A Distinct Flair for Words

by Linda Banche

  Each time he ascended the steps with a spark glimmering in his heart. Would today be The Day—the day he found his lady? But he always departed alone, his little spark trampled into nothingness. And yet, the next day, the persistent gleam had rekindled, luring him back.

  But enough was enough. The chill wind caught his hat brim, and he tapped the headgear down more firmly. All Hallows’ Eve would soon be upon them. Time to end this fool’s errand. He hadn’t found his lady, and he had disproved any connection between the library and his friends’ successes.

  His shoulders drooped. He yearned for a lady, too. Should he try once more?

  Another wind gust caught him in the back and pushed him forward. A sign? His little spark gasped and leaped high.

  Well, once more. In any case, he had to return Pride and Prejudice. He borrowed the book so often, he probably should buy his own copy. Couldn’t be more expensive than the forty-two shillings for the year’s subscription. Or he could check out something else.

  He climbed the front steps and then reached for the door latch…

  The door crashed open, catching him on the shoulder and knocking him aside. The three volumes of the book went flying. He lost his footing and slid down the stairs, narrowly avoiding cracking his head on the bottom tread. Arms flailing, he grabbed one of the metal railing supports to stop his fall.

  “Oh, I am so sorry, sir. Are you all right?” A light feminine voice rang out.

  He blinked at the young lady standing over him. Her eyes were the lustrous blue of a clear midday sky. Her skin was creamy, her lips rosy, and her nose a decided snub. A pert little black hat, its jaunty green feather bobbing in the breeze, partially covered ringlets the flaming red of a summer sunset. A forest green pelisse wrapped her slim figure, and a skirt hem embroidered with vines and little yellow flowers brushed her black half-boots. She clutched her skirts in one hand and knelt down beside him.

  He grinned. Had he found his lady? His forlorn little spark burned brighter. “I am fit as a fiddle.”

  Her mouth curved downwards as she sat back on her heels. “Are you sure? I cannot imagine anyone smiling after such a tumble.”

  “Nothing that will not heal in a short time.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position. Then he suppressed a grunt at the pain in his elbow. Maybe longer than that. “Indeed, I am fine, Miss…”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “What? Do you not recollect me?”

  If he had ever met this lady, he wouldn’t have forgotten. But forgetting her was not the way to secure her good graces. “Uh, my mind must be all awhirl from the fall. If you can jog my memory?” He winced as he stood and then offered her a hand up.

  Despite her face’s tautness, a smile played around her lips. She rose with fluid grace and smoothed out her skirt. “I daresay, I would be surprised if you did recall me. The last time we saw each other was in Sussex, some ten years ago, Frank Wynne.”

  He frowned. “Frank”? No one called him “Frank”. His mother detested nicknames, and had insisted loud and long that family and close friends use “Francis”. Not that he much cared. In any case, nowadays most people addressed him by his last name.

  Only one person had used the nickname in defiance of his mother—a gangling, annoying urchin with dirt on her cheeks and mud on her dress who had trailed after him…“Felicity! Felicity White! My, how you have grown! You look nothing like the irrita—er—delightful child of my youth.” In fact, a more splendid lady he had never seen.

  “Well, I suppose that is a compliment. I was quite the hoyden. Always plaguing you by following you around. And you were such a dear about it.”

  She smiled at him and his heart almost stopped. “I am most pleased to meet you again, Mr. Wynne, but I would have preferred a more conventional method.”

  I don’t care as long as we met. “Call me Frank, as you did when we were children. And my pleasure, Miss White.” He still held her hand. If he had his way, he would never let go. His spark flared into a blazing fire.

  “Call me Felicity.”

  “Miss, shouldn’t we return now?” A plainly dressed young woman hovered on the step above her. Her maid?

  “Just as soon as I help Frank.” Felicity released his hand and his fire dimmed.

  She descended to the pavement and rescued his book from the depredations of trampling feet. “Pride and Prejudice. What luck! I wanted to borrow this, but all the library’s copies were out.” She bounced up the steps. “Shall we go back?”

