A Similar Taste in Books (Love and the Library) Read online

  Clara stood on tiptoe to examine the structure.

  The brown brick house stood back from the street, with a little courtyard in front, filled with men who spilled out onto the pavements. The structure rose three stories with a triangular pediment at the top. Area railings framed the entry. Four tall windows filled the façade of each story, with a smaller window in the pediment. Acanthus leaf moldings decorated the sides of the front door, and egg-and-dart moldings surrounded the upper pediment.

  “Gracious, the place looks too ornate for a fencing academy.”

  “Used to belong to Countess of Delaval. The inside is just as fancy as the exterior.”

  A liveried footman, his face blank amid the seething mass before him, stood before the open door. He tipped his head, and leaned back into the house. Then he stood aside and waved the assembled men in.

  Bertie kept a close grip on Clara’s arm as they inched forward. “The famous Angelo used to have his Fencing Academy here. Some years back, his son moved the place to the Opera House-buildings in Haymarket. From what I hear, Aldo wants to take Angelo’s place. Even changed his name from Giuseppe to Aldo, because Aldo sounds like Angelo. Hopes to confuse some people into patronizing him rather than Angelo, I daresay. Although Aldo is a very good fencer, too.”

  They crossed the threshold into a paneled corridor with molding and cornices along the tops of the walls. At the end of the passage, an arch led to a carpeted staircase. But, before they reached the arch, the sea of bodies surged through an entrance on the left. A crystal chandelier in this chamber cast light over paneled walls decorated with more carved molding and cornices.

  Indeed, this house was much too ornate for a fencing academy. The place was also packed with men.

  Only men.

  Prickles of ice slipped down Clara’s spine. She had never seen so many men at one time, and from all walks of life, although most dressed like gentlemen. Had she indeed made a mistake coming here?

  And the smell! She wrinkled her nose. Although the chamber was immaculately clean and all the windows were open, the enclosed space reeked of male sweat. Didn’t any of these men bathe?

  Bertie’s eyebrows drew together and he gripped her arm tighter. “Now, stay close. I do not anticipate any trouble, but sometimes a fight breaks out when so many men gather.”

  Clara clenched her hands and moved a half step closer to Bertie. High pitched voices soaring above the deeper male tones drew her attention to several women by the tall windows. Her fingers relaxed. Men were less likely to fight if women were present.

  But, something was odd about those women. All except one were young and wore brightly colored gowns that were cut scandalously low. The one older lady, more soberly garbed in well-cut grey, stood a little apart and talked to a tall, swarthy man with short black hair. He wore a padded waistcoat and cradled a mesh mask in his left arm.

  “You said there would not be any women here. Look, ladies are over there.”

  Her cousin’s jaw tightened. “Blast. I knew I should not have brought you here. They are not ladies.” His eyes narrowed. “Well, except for Lady Perceval, the one talking to Aldo. She always comes to these demonstrations.”

  “Good. I am not alone, then.” Clara hadn’t met the slightly daring Lady Perceval, but, by all accounts, the ton held her in high regard. Her attendance made the young, unmarried Clara’s presence more acceptable. “I am sure nothing untoward will occur.” She patted Bertie’s hand. “And I will have a wonderful time.”

  In the center of the room was an oblong roped-off area. Metal covered the floor within the ropes. Bertie pushed his way forward to the center of the rope along one long end of the oblong. “The exhibition will take place on this piste.” He nodded to the metal strip. “The opponents must stay on the piste or they lose points. The first one to touch the other somewhere on the upper body, but not the head, wins.”

  Clara set a hand on the barrier to secure her place among the shouting and jostling male throng. A little father along, money changed hands. Gambling on a demonstration? Oh, well, some men would wager on anything.

  Aldo bowed to Lady Perceval and then left to take his place on the exhibition piste. He raised his arms for silence, introduced his partner, and then gave a short lecture on what they would see before he and his associate faced off to begin their bout.

  On the other side of the presentation space were two other pistes. A pair of men fought on the one by the far wall. The fencers lunged back and forth, one gaining, and then the other advancing, as if they were about evenly matched. Their mesh masks obscured their faces, but one’s hair was blond, and the other’s black, like the gentleman in the library yesterday.

