A Distinct Flair for Words

by Linda Banche

  “No way to know but to ask. I will also invite everyone to dinner. After all, this might take a while.”

  “And I must tell my mother I will stay.”

  “Naturally.” Selina pulled the bell rope. “Let us have some tea while we write the notes. After we dispatch them, we four can start.”

  Chapter 13

  Frank dipped his quill into the inkwell and then scratched out another sentence. Miss Barrett had installed them in the drawing room around a large table copiously equipped with ink, pens, paper, and sand for blotting the ink.

  Felicity, her forehead furrowed as she worked, sat at his side.

  He could have patted himself on the back. Helping copy her book was another way for him to spend time with her. Lately, he had looked forward more and more to visiting her. A day without her luminous presence was a day steeped in the dismals, and he rarely suffered the dismals.

  He found himself willing to do many things for her, even submit once more to the scrutiny of her Pemberley Society. His initial discomfort in the members’ presence had faded. But no matter how well-behaved the ladies now were, signs of female drooling, thankfully somewhat muted, lingered. But he wished he could bask in Felicity’s undivided attention, not share her.

  At least she sat beside him. Be grateful for small favors.

  He penned another line. He had much to thank this novel for. Besides affording him Felicity’s company, the book had led him to explore the world of publishing, and he enjoyed what he had learned. Unfortunately, his foray into the world of books would end soon.

  A little light flicked on in his mind. Mayhap his vocation was in publishing, not the church. Was it possible? His pulse quickened.

  Three more of the society’s members had answered Felicity’s summons. The industrious scratching of quills on paper, the occasional clink of a china tea cup being set into a saucer and Aunt Drusilla’s rhythmic snores underlined the intermittent buzz of high-pitched feminine conversation.

  Miss Barrett looked up and pushed her spectacles farther up her nose. “A better turnout than I expected. We should finish in no time.”

  Felicity beamed. “Thank you so much, all of you.”

  A dull-eyed Miss Nisbet rubbed her forehead. “I am done with this part. Do you have anything more?”

  “But, of course.” Felicity added Miss Nisbet’s pages to the “Completed” stack before supplying her with another portion of the manuscript. “Why not rest a while before you continue?” She riffled through the smaller pile of remaining sheets. “We have so much less to do now.”

  Miss Nisbet nodded as she set her new charge before her. Then she rose to walk about the room.

  “I am also finished.” Miss Barrett squared off the edges of her sheets. Then she bent to read the title page on the completed stack. “Opposites Attract by A Lady. You listed yourself as Miss Austen did with her first works.”

  Felicity dotted an “i” before looking up. “When I am famous, I will reveal my identity. Until then, I intend to remain anonymous.”

  “No need to reveal your identity unless you want to.” Miss Barrett traded her pages for another section to copy. “All of us here will keep mum until you give the word not to.”

  The conversation died down, Miss Nisbet resumed her seat, and all concentrated on their tasks.

  Until Miss Tinney’s donkey-like laugh, a sour violin note in a sweet melody, cut through the air.

  Several pens clattered to the tables. Miss Powlett, her eyes wild, jumped up, and everyone else blinked.

  “Sorry.” A red-faced Miss Tinney tapped the sheet before her. “But this scene about the cat in the tree is exceedingly humorous.” She set her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “The episode was very funny the first time I read your book, but now the passage is even funnier.”

  Felicity dribbled some sand onto her current page. “You may thank my editor for that. He did a splendid job polishing the manuscript.”

  Frank could testify to that. The story again caught him up. He especially liked her version of the Netherfield ball, improved both by her and Russell. In his opinion, Felicity’s book was better than Miss Austen’s. He liked happy books, and Miss Austen’s story was so much brighter when viewed from Bingley’s cheerful perspective.

  Or do you like it so much because Felicity wrote it?

  What if I do?

  “Finally, I am almost done.” Miss Tinney sat back in her chair and flexed her fingers. “Gracious, I write letters every day, and my hands never cramp.”