  His fire rocketed into the heavens to romp among the other stars. “Whatever you wish.”

  Inside, he checked the book in and Felicity immediately checked it out.

  The clerk’s mouth twitched in a suppressed grin as he wrapped the book. “This novel is one of our most popular, miss. Too bad Miss Austen died so young. I am sure she would have been a brilliant success if she had written more.”

  “I agree. How happy I am that I can read this once more.” Felicity clasped her literary prize to her breast. “I am grateful my aunt let me use her subscription.” She set one hand on Frank’s sleeve. “Since we have not seen each other in an age, can you come to tea?”

  “My pleasure.” His heart leaped higher than his gamboling star. After all this failure, finally to meet Felicity. His lady? Maybe not, but then again…

  His star jigged and pirouetted and flung out sparkles.

  Chapter 4

  Felicity could have skipped down the pavement. Today was her lucky day! “I am so happy we found each other, Frank.”

  “As am I.” He grinned at her and her breath stuttered. Gracious, the skinny boy had grown into a devastatingly handsome man. Short, coffee-colored hair peeked out from under his high beaver hat. His eyes were the same merry brown, but his cheekbones had sharpened, and was his nose now a little on the long side? Since he was two years older than she, he had always been taller, but he had grown into his youthful lankiness. The arm beneath hers was firm with muscle, as no doubt was the rest of the lean, yet powerful figure barely disguised by his well-cut black greatcoat.

  But his smile was the same. A little crooked, with one side higher than the other, and full of genuine delight. Even when she was a child, his smile had had the power to hold her fast. Little shivers raced over her skin.

  He tucked her book more securely under his free arm. “Where are we headed?”

  “To my Aunt Philadelphia’s house in South Audley Street. Rather, I should say my great-aunt—she is my mother’s aunt. Mama and I visit once a year. We shall remain until before Christmas, when we will accompany her to her country estate.”

  “Will your father join you later?”

  Her step hitched. “Papa died two years ago.” Some of her joy drained away.

  His smile fled. “I did not know. I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She still missed her father. She probably always would, although his memory had dimmed somewhat.

  Frank put on another bright smile. “Have you enjoyed London so far?” Sweet Frank, doing his best to lift her out of the dismals. No wonder she had never forgotten him.

  As they turned down Bruton Street, he drew nearer to allow a rotund gentleman going the other way to pass. His arm pressed against her side for the merest second.

  The touch reverberated all the way to her toenails. “Oh, yes. I have been to the British Museum and the Menagerie, and seen the Crown Jewels, as I do on every trip.” Her words spilled out much too fast. She had never been nervous in Frank’s company before. But they had been children then.

  “You have been busy. How long have you been here?”

  “A week, but I could not wait to see those places again. We have also attended several parties.”

  His smile stretched. “You sound less than happy about the parties.”

  She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “I prefer smaller gatherings, and most of those events were crushes. But I do like the company of congenial people. I hope I enjoy Lady Gavin’s party tomorrow evening. The
y tell me the fete will not be too big. Will you be there, Frank?” Oh please.

  For a slice of a second, his smile faltered, but then returned to its normal brilliance. “Of course. I never miss Lady Gavin’s parties.”

  Capital! She would see him again tomorrow night. Her heart thumped.

  The crowds thinned as they crossed Berkley Square. Halfway down Hill Street, a knot of people partially blocked their way, and once more they had to squeeze close together to skirt them. She gave an inward chirp of glee. “We did have a wondrous good time when we were children, running all over hill and dale. As I recall, you always picked the longest, muddiest, steepest and thorniest routes.” And she had enjoyed every minute.

  He chuckled. “I did that apurpose. My evil scheme was to wear you out or disgust you so you would no longer follow me, but you always kept up. Most remarkable.”

  “You scoundrel! I never suspected.” The warmth enveloping her belied her words. “Keeping up with you became a point of honor. Nothing short of death would have made me give up.”

  “I soon realized that. You have bottom.”