  A wave of longing swept over her. Would she ever see her Mr. Darcy again? That young gentleman had remained in her thoughts even when she sought to dislodge him. Well, the next time she visited the library, she would ask the clerk who he was. That officious clerk knew everyone.

  Lady Perceval had taken up a position at the short end of the demonstration oblong. Aldo called a halt, and as the spectators clapped, the lady caught sight of Clara. Her eyebrows rose. Elbows high, she shoved her way through the squeeze toward them, eliciting more than one masculine grunt of pain. After nudging the nearest man away none too gently, she settled beside her. “Good day, Clara, and you, too, Onslow.”

  The short break over, Bertie bowed and then returned his attention to Aldo.

  Lady Percival clapped as Aldo raised his sword to begin anew. “Ladies do not usually come to these exhibitions. I cannot understand why.”

  “Neither do I. I have always wanted to see a fencing match. How much skill and dedication the sport must take.”

  “Skill is beside the point, at least for me. My girl, you are in for a treat.” Lady Perceval gave a suggestive lift of her eyebrows. “Fencers are all gorgeous, muscular young men wearing tight breeches.” She swept her gaze toward Aldo and his partner and sighed. “A most splendid spectacle, indeed. The other ladies cannot know what they miss, or women instead of men would flock here.” She cast Clara a mischievous grin. “Shall we keep it our own little secret?”

  Clara’s cheeks heated as she nodded.

  ***

  Justin heaved an audible exhalation as he raised his foil. Again. Under his padded chest guard, sweat soaked his torso. His breath heated the inside of his mesh mask to suffocating. When would this bout end?

  He and Trant had begun well over an hour before the demonstration’s scheduled start. By rights, they should have finished long ago, but Justin hadn’t been able to find an opening in Trant’s defense. Neither had Trant found an opening in his.

  Wynne, who acted as referee, had already called two rest periods. The second one had just ended, as Wynne, handkerchief held high, stood ready to signal the start of the next round.

  Wynne dropped his handkerchief, and Justin and Trant engaged, the metallic ringing of their clashing swords filling the air. They surged back and forth in what had become a monotonous dance between two almost equally skilled opponents.

  Damnation. Trant was as good as he boasted. He must have practiced in between their weekly matches.

  Trant broke their sparring to charge forward, and Justin parried. With a quick swing, Justin followed with his own thrust, which Trant neatly deflected.

  Hell and the devil, if they kept up this almost even give-and-take, they would be here all day. If they didn’t die from exhaustion first.

  From the main part of the room, loud cheering erupted. Justin kept his eye on Trant.

  Trant lunged, again aiming toward Justin’s chest. “Damned exhibition. I forgot all about the blasted thing.”

  Justin parried and riposted.

  Quick as ever, Trant jumped out of reach of Justin’s foil.

  Curse it, almost had him. “What, is the noise ruining your concentration?”

  “Not at all.” Trant drove forward. The tip of his foil slashed a slice of a thread away from Justin’s chest guard. “I just prefer quiet
when I fight.”

  Concentrate! He almost had you. Justin fell back to recoup. “Do you? Or do you prefer to have the spectators cheer you instead?” He retaliated, his foil arrowing toward Trant’s arm.

  Trant danced out of the way. “They should.” His irritating smirk showed through the mesh of the mask.

  Blast.

  Their swords flashed as first one and then the other advanced. A hush descended, broken only by the soft snicks of Justin’s and Trant’s clashing foils and Aldo’s voice as the maestro explained the next part of the presentation.

  Cultured feminine tones called out a question to Aldo.

  Trant attacked again. “What the devil, women? Aldo has no discrimination.” His breaths rasped in the mostly quiet room. He must be as tired as Justin was, but his fatigue didn’t show in his stance. “Surprised there isn’t more rabble.”

  “From her voice, she’s a lady.” Trant withdrew and Justin spared a glance to the demonstration area. At the far side of the piste stood a group of prostitutes, as was usual whenever men collected. Closer to the center of the enclosing rope stood two ladies, one whose bright blue dress was like a flower among the weeds of dull masculine black and brown.

