by GL Robinson
Excerpt from A Winter’s Romance: A Regency Anthology
By the light of the moon that had now risen, the cottage looked so much like an illustration one might find in a children’s story book, that to anyone of an imaginative turn of mind it must have been laughable. Since this was true of neither of the visitors, they saw but didn’t appreciate either the thatch roof over the old stones or the rambling rose around the front door. Now leafless and brown, in the summer it showered with scented petals those going in and out. The travelers ignored both, as well as the neatly cut back flower beds that had surely been a riot of color a few months earlier.
Tethering the horses to the fence, the mis-matched pair walked up the garden path. The tall gentleman, whose head would certainly have been in the roses, knocked briskly at the old oak door with the head of his cane. He waited a few minutes, and receiving no response, knocked again. This time he was rewarded by the sound of the door being opened and a female voice saying, “It must be the carolers, Papa, though they are a little early. The mince pies are only just out of the pan. They’ll be too hot to eat!”
The speaker now came fully into view. The lantern showed her to be a handsome young woman with a smudge of flour on her cheek, and curls that were springing from a loose braid around her head. She was wearing a voluminous apron that she was attempting to untie with one hand, while she held the door open with the other.
“Oh!” she said, looking up into the tall man’s face. “You aren’t the carolers!”
“No,” he said. “I’m afraid not. I’m… I’m Fortescue.” He executed a bow, almost knocking over Wilf, who was standing closely behind him. “And this is Wilf, my tiger.”
“Your what?” the young woman looked puzzled. “He doesn’t look very fierce, for a tiger. He’s very small.”
“He isn’t usually fierce, except when he thinks he has to protect me,” admitted the visitor. “But his sort of tiger is not hired for fierceness but for being good with horses and not weighing a lot. Rather like a jockey. Talking of which, we tethered our horses to your fence. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I see.” She gurgled with laughter, “Though the idea of his protecting you seems idiotic. It should be the other way round. But why are you standing on the doorstep like that? Come in, for heaven’s sake. Leave the horses, by all means, though the poor things shouldn’t be outside long in this weather.”
“Thank you. We will only disturb you for a moment. ” The visitor removed his hat and, bowing his head so as not to knock it against the lintel, stepped in, saying, “Wilf, wait with the horses.”
“By no means!” cried the young woman. “It’s freezing out there! And aren’t tigers used to warmer climates?” She laughed again, pulled Wilf into the cottage and closed the door. Taking off the apron had revealed a worn round gown in a brown and yellow windowpane check. It was in no way modish, or even flattering. She was still holding her apron, and, catching sight of herself in the small mirror next to the door, she used it to scrub the flour from her cheek. The tall man found himself unaccountably disappointed. He had rather liked the smudge.
About the author:
I was born in Portsmouth, England (no, I won’t tell you the date!), but I’ve lived in the USA since 1978. My American husband came to Europe in 1970 for 6 weeks with two suitcases and ended up returning eight years later with a wife and three children!
During the 50’s and early 60’s my sister Francine and I were at a convent boarding school in southern England. I began writing Regency Romances after she died unexpectedly in 2018. I can still see us in the convent under the bedcovers after lights out with a flashlight reading the Romances of Georgette Heyer! All my Regencies are dedicated to her.
Find her at romancenovelsbyglrobinson.com.