  “Why, thank you. I always had the best of times with you. I missed you so when we moved.” Her father had inherited Woodford Park in Northamptonshire and they left Sussex. Some of the sunshine had departed her days, too, when she no longer saw Frank.

  He lowered his voice. “Uh, I missed you, too.”

  “Did you?” Her heart thumped once more.

  “Yes. When I was a boy I never would have admitted to missing a girl, but we are older and wiser now.”

  She could float higher than the clouds. He had missed her!

  The crowds thinned again as they wended their way along Union Street and then the continuation of Hill Street. They slowed when they reached South Audley Street. Halfway down South Audley Square, Felicity stepped up to the polished, black-painted door of Number 6. Sidelights on each side of the door reflected their images, and a green-and-gold oval stained-glass window above the door flashed in the sunlight. “Here we are.” As she reached for the latch, the door opened on the silence of oiled hinges. Bates, the butler, sketched a short bow as he ushered them in and then collected hats, coats and gloves.

  Felicity gathered her skirts and led the way upstairs. Laughter spilled out from above and grew louder as they approached the drawing room.

  The drawing room took up half the length of the first floor. Sash windows stretching almost to the ceiling overlooked the street and poured brilliant sunlight within. A cheery fire snapped in the grate, most welcome after the chill outside, although perhaps a bit on the hot side.

  Felicity loved this room. The varied greens of the draperies, silk wall coverings and chair upholstery lent the space a perpetual springtime air. So did the pink and red cabbage roses decorating the tea set, in pride of place on the central table.

  She fanned her face with her hand. Although she could do with less heat. But Aunt Philadelphia liked warmth, and the house was hers.

  Mama, back ramrod straight as always, presided over the tea things. Several of her mother’s and aunt’s cronies—Mrs. Burrell, Lady Stopford and Mrs. Clevering—surrounded her, with Aunt Philadelphia in her favorite chair by the window.

  Felicity pulled Frank forward. “Mama, look who I ran into. And I do mean ran into! Mr. Frank Wynne. You remember Frank from when I was a child.”

  Her mother’s forehead creased. “Yes, indeed. That was a long time ago.” Her words blasted an icy wind into the overheated air.

  Oh, dear. Mama had never been overly fond of Frank, but she had never been so frosty. When they were children, her mother had thought she and Frank were too close. Had she worried they might one day marry? She had never disguised her desire that Felicity look to society’s highest reaches for a husband.

  Frank’s brow puckered. He had caught her mother’s tone, too. But his smile remained fixed as he greeted Mama, and then Mrs. Burrell and Mrs. Clevering, whom he knew, and Felicity introduced him to Lady Stopford. His introduction to Aunt Philadelphia, who had emitted a dainty snore as they neared her, would have to wait.

  “So, you two ran into each other.” Lady Stopford, who was probably as ancient as Aunt Philadelphia but considerably livelier, had her usual jolly smile in place. “I hope Felicity did not damage you too much, Mr. Wynne.”

  “Such a little slip of a thing damage me?” Frank drew the corners of his mouth down as he limped toward the lady, but his smile threatened to break through. “This leg will heal quickly. Say in a year or two.” He bowed to Lady Stopford.

  Her ladyship laughed. “I like you, Mr. Wynne.”

  Felicity gave Frank a playful slap on the arm. “You are bamming us.” She led him to a settee away from Mama’s disapproval. “Sit here and let me serve you some tea. Then we can talk.”

  With a grin, Frank straightened and walked over without the limp.

  “I knew you were funning us.” She clapped. “Do you still like your tea with lots of milk?”

  “You recall that after all these years?”

  “Yes.” I never forgot anything about you.

  “Then put in lots of milk.”

  In a moment, she returned with their tea and a platter of biscuits, a cup in each hand, the plate secured in the crook of her arm.

  “Here, let me help.” He rescued the teetering plate and one of the cups of tea. “You balanced the three very smartly, though.”

  “I have many talents.”

  “Of course.” He set the platter on a nearby table. “I discovered that when you were little. Obviously, your abilities have increased.”