  “Because you rest more often.” Felicity dipped her pen into her inkwell. “Take your time. The copy must be legible. If anyone cannot finish, I will finish for her.”

  Miss Tinney rose and took a turn around the room as Miss Nisbet had.

  Footfalls scuffed on the corridor floor, and then the butler appeared at the doorway. “Mr. Adam Russell.”

  Frank leaned over to Felicity. “Miss Barrett does not know Russell. How did she invite him?”

  Felicity ended her current word with a curlicue. “She did not. I did. The poor man is much too thin. He could use a good meal and Selina invited us all to dinner.”

  A slightly rumpled Russell, a nervous smile on his face, stepped in.

  Every female gaze snapped to him. Several jaws dropped.

  Russell paled. His eyes widened into the death-stare of a hunted deer.

  Frank gave an inward chuckle. Poor man likely had no idea what his acceptance of Felicity’s invitation meant. Had he himself looked as terrified when he met her literary society the first time? If need be, he would prop Russell up. We men have to stick together.

  Miss Barrett, her forehead puckered, rose. “May I help you, sir?”

  Russell stared at Miss Barrett for a longish minute before he bowed. “I received a note from Miss White, asking me to help with copying her book.” He fumbled in his coat pocket and withdrew a crumpled paper.

  Felicity pushed to her feet. “Yes, I invited him. Ladies, Mr. Russell is the gentleman who did such a fine job editing my book.” She rounded the table to his side. “I apologize for sending my note to your office, but the timing prevented me from waiting until you had gone home.”

  “Fortunately, Mr. Blackmore was out, so no harm done.”

  “Good.” She had worried about that. “I must tell you, you have received at least one compliment on your work.”

  The side of his mouth crooked up. “I am pleased.”

  Gasps went up from the ladies. Miss Barrett’s jaw sagged.

  Frank shuffled papers to hide his snicker. Russell had just made a myriad of conquests. And I will no longer be the sole target.

  Miss Barrett, still goggling at Russell, gestured to the butler. “Please inform Cook we have another guest for dinner.” Deep red stained her cheeks. “We can indeed use your help. I have a large amount left of my section. You may help me if you wish.”

  Russell, his hunted-deer mien replaced with the thunderstruck grin of a man besotted, pushed a chair beside their hostess. “May I compliment you on your books? I have never seen so many outside of a library. You are most fortunate to own them.”

  Miss Barrett’s blush deepened. “Thank you.”

  Felicity returned to her own place and prodded Frank in the arm. “I think Mr. Russell has made a conquest. Selina is positively enthralled.”

  “As are the other ladies.”

  “But Selina never pays attention to men. She spends all her time with her books.”

  Frank chuckled. “She may not do so for much longer.” Russell might not need his help after all.

  After some additional admiring feminine comments about Russell, everyone set themselves with renewed vigor to their copying. Probably so the ladies could enjoy the newest captive male’s company at dinner sooner.

  Whenever Frank looked up, either Russell was stealing a glance at Miss Barrett, or Miss Barrett was stealing a glance at him. The library magic again? Miss Barrett owned so many books, her house was a libr
ary, of sorts. Or did books, wherever they were, and specifically Pride and Prejudice, possess an enchantment of their own?

  Frank smiled as he copied another sentence. Whatever the cause, if they were truly interested in each other, he could do naught but wish them happy.

  Chapter 14

  Finished.

  Frank scraped the sand from his last page into the waste container. He set the sheet on the pile at his side and then stretched his cramped fingers.

  “Dinner is served.” The butler stood at the room’s threshold, ready to usher them to the dining room.

  The mantel clock ticked its constant monotone, the hands denoting five minutes to eight. Frank suppressed a yawn. Five whole hours. Where had the time gone?

  Chair legs scraped on the wood floor as the diligent ladies put their labors behind them.

  Felicity scribbled away. Her head down, she waved the others off. “Please do not wait on me. As soon as I complete this page, I will follow you.”

