Page 12 of A Mismatch Made in London

“This is the last of it,” he said, pouring the contents of his pocket into his sister’s hand.

“Come here.” Juliet gave me half. “We shall bring some old bread when we come again. We can throw it onto the water, and they will eat it before it sinks.”

We watched them feed on the seeds and grain, just as a lone goose, which was as large as the swans, came running toward us, honking and raising its wings.

Juliet squealed and ran.

I had seen geese many times at our pond, but I’d never had one run at me. As the goose reached me, it struck me on the hand with its beak.

Jeremy Beaumont stepped in front of me, throwing his arms in the air and commanding the goose to “shoo.”

Bright red blood oozed from a spot on the back of my hand.

I was mortified. I held my hand out in an awkward fashion so it wouldn’t drip on my new dress.

Oh dear.I had no handkerchief, as I hadn’t brought my reticule. If even one drop of blood got on the pale blue fabric, it would ruin it, and I’d have to walk home with blood on my dress.

I felt a little sick.

“Oh, Amelia, you’re hurt!”

“It’s all right. I just need something to stop the bleeding.” My face was starting to burn.

“That mean old goose. Jeremy, do something.”

Mr. Beaumont drew near and wrapped a white handkerchief around my hand. He quickly tied the ends together.

I felt obliged to say, “Thank you,” but I didn’t look him in the eye.

Why had I just stood there and let the goose bite me? The geese at home were wild, but this goose had been so aggressive. Perhaps London geese expected to be fed. Was that why it bit me?

I looked up, and my eyes met Mr. Beaumont’s. He’d seemed kind when he wrapped my hand with his handkerchief, gruff, but gentle.

He abruptly turned away.

“Are you all right?” Juliet bent her head to gaze into my eyes.

I nodded. “I’m well.” It was not unusual for me or my siblings to get a small cut or scrape when we were playing, especially when I was younger. Truly, it didn’t even hurt very much. I was more embarrassed and worried that the blood might get on my gown.

“My poor friend, you were bleeding so much! How stoic youare.” Her eyes were wide, but then she tilted her head. “Are you really in pain? Do you want to go home?”

“No, no. It is nothing. Let us go on with our walk and pretend nothing happened.”

“Quite right.” Juliet took my uninjured arm and faced forward. “We shall not let that shockingly ill-mannered goose ruin our day.”

I nearly laughed at Juliet calling a goose ill-mannered, but I saw that she was serious.

Mr. Beaumont was watching me as he walked a few feet to my right. He looked away when I caught his eye. But for a moment, I thought he was also amused.

Meanwhile, Juliet was going on and on about the swans and how well-mannered they were compared to geese.

“A swan is so elegant, so unlike a gawky old goose. Just see how demure and polite the swan is, while the goose runs about like a mad thing, biting well-bred ladies on the hand.”

“So true,” I declared, but I couldn’t hide my smile.

“And you, my friend, have borne it with the utmost grace. Smiling, even, as if you did not feel that wicked goose slice your flesh like a knife.”

I heard a chuckle. Juliet heard it too, for she stopped mid-stride and stared hard at her brother, who had turned his face away from us.