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

  Their footfalls on the pavements rang loud in the early morning hush. They passed two chatting maids sweeping adjacent stoops. A tradesman pushing a handcart called a greeting to the maids. Farther along, a milk seller, his cart propped against the rail of a townhouse, hauled his milk can down the service steps to the kitchen below street level. They waited at Park Street as an elegant lacquered black carriage with a crest on its door rattled down the cobblestones. A nobleman returning home from a night of debauchery? A coal wagon with squeaky wheels followed more slowly, allowing them ample time to cross the thoroughfare.

  They entered Hyde Park through the Grosvenor Gate, and then trod along the graveled path parallel to the street. Cool morning air tinged with the green scent of leaves and grass brushed Clara’s cheeks. Would Mr. Fellowes be here? What if he wasn’t? Her mind rioting, she quickened her pace until Mary’s and Tom’s labored breathing reached her ears. Gracious, she must be flying if the young, healthy maid and groom had trouble keeping up with her. She forced her feet to slow, but instead of inducing calm, the delay sent her frenzied thoughts racketing faster and faster.

  She kept up her decorous steps as they crossed onto Rotten Row. Only a few people well-wrapped against the morning chill passed them as they advanced along the popular byway. At long last, the Serpentine came into view on their right. Drifting grey mist obscured the lake’s surface. The whispering murmur of water rippling to shore wafted in the morning stillness.

  Had he come? Clara’s pulse raced. Yes! There he was, pacing on the near bank! She expelled a shaky breath. After a quick word to the servants to wait for her, she left them ambling on Rotten Row.

  Mr. Fellowes had on the same blue tailcoat he wore on Friday. Dew dotted his boots and top hat. He pulled out his pocket watch and, forehead furrowed, checked the time. Was he as eager to see her as she was to see him?

  With a click, he snapped the timepiece’s cover shut and then slipped the watch back into his pocket. Turning away from the lake, he cast his gaze over the park.

  Now that the meeting was almost upon her, she hesitated. Should she wave and hurry forward? She swallowed. Or flee?

  At that moment, he stopped, and a smile curved his lips. He strode toward her, arm outstretched. “Miss Haley. Delightful to see you again.” He kissed her knuckles.

  Warmth surged all the way to her shoulder. Gracious, she had never felt that before. Every nerve singing, she slipped her arm through his.

  He clasped his hand over hers.

  More delicious tingles flitted along her skin. Good thing she hadn’t run away.

  His gray eyes twinkled. “I was afraid you would not come. I thought I was too late, or mayhap, too early.”

  His touch generated more heat in her body than a midday summer sun. “Is that why you checked your watch?”

  He cracked a grin. “For the twelfth time since I arrived.”

  Oh, he did want to see her! She was so light she probably didn’t leave footprints in the dewy grass. “I, too, feared I would be late.”

  His smile deepened. “You can never be late. I would wait forever for you.”

  Her heart soared, but a small warning bell chimed. His words were gallant, but did he mean them? She silenced the bell. For this morning, she would enjoy the company of a chivalrous swain.

  They promenaded along the shore until they reached a soaring elm. A few sunbeams, not yet checked by the pall of coal smoke that would thicken as Londoners stoked up their cooking fires, poured pink and gold light over the wide, manicured lawns. Overhead, goldfinches and blue tits, bright swatches of yellow and blue, warbled joyous songs. Oh, what a splendid day!

  Disengaging her arm from his, she retrieved a small bag from her reticule. “I always feed the ducks here, so they know where to find me.” She opened the sack and then threw a handful of stale bread onto the water.

  Loud quacking pierced the air, and a raft of green-and-brown mallards sprang from the lake’s fog to bicker over the food.

  She sighed. “I do so like ducks. But I wish they were more polite when they eat.” She offered him the bag and he also tossed some scraps to the birds. The ducks, which had calmed down after devouring the tidbits, instantly resumed their splashy squabbling.

  Mr. Fellowes dusted crumbs off his gloved hands. “Ducks are more honest than people. They brangle all the time over what they want and no apologies. People do the same, but dress it up with politeness.”