  Frank stood behind his chair and gripped the top hard. “And I will wait with her. I am sure we will join you in a nonce.”

  Miss Barrett, her eyes weary, set her pen down. “As you wish. Whatever is left will keep until later.” Several other ladies murmured agreement.

  She rose. Russell hurried to pull out her chair and then offered his arm. Each with an identical stunned smile only for the other, they led the way after the butler.

  Frank eased his tight hold on the chair back. Now he had Felicity to himself.

  She wrote in utter concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Her pen scratched on the paper, broken with the occasional liquid glide when she dipped her quill into the inkwell. Ink stained her index finger, and a few grains of sand clung to her sleeve. Her red hair, sunset come indoors, flamed in the candlelight.

  Had she ever looked so magnificent?

  The sweet fragrance of her lilac perfume teased his nostrils. During their childhood, he had often found her with her nose pressed to the lilacs when the flowers were in bloom. Now she wore their scent all the time.

  He loved lilacs. At least, he did now. How could he have thought her annoying when she was a child?

  You were a child, too. But you are children no longer.

  And what would he do about that?

  She penned a few more words. Then she set her quill aside and sprinkled a little sand over her writing. “All done. This page, that is.” Stretching her fingers, she puffed out a breath and slumped back in her chair. “Almost finished. At last.”

  “Yes.” Frank proffered his arm. “Now, to dinner.”

  Chatter, laugher and the mouth-watering scents of roasted beef and savory vegetables guided them to their destination. The dining room table could easily seat twenty-five, allowing plenty of space for their small party. But everyone crowded near the head of the table, where Russell sat beside Miss Barrett, leaving an empty island at the other end.

  “How about some room?” Frank pulled out a chair for Felicity near the foot of the table, giving them their own little area, and more importantly, privacy.

  She made no demur, and the butler hastened to serve them the soup course.

  A smiling Russell, his rapt feminine audience in thrall, discussed his work with Mr. Blackmore, and how he had come to edit Felicity’s’ book. With the exception of Felicity, all the female attention in the room focused on him.

  Frank dipped his spoon into his bowl of vegetable soup. Had the ladies forsaken him to cast their lures at Russell’s blond beauty? Not that I mind. I would rather have Felicity.

  Miss Liddell set down her spoon. “Where did you go to university, Mr. Russell?”

  “I attended Oxford. Both my brother and I went there. Scholarship students. He is now a curate in Kent.”

  The ladies perked up at the mention of a brother. Did they scent another man as good-looking as Russell?

  For his part, Russell, who had always been shy and tense, now exuded as much charm as a practiced courtier. Because he had relaxed? Because he had imbibed too much of Miss Barrett’s excellent wine? Or because he was interested in Miss Barrett, and she in him? “Russell is quite the hit.”

  Felicity sparkled. “Yes, is he not? He is always so solemn. I am glad he is enjoying himself.”

  After dinner, everyone returned to the drawing room and resumed their copying. Several ladies muffled yawns as they presented their completed sections to Felicity. Afterwards, they made sure to take their departures from Russell. Some sent longing glances his way, the bolder ones come-hither looks, but he responded to none.

  The clock struck quarter after ten as Frank wrote the last sentence awaiting him. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his eyes. Anyone who said working sitting down was not tiring had never done it.

  At last, the scratching of pens ceased. With much riffling of paper, Felicity ordered the pages and set the manuscript into a box. “Thank you all so much.” She secured the parcel with a string. “When you write your own novels, I will be most happy to help you copy them.”

  Miss Nisbet tipped her head to the side. “I may take you up on that. I can see myself rewriting Pride and Prejudice from Mr. Darcy’s perspective.”

  “Oh, how delightful!” Miss Powlett clapped. “I, for one, would like more of Mr. Darcy. Such an appealing man, after you get to know him.”

  Miss Barrett drummed her fingers on the table. “There is a great deal of interest in Miss Austen’s work. Mayhap we can make an industry out of our hobby. Sell our books ourselves and earn some money, too.”

