence is well-placed. He is very good.”
Trant speared Wynne with a glare that could strip paint off a wall. “Well, so am I.”
Coffey stuffed his hands into the pockets of his atrociously wide, but stylish, Cossack trousers. “I would like part of that wager. My money goes on Fellowes.”
Trant’s lips thinned. “Well, then, you will all lose.” He paused at the intersection of Old Bond Street and Piccadilly, the others clustering around him. A large dray, creaking and groaning, passed.
Wynne tossed a coin to the street sweeper. “Ah, you don’t like the idea that you might lose.” After the scrawny lad had brushed away the dirt and debris before them, the three friends forged ahead
Trant swiped back a lock of his artfully curled blond hair much too fiercely. “You would not speak so if you had seen me fence.”
“I have seen you both.” Coffey raised a languid eyebrow. “Which is why my money is on Fellowes.”
Trant stepped in front of Coffey. “If you want to take me on…”
Damnation, Trant and Coffey were always too eager for another of their incessant brangles. Justin set a hand on Trant’s shoulder. “Enough about wagering, you three. I need your help. Do any of you know Lord Haley?”
Wynne shook his head, dislodging his hat. He tapped the headgear back onto his black curls. “Don’t spend my time studying Debrett’s.”
Coffey, his drooping eyes sharp with the knowledge of Justin’s motive for interrupting, nodded in agreement.
Trant’s forehead puckered. “Why the interest in Lord Haley?”
“Well, in the library, I saw Lady Haley and her daughter…”
Trant raised a restraining hand and guffawed. “Say no more. At last, you have found a lady to your liking.” With the smile of a hawk that has spotted dinner curving his lips, he stepped back from the forgotten Coffey “I have the best of ideas. If wagering money on our fencing bout is not to your liking, we can wager for something else.”
Warning bells clanged in Justin’s head. “What, then?”
Trant’s smile widened. “I know the Haleys. If you win, I will introduce you to his lordship’s lovely daughter.”
Chapter 2
“Please take me to the fencing match.” Clara blocked her cousin’s path to the front door of her father’s townhouse.
Mr. Cuthbert “Bertie” Onslow squirmed and examined the floor as he turned his top hat in his hands. “I cannot take a lady to a fencing match.”
“Yes, you can. Here, read the notice in the news sheet.” She shoved a folded newspaper into his hand and pointed to the advert as she read aloud. “‘Exhibition of the finest in fencing by the maestro, Aldo. Public is welcome’.”
Bertie frowned at the offending paragraph. “Well, the notice may say ‘public’, but what it really means is ‘men’. Aldo wants to increase the number of his academy’s clients.”
“Well, I take ‘public’ to mean everyone who wishes to see
the demonstration. And I know you plan to go.”
“Ladies do not attend such affairs.”
Clara crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wood panel. “I will not let you leave until you agree.”
“There is no reasoning with you when you get that mulish look on your face.” His eyes narrowed. “Your father should take you firmly in hand.”
“I prefer the term ‘strong-minded.’ And if I were not so strong-minded, I would have led Papa ill on several investments.”
Bertie snorted. “Women should not concern themselves with finance.”
She favored him with her sweetest smile. “Then why did you put money into the projects I recommended?”
He threw up his hands. “Very well, I give up. I shall escort you. But the demonstration is in Soho Square and there is no time to ready a carriage. We shall walk, and no complaints.” His forbidding tone made the exertion sound like the worst thing in the world. Probably because he hoped to dissuade her.
As if a little exercise would deter her! “Oh, thank you.” She brushed a kiss over her scowling cousin’s cheek. “I will always be grateful.”
He jammed his hat onto his head, his frown still in place. “Yes, until you want something else and I do not want to help you.”
Clara ignored his grumbles as she threw on her bonnet and gloves and they exited to the street. She caught his arm as he strode along at a fast clip.
Bertie nodded to an acquaintance without slowing down. “We must arrive early if we expect to see anything. These exhibitions are very popular and are always packed.”
Within the half hour they emerged onto the south side of Soho Square. A large group of men of all stations congregated before one of the houses on the west side of the square. Deep male voices, laughing and shouting, filled the air.
“Here we are, at Carlisle House.” Bertie tipped his chin at the building that excited all the commotion. “A good-sized crowd already, I fear.” They hurried around the square until they stood at the edge of the jostling throng.