  They laughed at the birds’ antics until they had scattered all the bread. The watchful ducks lingered until no more treats appeared, and then they swam away without a backward glance.

  Clara huffed. “Ingrates. They stay only when we supply food.”

  He chuckled. “Just like people. They remain when you give them what they want.” He winged out his arm and they sauntered farther along the lakeshore to sit at a high-backed stone bench. “I was most surprised to see you at the fencing academy.”

  She arranged her skirts around her and gave a slight shiver as the cold of the stone penetrated her garments. “Well, I have always wanted to see a match, and I was able to browbeat my cousin into taking me. I enjoyed the demonstration very much.” She leaned against the bench’s back. “Oh, how much I would like to take up fencing.”

  He angled his body toward her. “Ladies generally do not fence.”

  She sighed. “There are so many things ladies are not supposed to do. One day I will learn how to fence.”

  He dipped his head. “Good for you. Some rules are necessary, but others are sheer idiocy. Why should a lady not fence, if she has the inclination? After all, ladies learn archery and no one complains. Fencing is just another sport.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps men are afraid of a woman brandishing a sword.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “Some men should be fearful. If a man has hurt a lady, he deserves no quarter.”

  “Very prettily said, sir.”

  His face sobered. “I can teach you the basics of fencing, if you wish.”

  She clapped her hands. “Would you really?” His face filled her vision. A whiff of his bay rum shaving soap teased her nostrils. The world contracted to Mr. Fellowes and his pewter grey eyes.

  He slid an inch closer. “I would be most happy—”

  “QUACK!”

  Clara jumped.

  Mr. Fellowes blinked and then straightened.

  A lone, hopeful drake waddled onto shore and pecked at their feet.

  Drat! As much as she liked ducks, she could happily consign this particular one to Jericho. The spell broken, she emptied the few morsels left in the sack onto the ground. “I am sorry, Sir Duck, but we have no more.”

  The bird gobbled up the scraps, and then turned and hopped into the lake and paddled away.

  “What, no ‘thank you’? Another ingrate, I fear.” She crumpled the bag before stowing it in her reticule. The rest of you ducks, stay away! She turned back to Mr. Fellowes.

  A smile now curved his lips, but his eyes remained dark. He swallowed.

  “I was most surprised to see you in the library, sir. Few gentlemen of my acquaintance go there.”

  “Well, going to the library is part of my job.”

  Oh dear. He was at the library for his work, not because he likes to read.

  “My employer has a special account at Hookham’s. Unlimited use of the library. The head clerk allows me to use the subscription to take out books for my own pleasure as well as for my job.”

  “And for your sister, too? The library clerk said you had taken out Pride and Prejudice for her.”

  He cleared his throat. “In point of fact, I took out Pride and Prejudice for myself.”

  “Did you?” Oh, how splendid! But a dark dot of cloud marred the crystalline blue of her personal sunny sky. Mr. Fellowes would not be the first man who had told her he liked novels in order to secure her goodwill.

  He set his hands on his knees. “I enjoyed the book, although I cannot imagine any man being such a sapskull as
Darcy the first time he proposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth. After being high in the instep, stiff and unapproachable—”

  “He did say she had fine eyes.”

  “Yes, but he told Bingley that, not her. And he refused to dance with any of the Meryton ladies.”

  “I suspect he is shy.”

  “Mayhap. But shyness can masquerade as arrogance, and Darcy is certainly arrogant. Take his proposal. Without a word of warning, he says—” He grasped his lapels and raised a haughty eyebrow until he was the picture of a pompous idiot. In a deep, sonorous voice, he quoted: “‘In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”

  She giggled.

  A grin split his mouth as he stretched his arm along the back of the bench, so close his heat skittered along her skin. Another whiff of bay rum wafted to her nose.

  Gracious, she had never been this close to a young man before. Sparks rippled along her spine.

