A Mutual Interest in Numbers (Love and the Library Book 2)

by Linda Banche

  “Ow!” Tom flailed until his father released him. He backed away, rubbing his tender ear. “Laurence, are you really interested in Ellen?” His forehead puckered. “But why?”

  Mr. Palmer muttered under his breath. “Tom, besides the fact that you’re an idiot, you also have not yet realized the charms of the ladies.” He shook his finger at the bewildered boy. “But one day you will, and then the last thing you’ll want is some green-as-grass young fool interfering.”

  He raked a hand through his already mussed hair. “Laurence, I beg your pardon for my son and for my lecture. We should not have subjected you to such a dustup.”

  Laurence hadn’t though twice about doing the calculations. Why should he? But something else was amiss and he needed to find out what the problem was. From Ellen, right now. “No need to apologize, sir, but please, move out of my way.”

  Her father blinked. “Sorry, lad.” He stepped out of the entrance. “I daresay I am as much of an obstruction as Tom.”

  Laurence dashed out onto Edgeware Road. Only a few minutes could have passed since she left, but where was she? Nowhere he could see. Carts and carriages traveling to and from London thronged the thoroughfare, blocking his view of the other side. He ran beside the traffic until he found a break and then charged across the road to the Cumberland Gate into Hyde Park. The shortest route to her house was through the park. Surely she would go this way.

  At this time of day, the park teemed with carriages and people on foot and horseback. Breath heaving, he ran toward the end of the Serpentine. Still no sign of her. Curse it, how fast could she walk? A knot of pedestrians up ahead broke apart, and there, almost at the south side of the park, he glimpsed her rigid figure with the maid trailing behind. If he ran just a little faster, he should catch up.

  He skirted along the eastern bank of Serpentine, his gaze fixed on her distant form. A dog barked, horses’ hooves clopped, and birds warbled.

  “QUACK!”

  Laurence stumbled over something and sprawled flat on his face. Hellfire! Grimacing, he pushed up to his hands and knees.

  Terrified cheeping filled his ears, and a tiny brown-and-yellow duckling, diminutive wing stubs fluttering, scurried across his field of vision.

  “Sorry, little fellow. I did not see you.” He pushed up to one knee. “But you look unhurt.”

  A clamp with jagged sides locked onto his backside. “Ow!” By thunder, as if his arse didn’t already hurt enough from the drawers. He fell to his side and spun around.

  A mallard hen, wings raised and neck outstretched, advanced toward him, her peeping ducklings clustered in a milling throng behind her.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Duck. I meant no harm to your baby.” Hands on the ground behind him, he slid away, further irritating his abused hindquarters.

  The hen took another threatening step forward.

  Wincing, Laurence scuttled farther back.

  Guffaws and tittering erupted from a group of ladies and gentlemen who had gathered to watch the show.

  The hen took one more menacing step toward him. Then, apparently satisfied she had dispatched the blackguard who dared frighten her brood, she gathered her frantic ducklings and led them at a quick pace back to the Serpentine.

  Laurence shoved up to his feet, backside screaming in protest. The passersby, still chuckling, shuffled away in search of other amusement. Devil take it, he couldn’t even rub his aching arse in public. His gaze arrowed to the south boundary of the park. Ellen was nowhere in sight.

  Limping, he made his way back to her house. Her mother, eyebrows drawn together, threw open the front door at his frenzied pounding.

  He gulped in a breath. “Good day, Mrs. Palmer. Have you seen Ellen? She left the workshop a few minutes ago.” No need to tell her how angry she had been.

  “Why, yes, just now. She and the housemaid came in and then left again. Rather quickly. Said she had an errand.” A question entered her shrewd blue eyes. “Is something amiss?”

  Laurence forced a smile to his lips. “No, nothing. I just wanted to ask her a question.” Shoulders sagging, he hobbled back to the workshop, his maltreated backside howling with each step.

  Had he ruined everything? Over something he hadn’t known would anger her?

  He clenched his jaw. Well, she couldn’t hide forever. He would find her and they would thrash out their differences.

