by Linda Banche
He ran a finger over the knocker. “I understand why you have befriended her. Very Machiavellian.”
“I also like her.” She smoothed her face into repose, but her lips twitched. “Her books, too.”
The door opened and a liveried footman bowed them in.
Frank blinked. Filled bookcases reaching up to his chest lined the walls of the entry. No wonder the door knocker’s rapping had sounded so muted. All this leather and paper had absorbed the sound, producing a library hush. The scents of parchment and ink reinforced the library atmosphere.
The cramped space allowed barely enough room for the four of them. After they divested themselves of their outer garments—not without some difficulty—Felicity directed her maid to the kitchen and then they followed the footman upstairs.
Feminine chatter greeted them as they stepped onto the next floor. More packed bookcases, these reaching almost to the ceiling, hugged the walls of the corridor, producing a roofless tunnel that allowed passage to one person at a time. Good thing only two ladies and their servants lived here. Otherwise, the place would be a continual traffic jam.
Felicity grinned at him over her shoulder. “We meet in the drawing room. Our group is fairly large and we need the space.”
If what he had seen so far was any indication, only the roof might be large enough. Perhaps he should leave before the books swallowed him whole. “The house lives up to its door knocker.”
“Wait until you see the drawing room.”
That is what I am afraid of.
The footman announced them, and they paused at the threshold of the drawing room. Frank clamped his jaw tight to prevent himself from gaping.
More high, filled bookcases lined every wall, books occasionally overflowing the jammed cases to form slightly messy pools of literature on the floor. Only the windows were free of the encroaching paper-and-leather obstacles. Mayhap because any obstruction wouldn’t allow in enough light for anyone to read.
Miss Barrett’s house filled with books? “Stuffed”, “packed”, “jammed to the rafters and then some”, “likely to bury the unwary” more accurately described the scene. The British Museum, the official repository for Britain’s books, probably didn’t contain this many volumes, and their collection spanned to the middle of the previous century. How could one house hold so many books? Did they breed when no one looked?
Liking books was one matter, but this Miss Barrett had taken the matter to a jaw-dropping, and somewhat daunting, extreme.
Sofas and tables, most likely pushed aside to make way for the meeting, lined up in military precision in front of the bookcases. In the middle of the floor, soberly-dressed women occupied a semicircle of ladder-backed chairs. A single seat in the arc’s center faced the other chairs. A blonde lady dressed in gray sat there, a table holding a glass bowl filled with slips of paper at her elbow. On a sofa in the corner lounged a white-haired lady, her head angled away. A gentle snore slid from between her lips.
Felicity caught his arm. “Now to meet my friends.” They stepped inside together.
Silence plummeted down like a heavy weight crashing to the floor. A dozen pairs of feminine gazes snapped toward them, or rather at Frank. Several blinked, some squinted and a few narrowed into that predatory stare so rampant at the Season’s balls and soirees.
Even though the room was chilly, perspiration broke out on Frank’s forehead. While he had expected this reception, the reality still came as a shock. His mind screamed for him to run for safety, but he steeled himself. The jungle of books might hinder his escape long enough for some fleet-footed female to capture him.
The blonde lady, very lovely and a little older than Felicity, hastened forward. “Felicity, we had almost despaired of you. We are delighted you came.” She pushed her gold-rimmed spectacles higher up her nose. “And your guest, too.” She held out a delicate hand. “I am Miss Selina Barrett. Welcome to my house and the meeting of the Pemberley Society.”
Felicity introduced them. Frank bowed over his hostess’s hand. “My thanks.”
Miss Barrett led them to the chairs. “We only just started the meeting. Let me make some quick introductions and then we will continue.” She gave a low-voiced order to the footman before she gestured to the ladies nearest the entry. “Here are Miss Fanny Liddell, Miss Anna Tinney, Miss Floretta Nisbet and Miss Elizabeth Powlett.” She tipped her chin toward the elderly lady. “Aunt Drusilla, my companion.”
Aunt Drusilla, as if on cue, emitted a snuffling snore.