  “Toplofty as ever, Darcy then proceeds to list in offensive, humiliating detail the multitude of ways her station is inferior to his, but that he, in his greatness, will ignore. And after all that, he has the gall to ask her to marry him. I can understand the lady’s confusion and fury.”

  So, he had read the book! “Just so. Although, I daresay most ladies would have said yes, despite his insult. He is very rich.”

  A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Is any amount of money suitable recompense for a miserable marriage? Miss Elizabeth did not think so.”

  She huffed out a breath. “So speaks a man. Real life is not a novel. You can make your own way. Ladies have few choices—governess, companion, unpaid nursemaid to their relatives’ children. None of them are very good.”

  “Too true. But I hope a lady can find a man who will do whatever he must to provide for her.”

  Her internal warning bell clanged again. Mr. Fellowes said all the right things, but men were adept at lying to women until they got what they wanted. Was he one of them? She must find out more about him. “And you, sir, what of you?

  “My father owns a small estate in Essex. I am the third son, and so must seek my fortune. I read law at Oxford, but I did not care to become a barrister. Finance interests me, so I looked for a position with a bank. I am now assistant to the head clerk at Coutts & Company Bank.”

  “My father has an account there.” Did he know that? “I often accompany him when he transacts business, but I have never seen you.”

  “I would certainly remember you.” He cast her a dazzling smile. “But I am relatively new, and my work keeps me in the back office for now. At this point, I draw up the legal documents for people seeking loans and buying annuities.”

  “Ah, then you know all the financial secrets of the aristocracy.”

  He shook his head. “Only those who deal with their accounts know the details. I know only as much as necessary to write the required papers. Since I have never had reason to draw up anything for your father, I know nothing of his affairs.”

  “Well, you will soon learn that I research investments for Papa, and he often takes my advice.” That comment usually elicited a man’s true thoughts about her. Most could not abide a female with brains, like the scandalized clerks she had encountered at Coutts.

  His smile deepened. “I have always preferred intelligent ladies. Hence my liking for Miss Elizabeth.”

  How charming he is. Her heart fluttered. But, now that he knows Papa banks at Coutts, will he try to secure his business? “We may encounter each other at the bank sometime.”

  A gleam lit his quicksilver-colored eyes. “I look forward to seeing you, and I would be most happy to serve you, if I can.”

  A duck quacked close by, a dog barked, and a young boy followed the dog to the lake edge. The sparse sprinkling of pedestrians along Rotten Row had picked up in the past few minutes. Mary and Tom now strolled along the lake shore, keeping her in sight, but still far enough away so they couldn’t eavesdrop on her conversation.

  Mr. Fellowes pulled out his pocket watch again and frowned at the dial. “I regret I must leave. The bank opens at nine.” He returned the timepiece to his pocket and pressed to his feet.

  His arm slid away, and along with it, his heat. The loss of his warmth left a yearning behind.

  Whatever reservations she had, crumbled. Oh, how could she see him again? “I usually visit the library on Tuesday and Friday.” She held her breath.

  His grin glimmered. “I am sure I have books due on Tuesday. I usually leave work a little early and return them right before the library closes.”

  Her breath rushed out. “I have a book due on Tuesday, too.” If I do not, I will go anyway. “Shall we both be at the library around half past five?”

  ***

  Justin nodded at Miss Haley and her servants as he left them near Hyde Park Corner. She favored him with a smile more radiant than the most lambent full moon as she turned onto the path that ran along Park Street. He waited until her graceful figure disappeared through the Grosvenor Gate. How he would have liked to accompany her home, but he had tarried too long. As it is, he might be late for work.

  He floated in a cotton wool cloud as he hurried down Piccadilly. Miss Haley was indeed his Miss Elizabeth! Not only beautiful, but also intelligent and witty. Kind, too, although that last duck certainly didn’t deserve any kindness for interrupting their almost-kiss.

  A little of his cotton-wool cloud evaporated. Gads, he had almost kissed her right there in the middle of the park. What had he been thinking? Or maybe he hadn’t been. A kiss would have put a quick end to his acquaintance with the delectable Miss Haley.