  Chapter 13

  Laurence stalked down the front steps of the Palmer house, ready to punch something. Hell and the devil. Twice.

  Three whole days and he hadn’t seen Ellen, even when he made a point of seeking her out. Why was she still angry? What had he done that was so bad? Were the calculations that important, or was there something else?

  You also ignored her.

  He gave a mental huff. No, I did not. The steam engine occupied my time.

  An excuse. If you really wanted to speak with her, you would have.

  Was he indeed guilty of ignoring her? Especially after he went to such trouble to meet her? She truly was a splendid girl, as beautiful as any of the aristocratic misses on display at ton events, and much more intelligent, too. Why, he could discuss mathematics with her! No other lady of his acquaintance even knew what a differential equation was. He certainly didn’t want to lose her.

  Her father kept him busy, but she couldn’t be angry over the night he fell asleep after dinner. Could she? Or that he spent Sunday dancing attendance on his grandmother? On Saturday, he hadn’t returned to dinner because he had to walk the whole way to Cheapside and then answer the metal worker’s numerous questions.

  Then there were the calculations. Were they the cause of her anger, or the final straw?

  He had called at her house morning, noon and evening since their argument, but she was always out. Out at six in the morning, and at noon, too? Her mother said so. And at dinnertime, like now? He didn’t believe it. She must sup with her family. Too bad he had had engagements these past few nights, and tonight, too.

  He balled his fists. Did her mother shield her? Curse all women, everywhere!

  A young lad coming his way smiled. The smile froze on his face and he scurried past.

  Laurence gaped after the fleeing boy. Was his expression so thunderous he frightened small children? Gads, what a knot Ellen had tied him in!

  He retrieved his horse from the mews behind the townhouses where he had left the beast when he sought Ellen. After riding back home, cursing the whole way, he changed out of his work clothes and then rested for a few minutes before walking to White’s Gentleman’s Club.

  His gaze wandered up the familiar stucco facade. Ah, a bastion of masculinity. No need to worry about females and their impossible-to-decipher moods and expectations here.

  He opened the front door to the familiar odors of tobacco smoke, men’s cologne, and brandy. A deferential servant relieved him of his hat and walking stick, and Laurence made his unhurried way to the morning room. Trant and Wynne, brandy glasses in hand, lounged before the unlit fireplace.

  Trant lifted his goblet in salute. “Well met, friend. You have made yourself scarce of late. Almost like Fellowes.” His eyes narrowed. “By any chance, has a lady also dominated your time?”

  I wish. “No.” He ordered a brandy from a hovering waiter and then all three friends settled into chairs before the hearth. A moment later, the waiter returned with his request. Laurence downed half the drink in one gulp.

  Wynne quirked an eyebrow. “No way to treat such fine brandy. Thirsty? Or something on your mind?”

  Damnation, he never swilled brandy like that. He was in worse shape than he thought, but there was no need to bring up his troubles. He forced his lips into a smile. “I am fine. But, I confess, I am hungry.” He turned in his seat to focus on the doorway. “Can we expect Fellowes soon?”

  As if his words were a stage cue, a tall, dark-haired gentleman entered. Mr. Justin Fellowes raised his hand in greeting as he strode over. “Good to see you all.”

  “We are honored you
deigned to dine with us tonight.” The sarcasm in Trant’s voice could abrade metal.

  Laurence and Wynne winced.

  Fellowes gave a good-natured snort of laughter. “Ah, Trant, your usual cheery self. No wonder I prefer Miss Haley’s company to yours.”

  Wynne sniffed. “The lady is also much prettier. I would prefer her company, too.”

  Fellowes patted Trant on the shoulder. “Oh, our dear friend is not so bad, in a dark and brooding sort of way.” He lowered himself into a nearby chair. “But, I do thank you, Trant, for leaving word with the porter that I am your guest. Otherwise, he never would have let a nonmember like me inside.”

  Fellowes’s good humor thawed the slight chill Trant’s words had engendered and the four men drank and bantered for a while before they rose to seek dinner. After enjoying a hearty masculine spread of roast beef, buttered potatoes, green beans and apple pie with cheese, they returned to the morning room for more talk and drinks.

