Goosed! or a Fowl Christmas
Page 20
“Perhaps.” Julia raised her eyebrows. “But I have rarely seen such an expert bow. He would be right at home in the Queen’s Drawing Room.”
“At a levee, my dear, being presented to the king. He is male, after all.” Stop considering the impossible.
A second white goose emerged from Machiavelli’s hut.
Robert frowned. “You own two geese now. By any chance, is that goose a mate for Machiavelli?”
“Yes. I bought her just before we left for London, as Machiavelli’s reward for chasing the fox out of the aviary. The previous owner must have delivered her when we were in town.”
Machiavelli, with what looked like a besotted grin on his bill, trailed after his mate.
“And he is as smitten as any other male in love.” Robert nuzzled Julia’s neck. “Well, I am happy, and I do not begrudge the same to Machiavelli. Who knows? Mayhap his lady will keep him out of trouble.”
“I doubt that.” Julia looped her arms around his neck, and a wicked smile slanted across her lips. “I heard about a female goose in the area who was as much a schemer as Machiavelli.” She tilted her head toward the two birds. “Lucy does seem to be his match. Instead of keeping him out of trouble, she may lead him into more.”
He also smiled as he fitted his arms around her waist. “Heaven help us. But what makes you think that?
“Her name.”
“Which is?”
“Lucretia Borgia.”
THE END
####
Thank you for reading Goosed! or A Fowl Christmas. I hope you enjoyed the romance and adventures of Julia and Robert. If you did, won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?
Thanks!
Linda Banche
Author’s Note
The modern spelling of “Hollingbourn” is “Hollingbourne”. I used the spelling in The County Maps of Old England by Thomas Moule, first published in 1830.
A stone is a unit of weight equal to fourteen pounds.
About Linda Banche
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
I’m Linda Banche, and I write witty, sweet/sensual Regency romances with nary a rake or royal in sight. Most contain humor, some fantasy, and occasionally a little paranormal or science fiction. But comedy is my love, and I’ve created my own wacky blend of humor and Regency with stories that can elicit reactions from a gentle smile to a belly laugh.
Like many other romance authors, I read romances for years before I wrote my own. Once I tried, I quickly discovered how difficult writing is. Did I stop? No, I’m persistent—that’s French for “too stupid to quit”.
I live in New England and like aerobics and ducks.
So, laugh along with me on a voyage back to the Regency era. Me and my ducks. Quack.
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Email: linda@lindabanche.com
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Discover Other Titles by Linda Banche
Love and the Library
A Similar Taste in Books
A Mutual Interest in Numbers
A Distinct Flair for Words
Book 4 (Trant’s Story) Coming Soon
The Regency Star Travelers
A Gift from the Stars
Other Books
Lady of the Stars EPIC Ebook Contest Finalist
Pumpkinnapper EPIC Ebook Contest Finalist
Mistletoe Everywhere
Gifts Gone Astray
An Inheritance for the Birds
Excerpt from A Similar Taste in Books, Book 1 of Love and the Library Available Now!
Love and the Library
A celebration of the beginnings of love wherein four young Regency gentlemen meet their matches over a copy of Pride and Prejudice at the library.
Chapter 1
London, England
June, 1818
“Pride and Prejudice again, I see.” The thin, bespectacled clerk behind the circulating library counter at Hookham’s Bookshop curled his lip.
Mr. Justin Fellowes cleared his throat. “For my sister.”
“Indeed. The ladies enjoy these novels by Miss Austen.” The clerk sniffed. “I cannot understand why. All that talk about love and marriage.” He added the novel’s three volumes to Justin’s other selection. “I daresay, there is no accounting for taste.” Paper crackled as he wrapped the books.
Justin cracked a smile. “As you say.” How surprised would you be, my man, if you knew I am the one who reads “Pride and Prejudice”.
Justin’s liking for novels was his dark little secret. Many men, including Mr. Collins in the novel, loudly ridiculed the books. They were widely regarded as rubbish although, in all the libraries and book shops Justin had visited, the collection of novels was the largest one there, and probably also the most lucrative.
Pride and Prejudice was his favorite novel. He loved the wit and intelligence in the book. But most of all, he loved Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Justin’s heart warmed. Lively, intelligent, fiercely loyal, she was sometimes wrong, but willing to change her mind when more information appeared. And beautiful. Although the book never described her, such a lady must be beautiful. A veritable goddess.
The clerk consulted a ledger at his side. “According to my records, you have borrowed this book three times in the past two months.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “If your sister likes the novel so much, perhaps you should buy her a copy.” His disapproval vanished, replaced with a thin-lipped smile that was nothing short of irritating. “In the shop section, we have many copies for sale.” He gestured toward the front room.
Justin didn’t spare a glance for the other portion of the establishment. Patrons must pass through the shop before reaching the library, no doubt to encourage buying rather than borrowing. Book prices were high, due to the tax on paper, but Hookham’s had found a way to profit both from those who could afford to purchase and those who couldn’t. Still, Justin loved books and would prefer to buy Pride and Prejudice. Perhaps, if he saved a few pennies a week, he could afford a copy bound with paper-covered boards and forgo adding the leather or cloth binding.
The clerk secured the folds of paper around the parcel with a length of twine. “I would be most happy to fetch you a copy.”
“I will think on it.” With a curt nod to the officious clerk, Justin gathered up his package and stepped back. He collided with the person next in the queue. “I beg your par—”
Before him stood the loveliest lady he had ever seen. She was short and willowy, her dark pink muslin walking dress emphasizing every slender curve. Deep brown curls peeped from the sides of a gauzy matching pink bonnet to frame an oval face. Her skin was creamy, her nose straight and proud.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet! The lady of his dreams! His jaw sagged.
