A Mutual Interest in Numbers

By Linda Banche

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.

Book 2: Ellen and Laurence

Lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice. Does it?

Mr. Laurence Coffey doesn’t care for libraries and novels. His interests run to steam engines and mathematics. But his friend found the lady of his dreams at the library over a copy of "Pride and Prejudice". Laurence yearns for a lady of his own, one of wit and cleverness as well as beauty. And while he doesn’t expect his friend’s luck, visiting the library can’t hurt.

Inventor’s daughter Miss Ellen Palmer uses her skill with mathematics to help her father and brother build steam engines. Unfortunately, many men frown on bluestockings. She loves the library and its mathematics books as well as its novels, especially her favorite, "Pride and Prejudice". How she would like to find her own Mr. Darcy. Perhaps someday, somewhere, she can discover a man who wants an intelligent woman.

At the library, they both reach for a copy of "Pride and Prejudice" at the same time. Can their mutual interest in numbers—and this particular novel—make their dreams come true?

A sweet, traditional Regency romance, but not a retelling of "Pride and Prejudice". 28,000 words. And there’s a duck. Quack.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Banche
• Release date: May 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301092543

Linda Banche

Tired of the same old, same old? Then... Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity! Regency drawing room, not bedroom, romantic comedies with nary a rake or royal in sight, sometimes spiced with paranormal, fantasy, mystery 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. I'm a two-time EPICON finalist. I live in New England and I like ducks. So, laugh along with me on a voyage back to the Regency era. Me and my ducks. Quack! Visit me at my website http://www.lindabanche.com for more information.

Book preview

A Mutual Interest in Numbers

Book 2 of Love and the Library

By Linda Banche

A Mutual Interest in Numbers

Published by Linda Banche at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Linda Banche

Discover other works by Linda Banche

at

http://www.lindabanche.com.com

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

A Mutual Interest in Numbers is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Author’s Note

Excerpt from A Similar Taste in Books, Part 1 of Love and the Library

About the Author

Connect with me online!

Other Books by Linda Banche

End

Chapter 1

London, England

August, 1818

Let us lift our glasses in toast to a fallen comrade. Mr. Randall Trant stood and raised his wine goblet high.

Mr. Godfrey Coffey, sitting with Trant in the morning room in White’s Gentlemen’s Club, quirked an eyebrow at Mr. Francis Wynne as both men rose.

Forehead puckering, Wynne smoothed a hand down the side of his fashionably tight trousers. I say, Trant, whom are we toasting? I cannot remember that anyone has died.

Bright sunlight flooding through the bow window made famous by the exiled Beau Brummell glinted off Trant’s sleekly muscled form. In his well-tailored blue tailcoat, buff-colored pantaloons and Hessians whose blinding gloss probably frightened dust away, he struck an all too familiar pose.

Coffey privately called the oft-repeated stance The Elegant English Gentleman—And He Knows It. He curled a lip. Probably waiting for someone to etch his likeness on a coin.

A wrinkle formed between Trant’s eyebrows, marring the perfection of his chiseled features. I shall get to that, if you will let me. He cleared his throat and lifted his glass higher. To Mr. Justin Fellowes. We knew you well. He sighed and then quaffed his drink.

With a thump, Coffey deposited his goblet on the central table. What fustian is this? Fellowes is very much alive.

Wynne wagged his head in agreement. Yes, he ain’t dead. I saw him only this morning with that lovely Miss Haley.

The crease between Trant’s eyes deepened. Exactly what I mean. Now that Fellowes has found a lady, he is dead to us. No longer has time for his friends. He heaved another heavy sigh. He has forsaken us.

Would that I was so forsaken. Coffey settled himself back into his chair and picked up his drink. Again, what flummery are you spouting? He fenced with you last Saturday as he does every week. He took a sip of his brandy and enjoyed the burn as the fiery liquor slipped down his throat. Trounced you handily, too.

Trant scowled. An aberration.

Coffey smiled. Now I have you. He trounced you the previous Saturday and the week before that, too. Quite a few ‘aberrations’, by my reckoning.