  Aldo ceased his lecture, and the clicks of the demonstrators’ swords joined the chorus made by Justin and Trant’s weapons, intermingled with the underlying rumble of male voices.

  Trant edged to the side of the piste, forcing Justin to the opposite edge, and the exhibition space came into view. The lady in the blue dress turned and looked his way.

  Justin’s world froze. Miss Haley!

  Trant’s sword sang by his ear, and a blunt tip pressed to his chest. Trant’s foil.

  “Touché!” Wynne ran up. “Trant, you have won.”

  Trant kept his foil point pressed to Justin’s chest. “Told you I was better than you.”

  Justin lowered his sword and then pulled off his mask. “So you are.” And I have lost my chance to meet the lady of my dreams. The day which had begun with such promise blackened into the dreariest of nights.

  Coffey yawned. “I say, good thing Wynne and I decided not to bet on the outcome. You have sorely disappointed us, Fellowes.”

  “Sorry.” But not as sorry as I am for myself. A fist tightened in his chest.

  Trant brought down his foil and also removed his mask. He swiped his forearm over his sweaty face before shaking Justin’s hand. “You really must not let anything distract you.”

  Wynne, his mouth a downward curve, scanned the crowd. “What distracted you?”

  Shoulders slumping, Justin set his mask and sword on the floor and then tipped his head toward the young lady in blue. “Her. She is the one I want to meet.” She was so close! Would someone here know her?

  Wynne’s frown arched upward into a grin. “Why did you not say so? I know the cove with her. Bertie Onslow. Good chap. We went to Eton together.”

  Justin’s every muscle tightened. Another chance! “Wynne, you must introduce me.”

  His friend raised an eyebrow at Justin’s wet and soiled fencing clothes. “In that filthy rig? Really, not the done thing.”

  Justin grabbed Wynne’s lapels and twisted. “Introduce me or I will run you through with my foil. After I choke you to death.”

  Wynne gasped as he batted at Justin’s hands. “Very well, very well. No need to get into such a taking.”

  Justin released his friend and a grumbling Wynne brushed down his lapels. “Crushed the fabric. My valet will never let me hear the end of it.” After a few more muttered complaints, his normally cheerful disposition reasserted itself and he grinned. “I daresay, you must be exceedingly sweet on the lady to resort to violence. But hurry.”

  Clapping and shouting filled the air, signaling the end of the demonstration. A large group of men surrounded the maestro, but most of the crowd surged for the exit. Miss Haley slipped her hand through her escort’s arm and then they joined the departing throng.

  Sweat turning his fingers into clumsy blocks, Justin fumbled with the ties of his chest protector. The laces at last parting, he tore the padding off.

  Coffey, as lazy-eyed as ever, threw him a towel.

  Justin’s heartbeat pounded like a drum as he mopped his face and neck. “Give me a moment to fetch my coat and neck cloth.”

  “No time.” Wynne grabbed Justin’s arm and hauled him along. “They are almost gone.” Wynne raised his voice over the rumbling male voices. “I say, Onslow, wait up.”

  Onslow and the lady stopped and turned. Her eyes widened.

  She remembers me. Capital! Crooking his mouth into what he hoped was an appealing grin, Justin smoothed his drenched hair back. Pray he did not look too unappealing in all his dirt.

  Onslow, a tall man with dark hair and a genial smile, extended his hand. “Why, good day to you, Wynne. Did not see you here.”

  Wynne took his hand in a hearty clasp. “Was referee for the match between my friends.” He pulled Justin forward. “I would like to make Mr. Justin Fellowes known to you.”

  With raised eyebrows, Onslow took in Justin’s rumpled appearance. “You must have been one of the participants.”

  “Yes. I lost.”

  Onslow’s smile deepened. “And you admit it? You are a dashed good sport. But my manners.” He gestured to the lady on his arm. “My cousin, Miss Clara Haley, Mr. Francis Wynne and Mr. Justin Fellowes.”

  With a pleased smile, she dipped her head to both of them, but her gaze never left Justin.

  She not only remembers me, she’s happy to see me! He squared his shoulders and returned her smile.