Miss Barrett introduced the other members of the group, but, after Aunt Drusilla, Frank gave up trying to remember names. He smiled. Smiles took care of most things.
“Now that we are all acquainted, let us proceed.” Miss Barrett returned to her chair.
“I am sorry to be late, but I have the most wonderful news!” Felicity maneuvered herself and Frank to the only two seats together. Unfortunately, they were in the middle of the semicircle, with ladies on both sides.
Frank sat on the edge of his seat. The chairs’ arrangement was unnervingly like a gigantic feminine claw, ready to snap shut on a tasty treat.
Him.
He stilled. Mayhap if he didn’t move, they would forget he was there. And pigs will fly.
Miss Barrett clapped and the murmuring ladies quieted. “Now, we can begin anew. First, Mr. Wynne, please do not stand whenever one of us rises. This is a meeting, not a social event.” Her eyes glinted behind her spectacles. “Felicity, please tell us your news.”
Felicity popped up. “You know I have written Pride and Prejudice from Mr. Bingley’s viewpoint.” She gave a little bounce. “Mr. Blackmore of Blackmore Publishing has requested the manuscript!”
Feminine squeals reverberated around the room. Miss Barrett rose to shake Felicity’s hand. “Well done. Mayhap you will pave the way to the future, when others will want to read about the further adventures of the Pride and Prejudice characters.”
Miss Liddell, one of the ladies who had squinted when he entered, squinted anew. “I doubt anyone will want to read about Mr. Wickham’s experiences. Or Lydia’s.”
“Never say never.” Miss Nisbet, seated at Frank’s other side, sniffed. “Some people enjoy tales about villains. I daresay they like to see the blackguards receive their just deserts. As they surely will in books written by people who truly love Pride and Prejudice.” She leaned closer to Frank. “Have you read Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Wynne?”
Gazes on both sides of the pincer-like arrangement of chairs closed in on him. More perspiration broke out on his forehead. “Yes, I have.” Outnumbered. Perhaps he had better say as little as possible.
Miss Liddell squinted again. “You are unusual, sir. Most men do not read novels. Or at least, they claim not to.”
He flashed his most winning smile, the one that normally made the ladies melt. Almost-churchman he might be, but that did not preclude him from appreciating the fairer sex. “I am not most men.”
Miss Liddell blinked. Then her cheeks took on a bright crimson glow.
An audible feminine sigh wafted through the air. Miss Tinney clasped her hands to her breast. Miss Nisbet’s jaw hung open. Miss Powlett, eyes glassy, slumped in her chair.
The only one who didn’t turn and stare was Aunt Drusilla. She snorted, sat up and then lifted her hearing trumpet to her ear. “What’s that?”
Miss Barrett raised her voice. “Nothing, Aunt Drusilla. Mr. Wynne said he read Pride and Prejudice.”
Aunt Drusilla shook her head and then subsided back into the sofa cushions.
Frank coughed into his fist. Mayhap he had done it up a bit too brown. But all he did was smile. Perhaps these ladies never flirted, although his comment wasn’t much in the way of flirting. He never had this effect on ladies during the Season. Were these women so unworldly?
Felicity grabbed his arm and narrowed her eyes at her friends. “Yes, Mr. Wynne is an exceptional man. I am most lucky to have known him from childhood.”
“Indeed.” M
iss Barrett swallowed before she turned back to the ladies. “Now, on to the next order of business. Fanny, shall you give us your findings on the Bennet family tree?”
With the society members occupied, Frank relaxed. Miss Liddell’s voice droned on, and he had to hold himself rigid to prevent himself from toppling from his chair. No wonder Aunt Drusilla hid on the side. Felicity still gripped his arm, though, for which he was grateful.
Miss Liddell completed her report, and, after some polite applause, Miss Tinney stepped up with a piece on the food in Pride and Prejudice.
Felicity paid rapt attention, although Frank again fought to prevent himself from nodding off. But she never released his arm.
