A Similar Taste in Books (Love and the Library) Page 4

  Snorts and guffaws sounded from the other clerks, although they all kept their heads bowed and kept writing.

  “He’ll be out for at least a week, if not longer, and the review of the Jervis estate is next Monday. I need your help.”

  Justin picked up the top paper. Woodyear’s well-known chicken scratches covered the sheet. With his almost indecipherable writing, Woodyear was both the joke and the bane of Coutts. Anyone condemned to take over his work soon teetered on the brink of madness.

  All of Justin’s pleasure in the day fizzled away. “I may need help.”

  The head clerk waved a hand behind him. “Yes, yes, you may call on anyone here.” Muttering curses intermingled with phrases of relief, he stalked back down the aisle and quit the office.

  Justin sank into his chair. Gads, he had to go through all this in a week? He would be lucky if he left the bank at all.

  Chapter 4

  Clara bounced up the steps to Hookham’s. Tuesday had finally arrived. How could a mere day have dragged so long? She would see Mr. Fellowes!

  He had dominated her dreams the past few nights. His smile, his conversation, his intelligent eyes…his broad shoulders. She fanned her cheeks at the sudden heat that blasted through her. Had she found the ideal man?

  The bell over the shop door tinkled as she stepped inside and then made her way to the library. A few patrons queued up before the counter to borrow books. In the Reading Room at the back, several ladies and a few gentlemen lounged in comfortable plush chairs as they perused their tomes.

  But no Mr. Fellowes.

  At least, not yet. Her insides fluttered.

  Mary, who trailed after her mistress, sank onto a padded bench by the wall. “I’ll wait here until you want me, Miss.”

  Clara nodded as she took her place on the queue. She smiled at the clerk, who flushed a violent shade of red and gulped as he slid her returned books onto a nearby shelf.

  She glanced at the entrance before she studied the list of new books and then wrote down the title of one she wanted. Then she examined the list of other available books and noted another one. She would decide which one to check out later.

  With another peek at the front door, which stubbornly refused to open and admit Mr. Fellowes, she wandered into the Reading Room. She paused at the table in the center of the polished wood floor. Patrons had left books, pamphlets, broadsheets and other items they had finished reading here. Without paying much attention, she scooped up the nearest book. Then she settled into an unoccupied chair that gave a view of the entry. She would wait. Surely, he would be only a few minutes.

  She cracked open the tome to the cover page. Sermons Selected from the Works of the most Eminent Divines of the 16th , 17th, and 18th Centuries Abridged and Rendered in a Modern and Appropriate Style by the Rev. Edward Atkyns Bray, Vicar of Tavistock.

  She wrinkled her nose. Gracious, she hated reading sermons. But the crisp pages and shiny leather binding proclaimed the book was brand new. Apparently, many people enjoyed religious writings.

  She lifted her gaze to the entry again. Still empty. Well, she might as well sift through the sermons. Doubtless, she wouldn’t have long to suffer.

  After only a few paragraphs, her eyes crossed. Blinking, she lowered the publication to her lap and glared at the doorway. What could be keeping Mr. Fellowes? She stood and set the book on the table with a thump. Some other patron could have the pleasure of perusing that opus. She rooted among the other discarded items before she selected Sir Walter Scott’s Lady of the Lake. Although she had already read this poetry collection, the book was good enough to while away a few minutes.

  She had looked up at the still-empty entrance three more times before the middle-aged gentleman sitting beside her rose and replaced his pamphlet on the table. He crooked an appreciative smile her way as he exited. Only one other person, a stout matron, still lingered in the Reading Room.

  She tapped her fingers on the chair arm. When would Mr. Fellowes arrive?

  She flicked a few more pages until her eyes fluttered closed. Shaking herself awake, she stood to return the book to its fellows. She pounced on a bound copy of Ackermann's Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufacture, Fashions, and Politics. At least, something she for which she had an interest. She sank into her chair and then leafed through the magazine, but didn’t find anything to her liking. Or perhaps she didn’t see much because she looked up every few minutes.

