茱莉亞昆恩（Julia Quinn）今天過生日，大方在網站分享她1月27日上市新書《The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy》的摘文如下：
The excerpt …
"I'm sorry to have left you unattended," Iris said. "My assistance was required backstage."
"Backstage?" Richard echoed. "I thought this was meant to be a poetry reading."
"Ah, that," she said, her cheeks turning a rather guilty shade of pink. "There has been a change of plans."
He tipped his head in question.
"Perhaps I should get you a program."
"Yes, I don't seem to have been given one when I arrived."
She cleared her throat about six times. "I believe it was decided not to hand them out to the gentlemen unless requested."
He considered that for a moment. "Dare I ask why?"
"I believe," she said, "there was some concern that you might not choose to remain."
Richard looked in horror at the piano.
"Oh, no," Iris quickly assured him. "There will be no music. At least not that I know of."
Still, Richard's eyes widened with panic. "You're frightening me, Miss Smythe-Smith."
"Does that mean you don't want a program?" she asked hopefully.
He leaned very slightly toward her. It wasn't enough to breach the rules of propriety, but still, he knew she noticed. "I think it's best to be prepared, don't you?"
She swallowed. "Just a moment."
He waited as she crossed the room and approached Lady Pleinsworth. A moment later she returned with a sheet of paper. "Here," she said sheepishly, holding it out.
He took it and looked down. Then looked back up. "The Shepherdess, the Unicorn, and Henry the Eighth?"
"It's a play. My cousin Harriet wrote it."
"And we're to watch," he confirmed warily.
She nodded.
He cleared his throat. "Do you, ah, have any idea of the length of this production?"
"Not as long as the musicale," she assured him. "At least I don't think so. I have seen only the last few minutes of the dress rehearsal."
"The piano is part of the set, I assume?"
She nodded. "It's nothing compared to the costumes, I'm afraid."
He could barely bring himself to ask.
"It was my job to affix the horn to the unicorn."
He tried not to laugh, he really did. And he almost managed.
"I'm not sure how Frances is going to get it off," Iris said with a nervous expression. "I glued it to her head."
"You glued a horn to your cousin's head," he repeated.
She winced. "I did."
"Do you like this cousin?"
"Oh, very much. She's eleven and really quite delightful. I'd trade my sister Daisy for her in a heartbeat."
Richard had a feeling she would trade Daisy for a badger if given the option.
"A horn," he said again. "Well, I suppose one can't be a unicorn without one."
"That's just the thing," Iris said with renewed enthusiasm. "Frances adores unicorns. She's quite convinced they are real, and I think she would become one if she were so able."
"It appears she has taken the first step toward that noble goal," Richard said. "With your kind assistance."
"Ah, that. I'm rather hoping no one tells Aunt Charlotte that I was the one to wield the glue."
Richard had a feeling she was out of luck there. "Is there any chance it will remain a secret?"
"None whatsoever. But I shall cling to my false hope. With any luck, we shall have a terrible scandal tonight, and no one will notice that Frances has gone to bed with her horn still attached."
Richard started to cough. And then kept coughing. Good Lord, was that dust in his throat or a boulder of guilt?
"Are you all right?" Iris asked, her face drawn with concern.
He nodded, unable to voice his answer. Dear God, a scandal. If she only knew what he had planned.
"Shall I fetch you something to drink?"
He nodded again. He needed to pour liquid down his throat almost as much as he needed not to look at her for a moment.
She would be happy in the end, he told himself. He would be a good husband to her. She would want for nothing.
Except the choice in marrying him.
Richard groaned as he took a seat. He had not expected to feel so bloody guilty about what he was going to do.
"Here you are," Iris said, holding out a crystal goblet. "A bit of sweet wine."
Richard nodded his thanks and took a fortifying sip. "Will you sit with me?" he asked, realizing that while he had assumed she would, he owed her the politeness of an invitation.
"I would be delighted," she said with a smile. "You shall probably need someone to translate, in any case."
His eyes grew wide with alarm. "Translate?"
