Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2) by Lily Silver Page A
Authors: Lily Silver
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how you cannot sell your glorious paintings to the salon, how you need to find patrons to fund your next trip around the world, so why the pretended offense if I tell the same story to a visitor in our midst?" Arthur argued.
Murmurs about them, mostly in French, gave Dan the uneasy feeling a fight was about to ensue between the gruff Mr. Gouffe' and his more temperate English friend.
A long string of French exploded from Paul's ruddy lips like a wind storm. He glared at Arthur. Arthur stood up, appearing to take issue with the Frenchman's hot words.
"Gentleman," Dan rose and extended a hand toward each of them. "Don't ruin my first evening out in Paris with a brawl. I should like to hear more about your paintings, Paul."
"Not tonight," the Frenchman hissed and lumbered away from the open cafe.
"He is a hot headed chap," Arthur explained as they took their seats again. "Doesn't take much to set him off. He'll be off to visit one of his whores to soothe his ego."
Dan nodded, but didn't comment. The fellow had been so jovial earlier that afternoon when they met in the tobacco shop. He was sullen and ill tempered this evening. "So, he paints nudes, does he?"
"This is Paris. We all paint nudes. To the beauty of the female form." Arthur lifted his glass once again in a toast.
Dan couldn't contain his grin. This place was turning into paradise. "Here, here."
A waiter came out bearing a tray of cooked meat, and a woman followed with plates and forks. Dan swallowed hard, realizing he'd not eaten since before noon and it was now past six in the evening. He patted his pockets. "How much? I'll toss in half."
"No." Arthur held up a thin hand with long fingers. "You are my guest tonight, Mr. Wilson. And my father, the ill-humored Earl of Leicester, is the benefactor for our feast. Eat, friend. Eat. Drink. Celebrate. This is Paris, after all. And we are her suitors from afar, come to court Le belle dame sans merci , The beautiful woman without mercy."
The scent of roasted fowl was curling about Dan's nose with exotic tendrils of seduction. He could not argue with his companion. Hopefully, he'd be able to return the favor and buy Arthur a few pints later this evening. "Are you a poet as well as an artist?"
Arthur sliced a piece of breast meat from the sultry brown carcass between them. He offered it to Dan by reaching across the table and placing it on his plate. There were steaming potatoes, and green beans. Dan smiled with wicked delight. If Paul hadn't become so foul tempered, he'd be eating with them now. Well, then, all the more for himself and Artie.
"I do write verse from time to time, but that quote is not my own. It comes from Keats, written long ago. Do you not know your English Poets, my good man? " 'I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful--a fairy's child, her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild' . To Keats, the beautiful woman without mercy is actually a fairy maid."
Dan choked on the mouthful of roasted duck he was trying to swallow. Fairy . He'd been slapped upside the head recently over that odd business. And wasn't that what got him into this wild mess of time travel in the first place? Fairy magic . Tara's fairy magic, to be precise.
"I say, good fellow?" Arthur stopped fussing with his plate to regard Dan with concern.
His eyes were watering. Dan grasped the glass of green juice and guzzled it in an attempt to get liquid into his throat. The liquor didn't help. He coughed more and took to wheezing.
Arthur was on his feet, shouting to someone to bring water to their table. He started thumping Dan on the back with more gusto than Dan thought possible for such a sparse man.
The waiter and several others hovered over the table as Dan tried to recover from the embarrassment of choking in a public place. He grunted a few times, and tugged at the opening of his shirt. "I'm fine. Please . . . please, away." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Arthur, his host, nodded and
Murmurs about them, mostly in French, gave Dan the uneasy feeling a fight was about to ensue between the gruff Mr. Gouffe' and his more temperate English friend.
A long string of French exploded from Paul's ruddy lips like a wind storm. He glared at Arthur. Arthur stood up, appearing to take issue with the Frenchman's hot words.
"Gentleman," Dan rose and extended a hand toward each of them. "Don't ruin my first evening out in Paris with a brawl. I should like to hear more about your paintings, Paul."
"Not tonight," the Frenchman hissed and lumbered away from the open cafe.
"He is a hot headed chap," Arthur explained as they took their seats again. "Doesn't take much to set him off. He'll be off to visit one of his whores to soothe his ego."
Dan nodded, but didn't comment. The fellow had been so jovial earlier that afternoon when they met in the tobacco shop. He was sullen and ill tempered this evening. "So, he paints nudes, does he?"
"This is Paris. We all paint nudes. To the beauty of the female form." Arthur lifted his glass once again in a toast.
Dan couldn't contain his grin. This place was turning into paradise. "Here, here."
A waiter came out bearing a tray of cooked meat, and a woman followed with plates and forks. Dan swallowed hard, realizing he'd not eaten since before noon and it was now past six in the evening. He patted his pockets. "How much? I'll toss in half."
"No." Arthur held up a thin hand with long fingers. "You are my guest tonight, Mr. Wilson. And my father, the ill-humored Earl of Leicester, is the benefactor for our feast. Eat, friend. Eat. Drink. Celebrate. This is Paris, after all. And we are her suitors from afar, come to court Le belle dame sans merci , The beautiful woman without mercy."
The scent of roasted fowl was curling about Dan's nose with exotic tendrils of seduction. He could not argue with his companion. Hopefully, he'd be able to return the favor and buy Arthur a few pints later this evening. "Are you a poet as well as an artist?"
Arthur sliced a piece of breast meat from the sultry brown carcass between them. He offered it to Dan by reaching across the table and placing it on his plate. There were steaming potatoes, and green beans. Dan smiled with wicked delight. If Paul hadn't become so foul tempered, he'd be eating with them now. Well, then, all the more for himself and Artie.
"I do write verse from time to time, but that quote is not my own. It comes from Keats, written long ago. Do you not know your English Poets, my good man? " 'I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful--a fairy's child, her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild' . To Keats, the beautiful woman without mercy is actually a fairy maid."
Dan choked on the mouthful of roasted duck he was trying to swallow. Fairy . He'd been slapped upside the head recently over that odd business. And wasn't that what got him into this wild mess of time travel in the first place? Fairy magic . Tara's fairy magic, to be precise.
"I say, good fellow?" Arthur stopped fussing with his plate to regard Dan with concern.
His eyes were watering. Dan grasped the glass of green juice and guzzled it in an attempt to get liquid into his throat. The liquor didn't help. He coughed more and took to wheezing.
Arthur was on his feet, shouting to someone to bring water to their table. He started thumping Dan on the back with more gusto than Dan thought possible for such a sparse man.
The waiter and several others hovered over the table as Dan tried to recover from the embarrassment of choking in a public place. He grunted a few times, and tugged at the opening of his shirt. "I'm fine. Please . . . please, away." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Arthur, his host, nodded and
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