  The door-bell rang out. She sat up straighter. Finally, he was here! But, she mustn’t appear too interested. She smoothed a wisp of hair from her cheek and held her book high.

  The book was upside down. She quickly righted the tome. An evening gown’s strident shades of purple and orange attacked her eyeballs. How could anyone consider such a hideous garment? She flipped to the next page.

  Muffled footsteps fell on the floor outside and then tapped into the Reading Room. Clara’s heart pounded so loudly she almost couldn’t hear anything else. Oh, he had arrived!

  She peeked up. A bent old gentleman hobbled inside. He picked up the volume of sermons, nodded and smiled as he perused the pages, and then left with the tome under his arm.

  She sagged against the chair back. Well, that wasn’t Mr. Fellowes. The clock on the mantel chimed once. Half past five. She had been early, but he should arrive soon. Her pulse fluttered.

  The clock’s ticking boomed in the quiet. So did the riffling of pages as the matron continued reading.

  Clara’s eyes had drifted closed again when a book snapped shut. She jumped.

  Book at her breast, the matron stood, fluffed out her skirts and then exited the room.

  Clara refused to look again at the clock. Mr. Fellowes would come. He had to!

  When she reached the final page of the magazine, she lifted her reluctant gaze to the timepiece. The dial showed ten minutes to six. If he didn’t arrive soon…

  The shop bell chimed. Her heart surged into her throat. He must be here now! Not caring if her eagerness showed, she glanced at the entry.

  The clerk walked in. He cleared his throat as he gathered the items scattered on the table into a neat pile. “Miss, we will close in a few minutes. Do you wish to check out anything?”

  She glanced at the timepiece once more. Five minutes to six. An emptiness settled into her stomach. “Yes.” She handed him her list. “The first one, please.”

  “Very good.” He bowed and then vanished into the other room to retrieve her selection.

  As if a boulder weighed down her shoulders, she slowly pushed herself up from her chair. Mr. Fellowes wasn’t coming. With weary steps, she followed the clerk out. The shop door was still obstinately shut. The bell must have rung at the matron’s departure.

  Where was Mr. Fellowes? He had said he would come. But she couldn’t wait any longer.

  The clerk had already retrieved her book. As she approached the counter, he secured twine over the wrapped parcel. His eyebrows lowered. “Is something amiss?”

  “Oh, no.” She forced a smile to her lips. “I wondered, did you see Mr. Fellowes here?”

  He shook his head. “He did not visit today.”

  Clara nodded as she picked up her package. “Well, then, perhaps another time.”

  Mary rose to follow her mistress outside.

  Clara paused on the top step to look up and down the street, in case he was late. No Mr. Fellowes. Her shoulders slumped. Didn’t he want to see her? Or had he run true to form, like every other man? Like Lord Obins, who enjoyed pontificating about annuities, but who disappeared when he discovered she knew more about them than he did. Or Mr. Tynle, and avid fencer who often discussed the sport with her brother, Francis, but who beat a hasty retreat when she asked him to take her to a match.

  She stiffened her spine. Oh, he was despicable, leaving her in the lurch this way! Well, if he couldn’t bother to meet her, she wouldn’t waste any more time on him. She stalked down the stairs and up Old Bond Street so fast Mary had to run to catch up.
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  But if he turned up at Hookham’s on Friday, she would ring a peal over his head.

  Chapter 5

  Justin ran down the Strand, the still-unwrapped packet of books from last week’s library visit clutched against his chest. He would meet Miss Haley today!

  He hoped.

  Today was Friday. Everything had gone wrong this week, and he hadn’t seen her since Monday, either at the park in the morning or the library on Tuesday. On Tuesday, exhausted after working until eleven the previous night, he had overslept and had to scramble to reach Coutts by nine. Then the head clerk pigeon-holed him from four until closing time at six, when he went home and Justin remained. Even with the other clerks’ help, most of it reluctant, he had never left the office every day until long after Hookham’s had closed.

  On Wednesday morning, he had planned to apologize for not meeting her, but the rainy weather had kept her away. Or was she angry at him? Thursday morning and this morning had been even stormier, and she hadn’t visited the park either day. His coat, still damp from today’s wait, chilled his skin.