At long last, Miss Tinney finished. Then there was a rousing discussion on why Miss Austen had set Persuasion in Bath. Or, at least, rousing for the ladies. Once more, Frank had all he could do not to slide senseless from his chair. Although he wouldn’t mind sliding against Felicity. But with his luck, he would probably fall against Miss Nisbet, who might enjoy that. He wouldn’t.
After another interval that stretched to the boundary of existence, but that was probably only a few minutes, the comments wound down and polite applause spattered the air.
Miss Barrett folded her hands in her lap. “A very good meeting. But now, let us repair to the dining room for refreshments.”
Frank started. At last, this eternity of a meeting was over.
Skirts rustled as the ladies rose.
Frank stifled a yawn as he stood. Would they be able to eat in the dining room, or would the table there be cluttered with books? Really, after seeing the other parts of the house, could he expect anything different? He had to admit, though, all the books were clean and well cared for and mostly neatly arranged. Then again, he couldn’t imagine mistreatment from someone who obviously loved books as much as Miss Barrett did.
Miss Barrett held up the crystal bowl. “Before we go—the refreshments drawing for the next meeting. Floretta, you won last time. So, today, my cook has baked your favorite sweet, lemon tarts.”
Miss Nisbet blushed and stammered her thanks
Paper rustled as Miss Barrett mixed up the entries in the bowl. “All your names are here. And the lucky winner for next time is…” She held out the bowl to Frank. “Mr. Wynne, since you are our guest, will you pick?”
Frank had no such desire, but he dug into the bowl and grabbed a random entry. With a flourish, he proffered the slip to Miss Barrett.
Miss Barrett unfolded the paper. “And the winner is…Felicity!”
The ladies tittered, all except for the slight Miss Tinney, who disgorged a braying laugh that would do justice to a donkey. A large donkey. “Such a coincidence.”
Felicity bounced on her toes. “Thank you so much. I would like lemon biscuits. I love lemon biscuits. Mr. Wynne also likes them.”
Miss Barrett arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps you will attend our next meeting, then, Mr. Wynne.”
“Perhaps.” Not if I can help it.
Chapter 8
Felicity clung to Frank’s arm as they wended their way to the dining room. She wasn’t about to let any of the other ladies near Frank. Of course, he was charming, but her friends acted as if they had never seen a man before.
She tightened her hold. He was her friend.
Just a friend? A little voice inside her head chortled.
She stumbled.
Frank caught her before she could crash into the wall. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just missed my footing.” Was he more than a friend? All through the meeting, she had kept her hand on his sleeve until he selected the winner of the drawing. Then she made sure to return to his side to keep the other ladies away.
A bit possessive for a mere friend.
She gave a mental snort. There is nothing “mere” about Frank.
Her mental voice chuckled.
In the dining room, the usual filled bookcases lined the walls, with a lavish tea spread on the large, central table. Felicity had been here only once before. On that occasion, books had covered the table.
They normally had their tea in the drawing room. Selina must have had the table cleared in honor of Frank’s attendance. As much as she liked Selina and the others, her stomach clenched. Frank was hers!
The consummate gentlemen, Frank accepted a cup of tea and exclaimed over the lemon tarts. He congratulated Floretta on her win and conversed with good grace with the other ladies. All her friends chattered happily in his presence, now that they were over their awe. Or maybe, perhaps, because of it.
Felicity’s stomach clenched further.
Selina handed her a steaming cup of tea. “Have you brought the manuscript over to Mr. Blackmore yet?”
“No, I plan to deliver it today. And also thank him for his interest.”
“Where is his office?”
“In Fleet Street.”
Frank’s forehead creased. “Fleet Street is not the most salubrious of neighborhoods.” He placed a tart on his plate. “I have an idea. I will take your manuscript over. Introduce myself as your representative. If Mr. Blackmore wants the book, I will help you with the bargaining over terms. I have some experience at negotiation.”
He did? She must ask him how he had learned. “I admit, I am not very good at business. If left to my own devices, I would probably make him a gift of the book.”
