Page 16 of Hearts of Briarwall

He cleared his throat. “Why, yes. My aftershave tonic.” He pushed in the chair as Miss Wooding sat, feeling his own face warm at the somewhat intimate observation.

“Such a masculine scent. Wouldn’t you say, Lydia? Reminds one of a walk in the woods.”

Miss Wooding scrutinized her friend. “Yes. Considering the woods are where one would most likely find a cedar.”

“Mm, and foxes and hedgehogs as well.”

Miss Wooding pressed her lips in a thin line, giving Miss Janes a most pointed and perplexing look. Spencer didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned for Miss Janes.

He sat down and attempted to focus on a dish of cream of asparagus soup, but Miss Janes turned her large blue eyes his way. “We were discussing Beatrix Potter in our literary club this morning, Mr. Hayes.”

Next to him, Miss Wooding muffled a sudden cough with her napkin.

Miss Janes paid her no mind. “Are you familiar with her children’s stories?”

He breathed an internal sigh of relief for Miss Janes, her foxes, and hedgehogs. “Yes. Delightful illustrations.” He picked up his spoon.

“Quite. I made the observation that Peter Rabbit was a darling little bunny, in spite of his mischief, and Lydia countered that he was a bothersome creature, and she sided with Mr. McGregor.”

He turned to find Miss Wooding staring round-eyed at her friend. She blinked, her mouth opening and closing, then turned her gaze on him.

“Is that so, Miss Wooding?” he asked.

“I—” she stammered.

“I would have to agree with my sister,” Andrew said, halfway through his soup. “Managing a farm, I feel constantly at war with rabbits. Miss Potter’s stories are charming and serve their purpose, but any Mr. McGregor worth his pole beans would threaten to put that rascal, Peter, in a pie or a stew or whatever it was.” He went back to his soup.

Spencer took advantage of the focus being off him and tasted the soup, which was as delicious as he remembered it being.

“Why, Andrew, I had no idea you read children’s stories,” Miss Janes cooed. “I would think them beneath your notice.”

“It so happens, I enjoyed many stories when I was a child.”

She frowned. “You were once a child? I cannot fathom the notion.”

He gave her a good-natured scowl. “I keep up with the latest news, Miss Janes. Be it flying machines or women writing of rabbits in jackets.”

Andrew and Miss Janes sparred back and forth affably, leaving Spencer to enjoy the rest of his soup.

“And furthermore,” Andrew said, resting his spoon across his empty dish, “I think it apropos that the farmer is a Scotsman. Leave it to a Scot to steal a body’s clothes and hang them on a scarecrow.”

“I suppose you’d rather he put Peter’s head on a spike? Or is that too English for a Scot?” Florrie asked, lifting her napkin to daintily dab at the sides of her mouth.

“Oh,look, the next course.” Miss Wooding seemed overly relieved as the dishes were brought in. “Thank heavens,” she murmured, “we are not having rabbit.”

Spencer smiled to himself, relieved for her as well.

She turned to him. “Mr. Hayes, Andrew tells me you enjoyed stuffed bream when you visited us last.”

“Indeed, I did.”

“I understand it was a favorite of my father’s as well. I took the opportunity to request it tonight, along with beef tournedos. I hope that pleases you.”

“That is very thoughtful of you.” He shook his head. “I don’t know that I merit such regard.”

“Of course you do,” Andrew said. He motioned to the serving dish now being held at Spencer’s right. “It’s not every day one gets to reminisce with old school chums.”

Miss Janes chortled and quickly put her napkin to her mouth.

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