  The only ones who benefited from his unsuccessful vigils were the ducks. He fed them to while away the time, and the quacking little beggars now congregated on shore awaiting him.

  Pray she would be at Hookham’s now.

  The crowds were thin and he rushed down the pavements to Charing Cross and Cockspur, and then up Haymarket, where he halted to cross over Piccadilly. He tapped his foot as a heavily laden dray crawled across the intersection, snarling all the traffic in its wake. A quick glance at his pocket watch revealed the time as half past five. Late already, if she kept to their agreed-on time. His pulse kicked up.

  He had been able to escape now only because he told the head clerk these books were due today. The head clerk hated to pay late fines. Justin didn’t have to return the tomes until next week, but the bouncer had served to see him out. And although most of his work was done, he had promised to come in tomorrow to clean up any loose ends.

  Had he lost his chance with Miss Haley? Not for the first time, his heart clenched.

  He firmed his jaw. He wasn’t done up yet. If she wasn’t at the library now, he would go to her townhouse tonight. If she wasn’t in, he would bribe a servant to take her a note. Curse the stricture that didn’t permit unwed ladies and gentlemen to write to each other! He would have sent her a letter before, but he hadn’t had any money to pay the servant. Devil take him for drinking all that ale. Fortunately, today was payday, and his salary nestled in his pocket. He would also try the park in the morning, on the off chance she would go there. And once he finished up at the bank tomorrow, he would stand outside her residence all day if he must.

  On Friday evenings, he usually met his friends after work. He hadn’t been able to inform them he was busy. A grin tugged at his mouth. At least, if his desires came true, he would be.

  Amid the shouts and curses of the drivers of the other vehicles packing the street, the dray at last cleared the intersection. Justin forged across. He charged down Piccadilly, dodging pedestrians going in the opposite direction, and muttering the occasional apology when he bumped into someone. At last, he turned the corner onto Old Bond Street. He stopped dead.

  Trant, Wynne and Coffey strolled toward him, a little early for their meeting at White’s on St. James Street.

  He resumed walking. Damnation. How could he lose them?

  Trant lifted his walking stick in greeting. “Ah, Fellowes, here we are, eager and ready for our Friday revels. You must be, too, since you are early.”

  Justin shook his head. “I have an errand.”

  Trant lifted his quizzing glass to his eye. “Oh, dear. More books? Do not tell me you are on your way to the library again.”

  “Very well, then, I will not tell you.” Praying his friends wouldn’t follow, Justin passed them and then increased his pace.

  With his wretched luck, they followed.

  Trant fell in beside him. “You read too much. You should spend your spare time enjoying yourself.”

  “I enjoy our outings.” Sticky perspiration slicked down Justin’s back. What else could he do to rid himself of his friends? Run away?

  Trant angled his walking stick across Justin’s chest. “Slow down, old chum. We are not in a race.”

  Justin cleared his throat. “I have to pick up several books for the head clerk and then go back.” Only a little lie. “I may be a while. Perhaps you should go on without me.” Please.

  “Fustian. If you are worried about the expense at White’s, the treat is on me.”

  “Thank you, but, no, I have—”

  The ever-smiling Wynne bounded up Hookham’s front steps. “The shop will close soon. We can keep you company for a few minutes and then accompany you to the bank.” With a bow, he swung the door wide and then ushered Justin inside first.

  The usual bespectacled clerk stood behind the counter in the library portion of the shop, wrapping up books for a serious-looking young lady. A portly man carrying several large volumes exited the Reading Room. Light feminine voices drifted from a pair of well-dressed matrons examining the list of new acquisitions on the table beside the clerk.

  No Miss Haley. The library’s crisp scent of paper and ink, which Justin normally liked, now stuck in his throat.

  Trant entered last and halted beneath the arched threshold to the library. Tapping the tip of his cane against one well-polished Hessian, he shook his head. “Your work notwithstanding, you spend altogether too much time here. Did you not already come this week?”

  “No. I planned to visit on Tuesday, but I could not get away. A sudden influx of work. I stayed at the office until well after ten every day since Monday.”

