charlie_cochrane: (lil audio)
Another snippet chosen at random from out of my gander bag, this time from The Shade on a Fine Day, the only Regency romance I've ever written and - incidentally - my only ghost story.

Benjamin nodded. “I wanted to enquire whether I had in some way offended you.” He kept his eyes fixed on the memorial. A robin sang from the yew hedge, the faint sound of organ music came from the church – the answer seemed to take forever to come.
“Mr. Swann, if I have in any way given you that impression, then I apologise unreservedly. I’m racking my brains to think of what I could have done…”
“My father’s walking stick. I was in Harmington yesterday, visiting a friend near the almshouses by St. Benedict’s. One of the residents was out in the lane, using that stick. It is quite unmistakable.”
William took a long look at the man beside him. Benjamin had a fine profile, featuring an elegant nose which was clearly a family trait. On his sister it looked too forceful – on him it gave an air of gravitas. “I didn’t realise it was your father’s. If I’d been aware of what it meant I wouldn’t have been so insensitive. I’m sorry if your sister was offended.”
“My sister? I’m not sure she even knows it’s gone.”
charlie_cochrane: (sleeping dogs)
Slightly more than the standard six sentences. This is from The shade on a fine day, my Regency gay romance.

“Mr. Swann, I’m not sure how it is for you up at the big house, but for a bachelor in holy orders although out of wedlock, life can be difficult. I find myself having continually to walk a thin line. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t receive a basket of cakes, a jar of jam or a scarf. If I kept them all, it would be the height of greed.”
“So you give them away?”
“I do. Every one of them, although I’m not stupid enough to do it in this parish. And I wouldn’t have done it in this instance, had I known.” William cast a sidelong glance at his companion – a slight thawing was evident. “The only thing that stops me becoming obese or overwrapped is the reciprocal arrangement I have with Mr. Regan. He’s the curate of St Benedict’s in Harmington.”
“Is he regarded as highly eligible, too?” There was a sudden release of tension, and an unexpected hint of amusement, in Benjamin’s voice.
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