She laughed. "No, no, don't worry, it's in English. It's only..." She laughed again, her smile wide in her face. "Harriet has her own singular style."
With some trepidation, Richard sat next to her in the front row and regarded the piano, which he assumed marked the stage. The audience's voices dimmed to whispers, and then to silence as Lady Harriet Pleinsworth stepped out of the shadows dressed as a humble shepherdess, crook and all.
" 'O beautiful, brilliant day!" she proclaimed, pausing to bat away one of the ribbons on her wide-brimmed bonnet. "How blessed am I with my noble flock."
Nothing happened.
"My noble flock!" she repeated, quite a bit louder.
There was a crashing noise, followed by a grunt and a hissed "Stop it!" and then five small children dressed as sheep ambled forth.
"My cousins," Iris whispered. "The next generation."
"The sun shines down," Harriet went on, spreading her arms wide in supplication. But Richard was too fascinated by the sheep to listen. The largest of the lot was bleating so loudly Harriet finally had to give him a little kick, and one of the smaller ones —good God, the child could not be more than two— had crawled over to the piano and was licking the leg.
Iris clamped her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.
The play continued in this vein for several minutes, with the fair shepherdess extolling the wonders of nature until somewhere someone crashed a pair of cymbals and Harriet shrieked (as did half the audience).
"I said," Harriet ground out, "that we are lucky it's not likely to rain for the next week."
The cymbals crashed again, followed by a voice yelling, "Thunder!"
Iris gasped, and a second hand flew up to cover the first, which was still wrapped over her mouth. Eventually he heard her utter the word, "Elizabeth" in horrified whisper.
"What's happening?" he asked her.
"I think Harriet's sister has just changed the script. All of act one will be lost."
Luckily, Richard was saved from having to stifle his smile by the arrival of five cows, which on closer inspection appeared to be the sheep with brown splotches of fabric pinned onto their wool.
"When do we get to see the unicorn?" he whispered to Iris.
She shrugged helplessly. She didn't know.
Henry the Eighth trundled forth a few minutes later, his Tudor tunic stuffed with so many pillows the child within could barely walk.
"That's Elizabeth," Iris whispered.
Richard nodded sympathetically. If he were forced to wear that costume, he'd want to skip the first act, too.
But nothing compared to the moment the unicorn burst onto the scene. Its whinny was terrifying, its horn tremendous.
Richard's jaw went slack. "You glued that to her brow?" he whispered to Iris.
"It was the only way it would stay on," she whispered back.
"She can't hold her head up."
They both stared at the stage in horror. Little Lady Frances Pleinsworth was stumbling about like a drunkard, not quite able to keep her body erect under the weight of the horn.
"What is that made out of?" Richard whispered.
Iris held up her hands. "I don't know. I didn't think it was that heavy."
Richard watched, aghast, half expecting he'd have to leap forward to stop the girl from accidentally goring someone in the first row.
An eternity later, they reached what he thought might be the end, and King Henry waved his turkey leg in the air, loudly proclaiming, "This land shall be mine, henceforth and forevermore!"
And indeed, it seemed that all was lost for the poor, sweet shepherdess and her strangely changeable flock. But just then, there was a mighty roar—
"Is there a lion?" Richard wondered.
—and the unicorn burst onto the scene!
"Die!" the unicorn shrieked. "Die! Die! Die!"
Richard looked to Iris in confusion. The unicorn had not thus demonstrated an ability to speak.
Henry's scream of terror was so chilling, the woman behind Richard murmured, "This is surprisingly well acted."
Richard stole another look at Iris; her mouth was hanging open as Henry leapt over a cow and ran behind the piano, only to trip over the littlest sheep, who was still licking the piano leg.
Henry scrambled for purchase, but the (possibly rabid) unicorn was too fast, and it ran headfirst (and head down) toward the frightened king, plunging its horn into his large pillowed belly.
Someone screamed, and Henry went down, feathers flying.
"I don't think this was in the script," Iris said in a horrified whisper.
Find out more about Julia Quinn and her books at juliaquinn.com.