  Laurence relaxed into the firm softness of his chair and let the conversation ebb and flow around him. A good meal, fine brandy and uncomplicated male companionship. No females to tangle up his emotions. All the annoyances of the previous few days drained away like water down a pipe. Even the duck bite wasn’t as sore.

  The murmur of voices came to a momentary lull, and the chimes of the long case clock in the corner boomed in the silence.

  “Ten o’clock so soon?” Fellowes rose and then straightened his coat. “Alas, my time in your delightful company must end. I require sleep if I am not to topple face-first into the reports on my desk tomorrow.”

  Trant heaved a sigh. “Our poor laboring man. My sincerest regrets.”

  Fellowes grinned. “I have none. My work at the bank proceeds apace, especially with the boost I received when Clara’s father insisted that I handle his account.”

  Trant brushed a piece of lint off his sleeve. “So, your courtship of Miss Haley has other benefits in addition to the obvious.” He leered.

  “Any benefits to my career are beside the point.” Fellowes’s mouth relaxed into a soft smile. “I am most happy I found Clara. Although, I thank you, Trant, for again paying my shot here. At this rate, I may never be out of your debt.”

  One side of Trant’s mouth curved up. “You could let me win at fencing.”

  Fellowes laughed. “I am not that grateful.” He flicked his forehead in a jaunty two-fingered salute. “I am off.”

  Laurence forced a yawn as he pushed up from his chair. “I am for bed, too. I will walk with you for a space.”

  Fellowes arched an eyebrow. “A bit out of your way, is it not?”

  A lot out of his way, but he wanted to speak to Fellowes in private. “Somewhat, but I can use the exercise.”

  They took their leave of their other two friends and then departed the club. As they descended the steps, Laurence raised his arm to hail a hackney.

  Fellowes tapped the end of his walking stick on the pavements as the carriage lumbered to a halt before them. “I gather you have more on your mind than just a pleasant stroll.”

  Laurence nodded as he opened the vehicle’s door. Fellowes called out his address and then both men hopped inside. With a jerk, the conveyance rolled into motion.

  Laurence caught the strap at the side to maintain his balance as they took a curve. “Since I will ask your help, the least I can do is give you a ride. Southwark is a bit of a ways.”

  “Not too far, but then, I am used to the walk.”

  As they rode, Laurence regaled Fellowes with the tale of the hack refusing to pick him up when he was outside the Palmer workshop. “What a comedown. That had never happened to me before.”

  “Getting a bit high in the instep, are you, old man? Have you been taking haughty lessons from Trant?” Laughter laced Fellowes’s voice.

  Laurence wrinkled his nose. “Never fear, I will never be that bad.”

  The talk about the hack naturally led to a discussion of his ready-made clothes.

  “Scratchy drawers?” Fellowes guffawed so hard tears rolled down his cheeks. “I trust your arse has recovered?”

  “Indeed. Right as a trivet now.” He would never have told this story to the high and mighty Trant, but Fellowes was of an entirely different stripe. “Mostly.”

  Fellowes dashed his tears away. “More importantly, have your privates recovered?”

  “If they had not, I would never have said a word.” He hooked his hands on his lapels and looked down his nose. “I do have some pride. After all, I will not elaborate on the location of the duck bite I received.”

  Fellowes sputtered out another laugh. “Your misfortunes have increased!” And then Laurence had to tell him about the duck.

  After their mutual laughter died down, they talked of inconsequential matters until the carriage dropped them at their destination. Only the tread of their footsteps and a few muffled voices behind closed doors floated in the air as they climbed to Fellowes’s chambers on the third floor. After doffing hats and canes, they strolled into Fellowes’s small sitting room.

  Laurence lowered himself into a well-worn, but comfortable chair. “The place looks different since the last time I was here. Better.”

  Fellowes halted by a table in the center of the room. “Clara added a few touches.”

  “Ah, so you had her up here. My congratulations.”