  A little flutter filled her stomach. He did remember her. She sat and set her own tea in her lap. “And we also have your favorite biscuits, lemon ones, as if the cook knew you were coming.” She arched an eyebrow. “By any chance, did you know the cook ten years ago?”

  He picked up one of the sweets as he lowered himself beside her. “I doubt it. As I recollect, lemon biscuits were also your favorite.” He bit into the flaky confection and closed his eyes for a second. “Sheer heaven. I wish we had known your cook then. Although, if we had, we both probably would have been very stout children. And now, very stout adults.”

  “Indeed. But enough of the past.” She took a sip of tea. “I have done most of the talking so far. Tell me about yourself. Have you been in London long?”

  “Since the spring. With university finished, I came here to bask in the pleasures of town.” He took another lemon biscuit. “Did I say these were very good?”

  “Yes, you did.” His playfulness was such a treat. “Your father does not mind your absence from home?” She also took a biscuit. As he had recalled, they were her favorite, too.

  “He encouraged me. Told me to enjoy myself before I settled down.” His eyes clouded.

  Frank blue-deviled? In her memory, he was always happy. Something must be amiss, but what? “You are fortunate in your father. But I am sure he would be pleased that you patronize the library.”

  The cloud lifted from his face and his grin returned the sunshine to her day. “Of late, I have not spent much time on books, although I have always liked them. As did you. When you were not tagging after me, I always found you in our library, reading books that were much too advanced for you.”

  “I could not wait to learn all the wonderful things the books had to reveal.”

  “I gathered that. You liked the novels best, though. Especially the ones filled with ghosts, spooky castles and dark, dank dungeons” He pulled a face, upper teeth protruding, eyes thin slits, forehead puckered. “The more horrifying, the better.”

  She laughed as her cheeks heated. “I was very young. That kind of story appeals to children.”

  One of his eyebrows winged upward. “You no longer like them?”

  “I still do, to some extent, but now I read other books. Like Sir Walter Scott’s stories, and Miss Jane Austen’s comedies.”

  “Ah yes, Pride and Prejudice. You were most eager to borrow that novel
from the library.”

  She waved her biscuit in the air. “Pride and Prejudice is my favorite book.”

  “Do you not have your own copy?”

  “Yes, but books are too heavy to bring along on a journey. The library also has the latest edition. The third one, I believe.” She bit into her biscuit. Sugary sweetness tempered with the tart of lemon spread over her tongue. The cook had outdone herself today. She must go to the kitchen later and compliment her.

  “Many ladies like that novel. I daresay they especially like Mr. Darcy.” One side of his mouth curved up. “And his money.”

  “Just so. And although I understand their attraction for Mr. Darcy, I do not share their preference.” Piles of jewels and gowns would be pleasant, but she had never aspired to wealth. While she wanted enough money to live comfortably, she also wanted to enjoy seeing her husband at the breakfast table each morning. Mama had always craved riches, and sometimes, Felicity thought her mother expected her to provide what she hadn’t been able to secure for herself.

  A little of the day’s luster vanished. She set her biscuit, which had suddenly lost its delectable flavor, into her saucer.

  “Do you not? I also did not care so much for Darcy. A rather somber fellow. I like Mr. Bingley much better.”

  “So do I!” The luster poured back into her day. “He is my favorite character in Pride and Prejudice.” Few shared her preference for Mr. Bingley, but Frank did! “Such a happy fellow. I cannot imagine myself with a grave man like Mr. Darcy.” No, she wanted a cheerful man, like Frank. “But I am sure someone can be very happy with such as him.”

  Frank grinned. “And his money.”

  “So much money will make many people happy.” But not everyone.

  His grin stretched. “So much money will also make life easier.”

  “Very true.” How many times had Mama lectured her to take her head out of the clouds and find a rich husband? Now, especially, that she was old enough to wed?

  But she wouldn’t think on that at present. She took another sip of tea.

  At the tea table, Lady Stopford spun a tale that enthralled everyone except them.