“No harm done, sir.” The vision lifted a shapely dark eyebrow. “If I may reach the clerk?” Merry chocolate-colored eyes twinkled up at him and sweet rosy lips dimpled in an amused arch of a grin. A whiff of lilac perfume, delicate as the lady, wafted toward him.
He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. “Oh, sorry.” Damn him for gaping like the veriest fool. Hugging his package to his chest, he stumbled away from the young lady and the plainly dressed woman, most likely her maid, who stood beside her. The maid flashed a grin as if she knew every one of his admiring thoughts.
He bumped into the table by the counter, and pain lanced through his elbow. Cradling his bundle with one arm while rubbing his throbb
ing forearm, he pretended to study the list of new books on the table, but kept his gaze fixed on the young lady. She was exactly as he had imagined Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Who was she? And how could he make her acquaintance?
***
Miss Clara Haley set her books on the counter and darted a glance at the tall young man perusing the list of new books. High cheekbones, a blade of a nose and a firm chin presented a most pleasing masculine face. His hair was black and cut short in a fashionable but restrained style. An unruly lock fell across his forehead, and he brushed the hair back with an impatient hand. When they had spoken, his slate-grey eyes had glinted with intelligence, humor and distinct male appreciation. A little feminine thrill at his regard still raced through her.
Like most men, he wore a double-breasted ink blue tailcoat, buff-colored trousers and shiny black half-boots. A grey waistcoat and utilitarian knot in his white cravat completed the modest simplicity of his attire. Unlike most other men, he was broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. The hard muscle that had pressed against her for the brief second they touched proved he needed no padding to achieve that breathtaking masculine form.
An unfamiliar wave of heat enveloped her. Gracious, what a handsome man. He looked just how she pictured Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the hero of her favorite novel, Pride and Prejudice. And he held a packet of books. Could he possibly share her love of reading?
Also available in the Love and the Library series are A Mutual Interest in Numbers (Book 2), and A Distinct Flair for Words (Book 3)
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Excerpt from A Gift from the Stars, Part 1 of The Regency Star Travelers, Available Now!
The Regency Star Travelers
Where the Regency and outer space meet with romance
Chapter 1
Bradborne, Derbyshire, England
December, 1811
Oh, drat.
Miss Elizabeth Ashby bit her lip as she fished her handkerchief out of her cloak pocket. For the second time within the past few minutes, she muffled her sneeze with the soft linen. Good gracious, another cold? Winter had barely begun, and already she had suffered three.
After wiping her nose, she secreted the crushed fabric back into her pocket and then bent to her telescope’s eyepiece. With a little shiver, she pulled the hood and folds of her cloak closer. Winter nights in her garden were chilly, but the season’s deeper darkness afforded the best view of the magnificent comet that had first appeared last spring.
From within her cottage, the long case clock struck midnight, each chime rolling over the quiet landscape as if the only sound in the world. She had better finish her observations soon. The last quarter moon had poked its head above the eastern horizon and would wash out the sky erelong.
She adjusted her telescope’s view field. The image of a spectacular comet with two tails sharpened into focus. Soon after its discovery, the news sheets had dubbed this heavenly marvel The Great Comet of 1811. She was indeed fortunate to witness such a remarkable spectacle.
By all standards, the comet was impressive with one tail, but the summer appearance of an almost unheard-of second tail elevated the celestial body to the extraordinary. The second tail, thinner and wispier than the first, trailed gossamer-fine flutters of white light. The force of gravity amazed her. However sparse those glimmering flecks might be, gravity held them firmly in the comet’s thrall.
Until one long, threadlike fragment splintered off from the second tail. Moving at an angle to the comet, the shard flashed across the heavens.
Elizabeth looked up and narrowed her eyes. Even without magnification, the hurtling filament was visible.
The sliver flared with a thin, bright white light. Trailing its own tail, the comet flake streaked across the starry dome in her general direction.
According to the latest astronomical theories, the cast-off stony dust and debris of comets formed meteors. And here she was, lucky enough to witness a comet generate one. What a letter she would write to her friend, Miss Caroline Herschel! The eminent astronomer had discovered six comets, but she had never seen the birth of a meteor. Perhaps she would help Elizabeth write a paper, and if she was very fortunate, the Royal Society would accept her work.
The arc of the meteor’s flight flattened. Lower and lower the shooting star descended, much too slowly to Elizabeth’s way of thinking. From the angle and rate of its motion, the object would likely strike the earth close by. If she could distinguish some landmarks by its glow, perhaps she could find the stone.
She craned her neck back as the meteor soared across the firmament. The unearthly rock blazed with the colors of the rainbow from friction with the air.
Coldness pricked her spine. A meteor that enormous should race through the heavens, shrieking in outrage as its surface pounded through the atmosphere. This one was silent. And the stone—or was it a stone?—sloped down in a leisurely, graceful curve, as gently as a feather floating in a light breeze.
With eerie stillness, the object continued its glide across the ebony sky, looming ever immense as its bulk neared the ground.
She could even make out features. In her experience, meteors were dark, pitted lumps of rock or metal. This one was white, its pointed nose flaring out behind to form a stretched-out triangle, almost like a bird with unfurled wings.
And its size! Her heart in her throat, she jumped up. The thing was larger than a mail coach. And it would fall onto Sentinel Moor beside her house!
Continually slowing, the peculiar entity descended. The object slipped below the level of the high Sentinel Oak across the field, and then behind the top of the six-foot hawthorn hedge separating her garden from the meadow.
Elizabeth took a step to run around the tall shrub. Blinding whiteness exploded on the moor. She threw up her hands to shield her eyes and then tumbled to the ground.
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End