Once again I’ve struggled to create some flash fiction. Instead, here’s a sneak peek at a scene I’ve called Unconventional Ladies from The Reluctant Earl, book three in my Men of Trade series.
Like last month’s sneak peek, it’s still a work in progress and needs improvement but I hope you enjoy it.
~
Alex’s blood thrummed with excitement. He held his hand aloft, placing his bid on the latest shipment. Amidst the chaos of purchasing tea, a sense of belonging washed over him.
Columns of winter sunshine streamed from the dome above, illuminating the marble effigies of Sir Eyre Coote, Lord Clive, and General Laurence who oversaw the din from their alcoves.
Buyers held their tickets aloft and shouted their bids at the podium at the front of the salesroom. The auctioneer waved his hand back and forth, calling the prices while clerks sat on either side, scribbled their way through sheet after sheet of paper.
A man climbed above the sales pit’s ledge and hollered his offer across the room. Alex smirked at his competitor’s attempts to outbid him. The man would fail. This shipment would soon belong to Waverley’s Tea.
Alex raised a finger, and the gavel hit the block, confirming his purchase.
He nodded across the room at his competitor, who shrugged. They would battle another day.
Alex arranged for the shipment to be delivered to their warehouse along the Thames, then headed out.
He bounced down the wide stone steps beneath the columned entrance of East India House. Today had turned out better than he imagined.
Clear skies and sunshine made a pleasant change from the gray gloom, melting away the murky piles of snow and slush.
His caped greatcoat held off the chill while he walked to Waverley’s offices. He Raised his face to the cerulean skies above, allowing the warmth of the winter sun to warm his skin. It was a beautiful—oomph!
Alex almost bent double when a pile of heavy items wrapped in brown paper hit him in the stomach, then fell to the pavement.
“Oh, no!” A small feminine cry of distress sounded at the same time an older woman shrieked, “Watch where you are walking, young man!”
“I beg your pardon,” he said to the female crouching at his feet.
He squatted next to her. “Please, allow me.” Without waiting for permission, he gathered up the rectangular parcels.
“Oh no! They are wet.” The woman cried, then raised her head.
He froze. A pair of blue eyes, almost the exact shade as the sky above, brimmed with despair.
He remained transfixed. His grasp loosened on one package, and it fell to the wet slabs once again.
“Have a care, sir,” the older woman screeched from above. “Books are expensive.”
He grabbed the brown parcel from the pavement. A dark stain spread across the paper and soaked through. The corner of the book’s binding poked through the soggy covering.
“I apologize for my foolishness. My attention was elsewhere.”
The older woman harrumphed. “That much was obvious, sir.”
“What has happened?” The voice of a younger woman joined them. “Susannah, are you hurt?”
“No, Emily.” Her ebony ringlets bobbed when she shook her head, gathered up the remaining books, and stood.
Alex straightened before a mousy-looking female who stood next to a tall and foreboding footman. More brown packages teetered in the servant’s arms.
Holding back a chuckle, he said, “I was enjoying the sunshine when I walked into your friend.”
The older woman snorted.
The victim of his negligence brushed at the surface of a parcel with a leather-gloved hand. “It was an accident.”
“Please allow me to replace the books.” He offered her the damaged one, and she frowned at the squashed corner.
“There is no need.” She took the stained package. “I am certain they will be fine once they have dried.” The raven-haired woman tucked her pile of books beneath one arm.
“I insist.”
“That is very kind, Mr. …?” The short woman asked.
“Shush, Emily.” The blue-eyed beauty elbowed her friend in the side. “You should not ask a gentleman his name. We have not been introduced.”
“Oh, pish! Who here will introduce us? We have no common acquaintances.” The woman named Emily held out her hand. “My name is Emily Reed. This is Susannah Denton,”
“Miss Emily Reedand Miss Susannah Denton.” Miss Denton glared at Miss Reed.
“I wish you would not insist on following the rules all the time. Do not forget, we are modern women with modern ideas.” Miss Reed looked at him, then at her outstretched hand.
Miss Denton’s cheeks turned pink, and it had nothing to do with the cold air.
He had never come across a woman who possessed the bravado to introduce herself. His lips tipped at the corners. “Mr. Alexander Penrose.” He shook Miss Reed’s hand, then nodded at Miss Denton. A frown marred her brow.
Had they met before? Surely not. He would have recalled being introduced to such a woman.
“We should be on our way.” The older woman groused.
“My thanks, Mr. Penrose.” Miss Denton grabbed Miss Reed’s arm and led her away. The older woman followed behind and darted him a venomous glance when she passed.
He turned to watch them walk down the street.
Miss Reed wriggled from her friend’s grasp and called out, “Good day, Mr. Penrose!”
Miss Denton grabbed her friend’s arm once again and leaned in, probably to give a sharp telling off for behaving in such a manner in the street.
What unconventional ladies. He chuckled to himself and continued to watch the large feather in Miss Denton’s bonnet bob in the distance. A loud tut to his right made him jump.
“I beg your pardon, madam,” he nodded at the matron who hobbled around him, leaning heavily on her walking stick.
Shaking off this strange distractedness, he headed east.