  “But won’t people look askance at us?” Miss Tinney fidgeted like a startled bird.

  Miss Barrett rose, Russell jumping up to pull out her chair. “I do not advocate anything outrageous, like Lady Caroline Lamb’s ridiculous pursuit of Lord Byron. Gracious, people will take you to task if your hair is slightly mussed. But if they react that way for a minor transgression, why not do something that benefits you?”

  Felicity stared out into space. “You have an idea there.” She hugged her packaged book to her chest. “But not just yet.”

  Chapter 15

  Felicity buttoned her pelisse. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

  “Any time.” Selina, having sent her butler to bed, opened the front door herself. “I wish you the best of luck.”

  “As do I.” Mr. Russell shrugged into his greatcoat.

  “Farewell.” Frank nodded to them both as he and Felicity departed, her maid trailing behind.

  Felicity was so light her feet probably didn’t touch the pavement. This copy of her book was a sparkling masterpiece, thanks to her kind friends, and perhaps tomorrow the publisher might accept it. As a bonus, Selina was now alone with Mr. Russell. Mayhap love was in the offing. If so, a wonderful thing for them both.

  She and Frank, the box containing her manuscript under his arm, turned their steps along Green Street and then down Park Street, neither in a hurry to reach her house.

  The short November day with its hubble-bubble of activity had faded long ago. Sound had drained away along with the light, the hush left behind as wispy as the streamers of fog that spun away from their feet. Shades of black and violet soft as velvet caressed the city’s hard edges, interrupted here and there by the golden circlets hugging the lighted street lamps. A few muffled-up pedestrians hurried past, and the occasional carriage rattled down the cobblestones, but most of the city’s inhabitants had sought their rest.

  Frank raised the box. “Tomorrow, I will deliver this to Mr. Ward. While I was away, I wrote a speech extolling your book’s virtues. My persuasiveness combined with your extraordinary tale will knock the publisher so flat he will publish your novel within the week.”

  Felicity floated a few inches higher. “No doubt after he has arisen from the floor.” She squeezed his arm. “I do hope you are right.”

  “Of course I am.” He smiled down at her. “I am sure of that.”

  With Frank beside her, her arm on his, anything was possible. Why, she could
whirl up into the firmament and lark among the celestial spheres. “I love your optimism! Sometimes of late, I have had a difficult time keeping my spirits up.”

  He slowed down. “Is something, or someone, bothering you?”

  Her feet thumped back onto the ground so hard they almost hurt. “Mr. Norris visits practically every day, and he has nothing but complaints about my writing. He thinks my novel is a complete waste of time. Or worse, that the book gives me ideas unsuitable for a lady, like how to earn money.”

  His arm beneath her hand tensed. “If you do not like him, tell him to leave.”

  “I would, except Mama is set on my accepting him, although he has not yet proposed.” Thank heavens. “Especially since no other suitors have appeared.” She tightened her hold on his arm. “Oh, how I wish I were a man. Men do not need to marry. You can make your own way.”

  He cleared his throat. “Making your own way is not that easy. And sometimes, we men have little choice, too.”

  She stopped. “Do you not want to be a clergyman?”

  For the first time since she had knocked him over at the library, his face sagged. “I fear I am not suited to the calling, but my father is most determined I follow that path.”

  “Oh, dear. I am sorry.” She resumed walking, more slowly this time. “We women have few options beyond matrimony. But, in a way, marriage frightens me. If the union is unhappy, both parties pay a high price.”

  “A career you do not like is akin to an unhappy marriage.” He looked straight ahead, but his arm remained rigid beneath hers.

  She had never thought of that. She and Frank were similar in so many ways. Now, sadly, also in their misgivings over what life held for them.

  His features were granite hard, so unlike the merry Frank she knew. Had she taken him for granted? He was always there with his ready smile, eager to help her however he could. But he had his own concerns, and while he wasn’t in financial straits, his future was also uncertain and, apparently, not to his taste.

  She squeezed his arm again. “Is there something I can do?”