  The past two days had dragged on longer than the past two years. After the fencing match, he and his friends stopped at a tavern for some celebratory ale. True to form, Wynne and Coffey ragged him and Trant sulked. All three, with lascivious gleams in their eyes, lifted toast after toast to his success with the lady. Finally, he staggered home, long after dark and as awash with ale as any man still alive could be. He fell into bed fully clothed and dreamt hot dreams of Miss Haley. His throbbing head dampened some of his enthusiasm on Sunday, but not for long. This morning, he had arisen with the first gray shreds of dawn and hotfooted to the park long before half after seven to make sure he would arrive on time.

  Now, the increasing noise, traffic and foul odors of the awakening city barely registered as he made his way across town. He turned onto the Strand and its bevy of townhouses with shop fronts on the ground floor. Merchants preparing for business opened their doors as he approached Coutts Bank at Numbers 56-59. Housed in four interconnected four story buildings, Coutts, although one of England’s premier financial institutions, was barely distinguishable from its neighbors in the row of eleven plain brick townhouses.

  His mind occupied with visions of Miss Haley, Justin strode by the customer entrance at Number 59 and he had to backtrack to Number 58, the location of his office.

  He cast a quick glance into the not-yet-open client area on the combined ground floors. His work rarely involved meeting customers, so he paid little attention to this space, but Miss Haley sometimes came here with her father. He would have to make a point of dropping in more often.

  He climbed two flights to the large paneled office which he shared with several other clerks. After hanging his hat on a peg by the door, he nodded a greeting to his colleagues as he strode down the aisle between the desks. He gave an inward sigh as he settled into his chair. Time to put Miss Haley out of his mind.

  As he opened his side desk drawer to pull out a stack of documents, the clock on the carved fireplace mantel chimed nine o’clock. He had just made it. A minute later, he would have been late, and the head clerk would have docked his pay. That crown with which he had bribed the library clerk had used up a large part of last week’s salary. Dinner with his friends on Friday cost a goodly sum, and all that ale on Saturday took most of the rest. He didn’t have enough to pa
y for all his meals until payday this coming Friday.

  He smiled down at his work. But, if he had to die of starvation, he would die happy.

  “Care to let us in on the joke?” His prune-faced colleague at the next desk frowned over his wire-rimmed spectacles.

  Justin gave an inward groan. The man wouldn’t laugh if a jest tapped him on the shoulder. “Nothing, nothing. Just a good day today.”

  The clerk glanced out the window. London’s ever-present haze of coal smoke had thickened, blotting out the sky. A few splatters of rain pelted the pane. He raised his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

  Justin bent his head back to his document, but Miss Haley’s lovely face intruded on his thoughts again and again. When he had reread the same paragraph three times in a row, he pushed the sheet away.

  He leaned back in his chair. He would see Miss Haley at the library. He glanced at the clock. Quarter past nine. Tomorrow at half past five would never arrive. But, she walked in the park most mornings. No reason why he couldn’t visit the park tomorrow morning and every day after. Seeing her beautiful face would be a splendid way to start the day.

  The door clicked open and the head clerk entered. Heads rose as the short, fat man staggered between the desks, weighed down by the towering stack of documents cradled in his arms. He angled his head so he could see around his burden until he stopped at Justin’s desk. “Here, Fellowes, for you.” He dumped the pile onto Justin’s blotter. The topmost sheets whispered as they fluttered to the floor.

  A relieved sigh went up from the other clerks. His eyes shooting fire, the head clerk spun around. But by that time, every man had his head down while he busily scribbled away.

  Justin stood. The stack came up to his chin. “What is this?”

  The head clerk leaned one hand on the desk and huffed and puffed. “We just had word. Woodyear broke his leg. The damned fool drove in a curricle race on Saturday.”

  “An accident?”

  “No, he won the race.” He pulled out a large handkerchief and then mopped his forehead. “After they had stopped, the nodcock injured himself when he jumped from the driver’s seat to celebrate his victory.”