Frank shook his head as he swallowed a bite of tart. “Not a good idea. You want to publish your book, but you also want some reward for your efforts.” He finished his tart and then took another.
“Just so.” Selina beamed. “We enjoy writing our books, but fatter purses would add to the pleasure.”
“I agree.” Felicity took a lemon tart. She liked lemon tarts almost as much as she liked lemon biscuits. “Thank you so much, Mr. Wynne!” How kind he was to her. No other man would help her so. Mr. Norris certainly wouldn’t.
“Happy to be of service. But come, let us sit down.” One hand held his tea, the other a plate with his lemon tart. “I must set this bounty somewhere before I drop everything.”
The table was large, and they took two unoccupied seats at its foot. Felicity set her cup and tart down in the waning light filtering through the window. “Alas, I fear the time is too far advanced for you to go to Fleet Street today.”
“First thing tomorrow, then.”
“Thank you.” She took a sip of her tea. “I do so want my book in print. How splendid if the first publisher who saw it accepted it.”
“That may not happen.” He bit into his tart.
“I know. But I can hope. And in the meantime, I will work on my next novel.”
He wiped crumbs off his lips with his napkin. “By any chance, does your cook work here, too? These lemon tarts are as tasty as the lemon biscuits I had at your house.”
“No, she does not.” She nibbled at her tart. The sugary tartness exploded on her tongue. “But I see what you mean. Delicious.”
“Told you.” He took another bite. “What is the next book about?”
“Miss Anne de Bourgh. I always felt sorry for her, what with being sickly and having that dreadful mother. I will find her a happy ending.”
“No doubt curing the lady of all her ills and freeing her from her overbearing parent?” He waggled his eyebrows.
She laughed. “You always could read my mind. I want a happy ending for everyone. In my books and in real life.” She gripped the handle of her tea cup hard. “Yes, I want everyone to be happy.” Including me.
***
What about you?
Frank set the remains of the tart on his plate. Something bothered her, but she obviously didn’t want to discuss the matter. Was it her book? Norris? Or something else?
Of course, he would help her, whatever the problem.
Felicity sighed. “I am glad you will negotiate for me. I wish I knew something about business. You men are so good at it.”
“Not all are. Some are very poor at negotiating.”
> “But not you. How is that?” She took another bite of her lemon tart. “I must ask my aunt’s cook to get the recipe for these.”
He grinned. “Excellent idea.” Her low spirits of a moment ago had vanished. “My training for the clergy has some secular uses. Although everyone pays tithes to their churches, most churches never have enough money to keep up their buildings and also do good works. Part of a cleric’s job is to persuade people to part with their coin for a higher cause.”
“Every Sunday, Mr. Mathison at Grosvenor Chapel asks for donations. Unfortunately, he does it so often, most people ignore him.” She finished up her tart.
“My point exactly. Some clergymen have learned the technique, some have not, and some are unable to do so. Fortunately, Mr. Tyler is very skilled at this. He taught me, and the few times I asked for contributions in his stead, I succeeded beyond my expectations.”
“I am sure you did. I am most grateful for your help.” Her eyes softened. For him?
Time vanished. She bent toward him…
Miss Tinney’s braying laugh rang out over the room.
They jerked apart.
Felicity blinked and then sat back. She gave a chuckle that sounded forced. “I hate to mention it, but Anna has the most annoying laugh.”
Frank swallowed. What had happened? His mind was as fuzzy as if feathers clogged his brain. “I am not the only one who thinks so?”
“Oh, no, we all do. But she is such a kind lady, no one minds.” The sides of her mouth ticked up. “Most of the time.”
He howled so loud everyone turned his way. “Felicity, you are true to your name. I am always happy in your presence.”
Chapter 9
Frank paused before the steps of Mr. Blackmore’s establishment on Fleet Street.
He rarely ventured here, even though Fleet Street was one of London’s prime commercial districts. Perhaps because publishers and printers dominated the area, although he had passed a variety of other businesses, from drapers to goldsmiths to glassmakers and cheesemongers.