  With a waggle of his eyebrows, Wynne pulled Onslow aside and positioned himself so Onslow’s back was to Justin and the lady.

  Justin’s mouth dried. Miss Haley looked even better now than she had yesterday. Her dress, a shade of bright blue that rivaled the most glorious noontime sky, clung to her shapely form in a way no man could fail to notice. A whiff of her lilac perfume drifted to his nose, a breath of spring in the close room.

  Now that he had her alone, what could he say? His mind blanked.

  She squeezed her reticule in both hands before her breast, no doubt to the detriment of the soft bag’s contents. Was she as anxious as he? “Fencing has always fascinated me, which is why I asked Bertie to bring me here.” Her words spilled out in a rush. “I enjoyed the exhibition very much, but I fear I did not pay attention to your match. I am sorry you lost.”

  “But I did not lose. I won.”

  The most endearing little crease formed between her shapely eyebrows. “But you said you lost. How can you have also won?”

  “My opponent knows your father. If I had won, he would have introduced me to him, and hence, to you.”

  She laughed, a beautiful light ringing sound amid the low-pitched male rumbles. “But Mr. Wynne knows my cousin, so you still achieved your goal. How fortunate for you.” Crimson bloomed on her cheeks. “I also saw you at Hookham’s.”

  “An interest in fencing does not preclude pleasure in reading.”

  A smile tipped her rosy lips. “True. I very much enjoy reading. But I also enjoy walking. Except for Sunday, I usually stroll in Hyde Park about half after seven. So uncrowded then. I like the Serpentine and the ducks.” Her eyes extended a shy invitation.

  One he most certainly would accept. “I find I have developed an irresistible fondness for ducks. Monday, then?”

  Wynne looked up, winked and then guided Onslow back over. Onslow cast an assessing gaze at Justin before he turned to his cousin. “The crush has lessened, Clara. Shall we away?”

  Miss Haley nodded and then held out her gloved hand to Justin. “Good to meet you, Mr. Fellowes.” Her smile and slight nod was the answer to his question.

  “And I am most happy to meet you.” His heart pounding so hard it might trip away on its own, Justin kissed her knuckles. And I will be even happier when I meet you in the park on Monday.

  Chapter 3

  “Hurry up, Mary.” Clara fidgeted on
the seat before her dressing table. Why did her maid take so long to do up her hair? She had taken less time yesterday.

  Mary’s bland expression didn’t vary an iota as she pinned another of Clara’s dark curls into place, and then regarded her handiwork in the dressing table mirror. “Well, then, miss, I be a’ working as fast as I always do. Even though you’re only goin’ to the park, I can’t let you leave looking all rumpled.”

  “Thanks to your ministrations, I never look all rumpled. But I want to be there before half past seven.”

  The looking glass reflected Mary’s raised eyebrows. “By any chance, are you meeting someone?”

  Clara’s cheeks flamed red.

  A ghost of a smile dusted the maid’s mouth. “So I thought. That handsome young man you met at the fencing match? The one you first saw at the library?”

  The red in Clara’s cheeks deepened. Was she that obvious? Apparently. She couldn’t keep anything from her maid.

  Mary inserted another pin into Clara’s tresses. “Well, he looked like a nice lad. Very handsome, too.”

  “He is.” Clara had spent two restless nights and an equally restless Sunday reliving their meeting at the fencing demonstration. Mr. Justin Fellowes was even better looking than she realized. His wet lawn shirt had outlined the well-shaped muscles of his torso as much as the tight breeches did his thighs.

  A wave of heat flushed over her. Lady Perceval was right. Fencing did indeed display a young man’s attributes to perfection. “And I do not want to keep him waiting.”

  Mary patted the last curl into place. “Well, you’re ready now.”

  “Thank you.” Clara jumped up and ran out. Although she hurried her steps, she took care to avoid the squeaky tread halfway down the stairs. Most of her family were still abed and she didn’t want any questions.

  Tom the footman, already wearing his cloak, waited in the front entry. He helped her into her pelisse when Mary, in hat and cloak, appeared. Tom opened the door as Clara tied her bonnet strings. Her unsteady fingers tangled in the suddenly stubborn ribbons, but at last the three of them set off west for the park.