Puck and Prejudice

by Lia Riley

Lizzy let out a sound that was a cross between stepping on a dog’s toy and letting the air out of a balloon.

It wasn’t the lack of words or motivation that was daunting. It was the idea of completing something and discovering it wasn’t very good.

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, Mr. Taylor appeared, filling the doorway—and her mind. The clothing hugged his large frame, the navy wool jacket with its fitted silhouette emphasizing his stature. Beneath it, a gray herringbone waistcoat adorned a crisp white shirt topped with a loosely tied cravat. His trousers clung to his muscular thighs, further emphasized by a pair of polished Hessian boots. The sight left her pulse pounding in her ears. “Darling, close your mouth before you catch a fly.” Georgie beckoned to Mr. Taylor.

He paused, watching her. “Your face is an open book.” “Or perhaps you’re my ideal reader.”

Nice is when you’re coming from a place that is all about pleasing others, trying to be likable, doing the crowd-pleaser thing. It’s self-centered, all about you. Now, kind is a different story altogether. It’s about putting others first. Nice is trying to act in a certain way to get something.

Nothing scares the mediocre like watching someone step into their power.