  “Not what you think. Her mother accompanied her. They puttered around the place, as ladies do.”

  “All right and proper, then. They probably fed you up, too. No longer the starving bachelor. I say, you do look prosperous. New coat?”

  “Yes, I no longer live payday to payday. I received a rise in salary.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Fellowes shrugged. “More responsibility, now that I handle Viscount Haley’s account, and, hence, more money.” He lifted a brandy decanter. “Care for a drink?”

  Laurence waved the offer away. “I had more than enough at White’s.”

  “As did I.” Fellowes seated himself in the equally worn chair beside him. “My tastes no longer run to drinking the night away.”

  “Because of your lady?”

  “Just so.”

  “I envy you, having a lady. I wish…”

  Fellowes gave an understanding smile. “For one of your own? I thought you were in pursuit of one.”

  “I was. Or, at least, I thought I was, but I have run into a problem.” He detailed his experiences with Ellen. “Now she is angry with me, and I am not sure why.”

  “Well, the best thing you can do is talk to her.” Fellowes leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Also, I suggest you put young Tom in his place. Brothers have no appreciation for their sisters. A common failing, I daresay. I can also understand her anger at her thinking you had usurped her place. Clara and I are both interested in finance, but she would be furious if she thought I didn’t appreciate her knowledge.”

  As Fellowes mentioned his lady’s name, his face took on a glow Laurence had never seen before. He is happy.

  Laurence’s stomach twisted. Would that I could be that happy. “But I can’t shake the feeling that something else is amiss.”

  “You may be right. As I said, talk to her. That is, when you finally find her at home.” Fellowes patted him on the shoulder. “Do not give up, old chum. Your Miss Palmer sounds like the lady for you.”

  “Just as Miss Haley is the lady for you?”

  “Indeed.” That same besotted smile overspread his lips. “But besides her obvious feminine attractions, Clara is a genius at ferreting out good investments. I put some of my salary into her suggestions and I have done quite well. We make good partners.”

  “Partners? I never thought of a woman as a partner.”

  “Perhaps you should.” His friend rose. “Here, I have something you should read.” He exited to return a moment later carrying the three volumes of a book, which he set on the table at Laurence’s elbow. “Clara gave me this copy as a memento.”

  Laur
ence tilted up the first volume. “Leather, eh? I remember when you could not afford even cardboard bound books.” He traced the embossed letters of the title on the front cover. “Pride and Prejudice. Ellen and I met as we both reached for a copy of this novel at Hookham’s library.”

  “You, too? Clara and I met because of this book and now you and your Ellen. I daresay, history repeats itself. Mayhap Pride and Prejudice is a good luck charm. Or perhaps the book is magic or is the instrument of divine intervention.” He waggled his eyebrows. “In any event, the hero of the book, Mr. Darcy, also made a mull of his early attempts at courting Miss Elizabeth. So much so, in fact, that she refused his first marriage proposal. But Darcy redeemed himself. Perhaps you can learn from him.”

  Laurence rose and tucked the three volumes under his arm. “Novels are not much to my taste, but reading the book cannot hurt.”

  Fellowes clapped him on the back. “Perhaps you should read a few more novels.”

  “Perhaps.” They shook hands and then Laurence departed.

  The ceaseless activity of the great metropolis had slowed with the advancing night, and he had to walk a few blocks before he secured a hackney for the ride home. The clip-clop of the carriage horses’ hooves on the cobblestones rang loud against the muted hum of the resting city. Outside the conveyance’s windows, pedestrians and vehicles were few and far between. Man and beast alike sought repose, the lucky ones with those they loved.

  When he opened the door to his chambers, his rooms, although luxurious, felt empty. He wanted to come home to someone—a lady who would smile and welcome him. Ellen.

  After lighting a candle from the lamp Hodges had left burning for him, he shrugged out of his coat, loosened his cravat and sat before the open window. Soft humid air touched with only a little river stench wafted inside, along with the chimes of St. Paul’s Cathedral marking midnight.

  He cracked open the first volume of Pride and Prejudice. What could this book teach him?

  Chapter 14