Trant set his glass down so hard the fine brandy sloshed over the rim. He placed his hands on the arms of Coffey’s chair, boxing him in, and then loomed over him. If you would care to take me on…

Coffey elevated one shoulder in a careless shrug that always irritated Trant. Indeed, he had a whole repertoire of such gestures. Had to keep the man in his place. I prefer to spar with the fencing master. He looked down, or rather up, his nose at Trant. I want only the best.

Why, you… Trant grabbed one of Coffey’s lapels.

Stop, both of you. Wynne, an uncharacteristic scowl on his normally genial face, caught Trant’s arm. I do miss Fellowes. He could always jolly you two apart. Without him, you brangle much too often.

Coffey detached Trant’s hand from his lapel and smoothed out the crushed fabric. Indeed.

Trant glowered at him once more before he returned to his own chair. I will make an effort not to brangle with you, Godfrey.

Coffey gritted his teeth. He hated his Christian name. And I will make an effort not to brangle with you…Aloysius.

Trant’s jaw almost hit the floor. How did you find out my middle name?

Coffey curved his lips into a smug smile that always plagued the devil out of Trant. Another of his collection. Oh, I have my ways. Actually, he had overheard Trant’s sister calling him the name to annoy him.

Wynne fell against his chair back, laughing. "Your middle name is Aloysius?"

What’s that? A snort heralded the awakening of the elderly gentleman occupying the padded chair outside their circle. Garbed in the white powered wig, long frock coat, breeches and buckled shoes of the previous generation, he jerked his head up from his chest. Aloysius? Demme, I have not heard that name since I was a lad! He slapped his knee. In my day, we always ragged the boys named Aloysius. What a splendid time we had. The edges of his lips curved down. The name is uncommon now. Cannot think why. His head dropped again to his chest and another snore erupted from his lips.

Trant flapped his hand in a shushing motion. Well, keep your voice down. I never want to hear that benighted name again.

Coffey shrugged. As you will. But if you must use my Christian name, use my middle name of ‘Laurence’.

Wynne tilted his head and studied Coffey. I did not know ‘Laurence’ was your middle name.

Rarely comes up in conversation. He returned his gaze to Trant. But I prefer ‘Coffey’. What say you, Aloy—

Trant again made the shushing motion. "As you wish, Coffey." His voice hissed out through gritted teeth.

Laurence bit his lip to hide his smile. Gudgeon that Trant sometimes was, he was quite biddable once you knew how to handle him.

But, time to change the subject. He raised his glass and studied the amber liquid within. I miss Fellowes, too. He was always so happy.

There you go, talking about him again as if he were dead. Wynne shook his head. He is not dead. What he is, is…lucky.

Trant flicked a fingernail against the rim of his goblet. A bright crystalline chime rang out. How so?

Wynne’s head swung from Laurence to Trant. He has a beautiful lady, while we are stuck with each other.

Chapter 2

Laurence stood on the corner of St. James Street and Piccadilly after waving Trant and Wynne on their way. He tapped his walking stick against his leg as a curricle rumbled past before he angled across the intersection to continue down Bond Street.

Wynne’s final words lingered in his mind. Fellowes was indeed lucky. While both he and Trant had scoffed at their friend’s comment, Laurence had to admit—privately, that is—that he was right.

In some ways, he envied Justin Fellowes. Fellowes had a lady, and from all intents and purposes, they were both smitten with each other. And he hadn’t found her at some ball full of high-bred simpering misses who were all indistinguishable from each other. No, he had found her at the library. A meeting of minds, as well, presumably, of bodies.

A heavy stone settled in his stomach. Would that he could find such a lady. None of the ones he met lingered in his thoughts for any reason.

He stepped off the pavements to maneuver around a formidable lady marching along with her overdressed daughter in tow. Poor girl. Her mother had probably dressed her in that unflattering befrilled gown. The daughter’s down-cast eyes lifted and a faint smile curled her lips. He quirked up his own lips in an absent reply. A lady likely too in thrall to her mother for his taste.

He blew out a breath. Damnation, enough of this social frivolity. A man needed useful occupation. He was three and twenty, old enough to have fixed on a course in life.

As much as he enjoyed the fine clothes, good food and other pleasures afforded a gentleman of the ton, the whole rig had become tedious of late. God forbid he end up like