Two
“Oomph.”
“Oh!”
Honk. Honk.
Bystandersguffawed and tittered, plainly enjoying the unfortunate display.
Cassiusrushed from the bookstore, stopped short, and emitted a sound that was something between a snort and a cough.
Dariuscould well imagine the tableau of him lying sprawled atop the young woman whose face he couldn’t quite make out, given that the pesky goose had now inserted itself between them, nuzzling their heads and flapping his wings.
Cassiuscocked an eyebrow and, with mirth twitching his lips, lifted the broken ladder and set it aside. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Then don’t,” Darius growled, pushing the goose away, now seemingly intent on making amends for his unchivalrous behavior. The elegant glove which had caused the commotion lay abandoned on the pavement.
“Ahem.”
Dariusglanced downward into round, shockingly green eyes framed by golden-tipped lashes. Several tendrils of her straw-colored hair had escaped her chignon, and the riotous curls poked from her head like miniature springs. She smelled of sunshine and grass and spring flowers.
“Would you please remove yourself from my person?” the unnamed woman asked, her voice slightly breathy.
Andwhy shouldn’t she sound breathless with his six-foot frame pressing her flat as a Scottish oatcake?
Hergoose gave an affronted honk and nipped Darius’s shoulder.
Twice.
“Ouch. Stop that.” He tried to swat at the winged gallant, but the deuced gander scooted aside before diving in again, pecking Darius on the backside, and then swiftly retreated with a goosey cackle.
Devil take it.
Wasthe feathered menace laughing at him?
Thecrowd certainly was.
Cassiushooted in hilarity. “Oh, this is rich.”
“He’s trying to protect me,” the young woman explained, despite her obvious embarrassment, as she dragged a hand from between their bodies to gesture toward the maddening creature. “SirWaddlesby thinks he’s a dog and likes to play fetch with gloves.”
Shakinghis head, Cassius chuckled as he bent and retrieved the glove in question, adorned with exquisite embroidery. “It’s a lovely glove.”
“Harrumph.”
Darius’sattention riveted on a pair of very shiny, very large shoes before he gravitated his focus upward.
Ah, hell?—
Hebit back an ungentlemanly oath.
Mouthas tight as a hen’s hind end, Mrs. Clarke glared at him, disapproval fairly radiating off her stiff form. She turned a censorious gaze onto the woman he still half lay upon.
Standingbeside her mother, her forehead creased in a puzzled frown beneath her pink bonnet, Eudora wavered her attention between Darius and his feminine assailant.
“LordDarius? Aren’t you going to get off her?” Eudora asked, her dark eyes wide and guileless, though the merest shadow of annoyance or irritation lurked in their depths.
Dariusshoved to his feet with admirable alacrity, considering his stinging posterior and bruised ego, before plowing a hand through his hair to restore order to the strands poking every which way. A feather floated off his shoulder, and another tickled his cheek. He swiped the offending reminder of the fowlish assault away.
Cheeksapple red, the young woman gracefully shifted to a sitting position, yanking her ugly brown gown over her shapely calves. A gray and white feather floated onto her lap. Another stuck out from the remains of her chignon, most of her lovely hair having tumbled around her shoulders in a cloud of springy, flaxen curls.
Hergoose wasted no time waddling onto her lap and draping his neck across hers. At once, she wrapped her slender arms around him.
Allwas forgiven, it seemed.
Despitethe awkwardness of the moment, Darius found their interaction touching. He’d never known anyone with a pet goose, but he couldn’t deny their genuine affection for one another.
“That goose is a menace, MissWeldon.” Mrs. Clarke gave a disdainful sniff and lifted her chin. “He ought to have been consigned to the cooking pot years ago. You’d be wise to serve him on a platter for Christmas dinner.”
HONK!Hiss. Hiss.
SirWaddlesby bobbed his gray and white head menacingly toward the outraged matron, who had the good sense to retreat several paces.
“Goodness, Araminta.” Eudora wrinkled her dainty nose. “I imagine it must mortify you to make such a spectacle of yourself.” She touched her smooth, neatly coiffed locks. “My word, your hair…”
Dariusfurrowed his forehead.
Surelygenuine concern prompted Eudora despite her comment having the air of a veiled insult.
“Yes, quite,” MissWeldon agreed with the bravado of someone accustomed to humiliating scrapes—likely caused by SirWaddlesby. She combed her fingers through her unruly curls in a vain attempt to tame the wayward tresses. Upon coming in contact with the wayward feather, she plucked it from her hair with a chagrined grimace.
Sympathystirred behind his ribs.