  “Poor lad, working so hard.” Trant tapped the bundle in Justin’s hands. “But your liking for books is excessive.” He heaved an aggrieved sigh. “I cannot understand what you see in them.”

  Justin gripped his parcel tighter. “I enjoy reading.”

  The clerk handed the scholarly young lady her package and then nodded at Justin. “Returning your book so soon, sir? Did your sister enjoy it again?”

  Trant’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “You do not have a sister.”

  The clerk pushed his spectacles back up his nose. “Mr. Fellowes, there is a la—”

  Trant snatched the packet from Justin’s hands. “And just what do you read?”

  “Hey, give that back!” Justin lunged for the parcel, but Trant tossed the bundle to a guffawing Wynne, who then threw it to Coffey, who flung it back to Trant. Laughing, Wynne and Coffey blocked Justin’s charge at Trant.

  The clerk sputtered. “Sir, if you destroy Hookham’s property, you will have to pay.”

  “Yes, yes.” A devilish glint in his eyes, Trant tore the paper off the package. “And what have we here? The Principles of Political Economy and Taxation by David Ricardo.” His lip curled as he set the heavy tome on the counter.

  The scandalized clerk snatched up the volume. Cradling the book against his chest as if the publication were the crown jewels, he scurried to vanish among the stacks behind him.

  “If you must read, why choose something so boring?” Without looking, Trant grabbed the first volume of the next book and read the title. He lifted an appalled eyebrow. “Well, well, well. Pride and Prejudice. A novel. For you, I surmise?” His lip curled.

  So did Wynne’s and Coffey’s.

  “Here now, stop that.” Justin snatched up all three volumes and folded the torn paper over them. “Yes, I read the novel. And I liked it, too.” He set the books on the counter with a thump. “This copy belongs to the library. Have some respect for the printed word.”

  Trant snorted. “I respect the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer, but a novel?” He set the back of his hand to his forehead in a gesture of theatrical woe. “Never.”

  Coffey’s head wagged.

  Wynne’s eyebrows slanted over his nose and he shuffled his feet.

  Justin, his back to the Readin
g Room, faced his friends. He tipped his chin to Wynne and Coffey. “I can understand Trant. But, what are you, his chorus? Have you no minds of your own?”

  Wynne coughed into his fist. “In point of fact, I read a novel once. I liked it.”

  Trant’s visage darkened to a shade blacker than the most ominous thundercloud. “I am surrounded by commoners. Novels are the lowest form of rubbish. That’s why ladies like them. Their brains are feebler than men’s.”

  Justin balled his fists to prevent himself from flooring Trant. “The heroine in Pride and Prejudice is an intelligent, strong-willed lady, which I find most attractive in a woman.”

  Trant shook his head several times. “Intelligent and strong-willed have no place in the weaker sex. Weak in body and weak in mind.”

  “You insult the ladies. Their minds are as good as any man’s, and they have as much determination. They just like different reading material. You read The Gentleman’s Magazine.”

  “Just so, and I am proud of it.”

  “Some claim The Gentleman’s Magazine is rubbish.”

  “Fools.” With a haughty flick, Trant raised his quizzing glass to his eye. “I guarantee you, when I marry, my wife will never read novels. She will read what I tell her to read.”

  “I never realized you were such a flea-brain. Compared to you, Mr. Collins in the book, who is a complete dolt, looks like the veriest fount of wisdom. I pity the woman you wed.”

  “Gammon.” If thunderclouds could blow up, Trant was seconds away from a gigantic explosion. He twirled his quizzing glass on its black velvet ribbon so hard the cord stretched. “I will have my pick. Money trumps all. I could even buy that pretty little Miss Haley you fancy.” He sneered. “And then she will do exactly as I bid.”

  A soft step sounded behind Justin. His three friends’ eyes widened. Trant’s quizzing glass fell from his fingers.

  Wynne elbowed Trant in the ribs. “Stubble it, you gudgeon.”

  Justin spun around.

  Miss Haley stood in the entry to the Reading Room. Her narrowed eyes pierced Trant.