Noone enjoyed being on the receiving end of laughter and ridicule.
Theyoung woman set her goose down. “Stay there. You’ve caused enough ruckus for one day.”
SirWaddlesby bowed his neck, apparently penitent. Or perchance, the shiny black pebble by his foot had caught his attention.
Peck. Peck.
“Allow me.” Cassius extended his hand to assist MissWeldon.
Onceon her feet, he handed her the glove. “I hope the glove is salvageable.”
“Thank you.” A wistful smile tipped MissWeldon’s rosebud mouth upward at the corners while she carefully folded the satin, then tucked it into her pocket.
Herkeen-eyed goose watched until the crimson cloth disappeared.
Thefeathered fiend released a long breath and made a humming noise.
Coulda goose sigh in disappointment?
Astab of irritation toward his brother for being so quick to assist the young woman and for being the recipient of her winsome smile speared Darius.
Brushingoff her gown, MissWeldon faced him, her expression solemn. “I beg your pardon, my lord, for toppling your ladder. I didn’t see you.”
Mrs. Clarke made a rude noise—somewhere between a grunt and a jeer. “Thatis as obvious as your reconstituted gown, which you no doubt sewed yourself.”
Dariusscowled at the woman’s calculated cruelty.
Mrs. Clarke was a nasty piece of work.
“Mama!” A giggle escaped Eudora before she clapped a gloved hand over her mouth.
Nervousnessat her mother’s blatant rudeness or laughing at MissWeldon’s expense?
Onewas understandable. The other was wholly unacceptable. AndEudora’s youth was not an excuse. Even a child knew the difference between compassion and unkindness.
Wasthis what Cassius had hinted at earlier?
WasEudora’s cheerful disposition a fa?ade?
Self-castigation speared Darius. Was he on the verge of falling in love with a woman because of her physical attributes without knowing her character?
Thatmade him a shallow bacon-brain.
“You must be the bane of poor ReverendWeldon’s existence,” Mrs. Clarke said, continuing her tirade. “He really ought to exhibit more control over you.”
ReverendWeldon?
OfSaintAndrew’s?
Whyhadn’t Darius noticed MissWeldon during Sunday services?
MissWeldon didn’t respond, but a fresh wave of color sluiced up her porcelain cheeks.
“Excuse me.” Cassius leveled the Clarkes with a dark glance before slipping away.
Dariusrealized he hadn’t responded to MissWeldon’s apology, and though she held her head up, there was no mistaking the chagrin shadowing her vibrant eyes.
“It’s of no consequence, MissWeldon.” Except for his bruised pride and another black mark against his character by Mrs. Clarke.
Chestheaving in indignation, Mrs. Clarke clomped away, calling, “Come, Eudora.”
“Good day, LordDarius.” Eudora gave him a flirtatious smile. “I look forward to attending your store’s grand opening.”
“Eudora!” her mother snapped.
Eudoradutifully followed her mother, but not before Darius observed a mutinous glint in her brown eyes.
Insteadof collecting her goose, MissWeldon eyed the inside of the bookshop longingly.
“What a delight to learn we’ll have our very own bookseller in Woodhaven. I adore books. I operate a small lending library out of the parish salon. ’Tisn’t much, but there’s such a need.” She waved a delicate hand toward the market square. “Woodhaven has long needed a bookshop. MightI ask if you intend to carry novels by AnnRadcliff? RosaMatilda? MadamQuillheart?”
So, MissWeldon was a romantic, was she?
Dariustoed aside a broken ladder rung. “I plan on providing an assortment of books to appeal to various tastes. I’ve also invited several authors to give readings at the grand opening.”
“You have?” She tapped her tulip of a chin. “Invited authors for the grand opening? Oh, how marvelous.”
“Indeed.” He nodded. “I’m not familiar with the last author you mentioned. I presume the name is a nom de plume?”
“Hmm?” MissWeldon cast Darius a distracted glance. “Oh, yes. MadamQuillheart.”
Shecleared her throat.
“At least, I think so. But her books are splendid. Very daring and modern, but also with engaging plots and fascinating characters. So are JaneAusten’s. Though she wrote anonymously as By a Lady, her authorship was an open secret.”
Herfocus veered toward the open shop door. “Do you mind if I take a gander inside?”
Gander?
Wasthe pun intended?
Somehow, Darius thought it very much was.
MissWeldon possessed a sharp wit.
“Well, actually…” He didn’t want the public moseying about inside his establishment just yet.
Withoutso much as a by your leave, MissWeldon scooped up her obnoxious goose and entered the bookshop.