Chapter Fourteen

 

 

Back at Ridlington, Harriet was enjoying her time alone.

It wasn’t that she didn’t adore Letitia—she did. But the chance to walk around the Chase without any duties to attend to was something of a little holiday for her, and she took full advantage.

Within a day or so she had begun to pop in and see if Lady Rosaline needed her for anything, and this request had turned into a brief morning chat over tea. Harriet’s experiences in London were of value when it came to some of the operations of Ridlington Chase, and she was able to offer advice on a few household matters.

Hugh, a baby who responded well to affectionate cuddling, was finding his needs admirably met by Harriet, who willingly settled with the warm bundle in her lap for an hour or so, while Mama answered letters, and dealt with other business.

Often they spoke of her brother.

“Paul tells me he’s looking at a hunting box a little distance from here,” said Rosaline about a week after the girls had left for London.

“Oh? That would be delightful, I’m sure,” answered Harriet. “For both of you, and for young Hugh here. He will have an uncle to play with, when his Papa is busy.”

Rosaline chuckled. “Quite so. Although I do believe my brother has yet to accept the fact of his being an uncle at all.”

“Family is everything,” murmured Harriet absently as she played with Hugh’s toes. His gurgle of delighted laughter made her smile.

“Yes, it is,” said Rosaline quietly, watching the two of them. “You will have your own, Harry. And you will be an excellent Mama.”

Harriet’s gaze shifted to Rosaline’s face. “I doubt it. I have no wish for it. Not under the present circumstances.”

“I understand,” nodded Rosaline. “But you are of age, my dear. Should you meet the man you wish to wed, nobody can prevent you from doing so.”

Harriet’s grin was wry. “I am a maid in the Ridlington household, my Lady. No matter how kindly you treat me, in the eyes of the world, I am no more than a servant. And I have to remain in that position until I reach twenty-five. Even then I know not how much of my inheritance will remain.”

“Your relatives can access it?” frowned Rosaline.

“I’m not sure if they can touch the principal. But I am afraid they will find a legal way to use the interest.”

“That is just appalling. Can we do anything?” Rosaline’s frown was a match to her husband’s in intensity. Without the eyebrows, of course.

“Thank you, my Lady. Truly. I am touched by your concern. But no, I cannot see a way to prevent anything they’re doing at the moment without revealing my own presence here. And that…” she hugged young Hugh, “I am not willing to do.”

He kicked his feet in happy bliss, and she laughed.

Rosaline smiled too, but with reservations. “I still don’t like it.”

“Don’t like what, my dear? My presence?” A new voice entered the conversation and Paul DeVoreaux walked around the door. “May I intrude?”

“Of course, Paul. Do come in.”

Harriet stood, prepared to hand over baby Hugh and leave brother and sister alone. But Paul had other ideas. “Please, Miss Harry. Sit. Hugh looks most comfortable where he is. And having heard him in moments of displeasure, I’d prefer he remain content.”

She chuckled. “Understood, sir.” Obediently, she returned to her seat and settled Hugh once more in her arms.

“We were just talking about Harry’s future, Paul,” said Rosaline.

“Oh heavens, my Lady,” protested Harriet. “I’m sure Mr. DeVoreaux has other more important matters to discuss.”

“Now you come to mention it, I don’t,” he said. “But I’m sure Miss Harry’s future plans will be successful, no matter what they might be.”

He smiled at her, and Harriet found herself slightly breathless. The warmth in his eyes touched something within her, although she wished it didn’t. He was not for one such as herself even though she found him delightful company.

“Well, I’m not sure about that, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” She considered the matter. “I could be a governess, I suppose...”

“And you don’t wish to do that?” Paul asked thoughtfully.

“Well it would depend on the household, most certainly,” she answered with vigour. “I have heard some horrid tales of women in that position suffering indignities.”

“Indeed,” acknowledged Paul. “A few discreet enquiries prior to accepting anything like that would be prudent.” It was his turn to contemplate matters. “Do you have family?”

She bit her lip. “I do. But there are very difficult circumstances around that relationship. I really do not wish to ever see my aunt and uncle again. They are not dissimilar to hunting dogs. One whiff of my whereabouts…”

“And they’re howling their way along your trail hoping for blood at the end of it?”

“Something like that, yes.” She would say no more, for now.

“Ghastly people,” proclaimed Rosaline. “Just ghastly.”

“Quite,” concurred Harriet.

Paul nodded. But continued to look thoughtful for the rest of the conversation.

Harriet decided it suited him. But then again, she realized that most of his expressions suited him. And consequent upon that thought, came the sudden realization that she had begun to regard Paul DeVoreaux as a very appealing man.

She immediately stifled that thought as best she could and hid her blushes behind a rather confused Hugh, who was surprised by the warm and snuggly cuddle he suddenly received, but appreciated it anyway.

 

*~~*~~*

 

Meanwhile, in the metropolis, Letitia and Hecate were admiring themselves in the long mirror placed strategically in the corner of Letitia’s room. They both wore new day dresses, that had been ordered and delivered with astonishing rapidity.

“This is rather nice, Letitia, I will admit.” Hecate swirled the column of skirt falling from the high waist of her new lawn gown. It was a pure blue, with lavender trim, and although of a lighter weight than Hecate was used to, it set off her colouring most admirably.

“It is, isn’t it?” Letitia was carefully affixing her favourite little pearl earrings to her ears. Her gown was also blue, but a darker, richer shade, as befitted a woman her age. The bodice was low, displaying her white skin to advantage, and the white lace edging her neckline framed the little gold cross she always wore. It had been her mother’s.

The simple but elegant ensemble suited her. She’d have disliked too much fussiness and it would have taken away the pleasure she now discovered when viewing her reflection beside her sister’s in the glass. “We are a dazzling pair, are we not?” She grinned at Hecate.

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” answered her sister. “But at least we’re not easily discovered to be countrified at first glance.”

“And these are only the day dresses. I have to wonder how our evening gowns will look.” Hecate’s voice sounded doubtful. “Forgive my weakness. I don’t know if I want to attend a ball.”

“Me neither,” concurred Letitia. “But when in London…”

“You have no choice,” quipped Hecate.

“Well, you do, but it has to be the right one,” chimed in Kitty, erupting into the room in a flurry of rose silk. “Now do hurry, girls. I cannot wait to show you both off.”

Letitia glanced at Kitty as she reached for her spencer. “You are aware I have to visit my publisher before any other engagements?”

Kitty nodded. “I know. Hecate and I are going to shop for gloves and ribbons while you attend to boring business matters. We’re to meet at eleven for a visit to Aunt Venie’s friend. It’s all arranged, Letitia. Just don’t linger at that publishing place, all right? The carriage will be waiting outside and we’ll be inside. So remember. Eleven sharp.”

Hecate laughed. “You never have to remind Letitia to be prompt. She’s always early.”

“That’s true, love,” said Letitia, tying her bonnet into a smart bow beneath her ear. “But then I have the luxury of pointing out the lateness of everyone else.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do recall that annoying habit.”

At last Letitia found herself at the door of Lesley and Sons, Publishers, and with the carriage bearing her sisters driving away, she found herself missing Harriet a great deal. It had been an argument to persuade Aunt Venie that a maid was not necessary for a woman of her advanced years, and that the other two would be better served by such companionship.

Grasping the door handle and walking inside took courage, but after entering, Letitia realized it was only a modified shop, with a single desk where the counter should have been. The rest of the interior was lined with books. Many, many books.

Wishing she could linger and thumb through them, she walked to the man sitting behind the desk. “Good day to you, sir. I am Miss Smith.” She recalled her pseudonym just in time. “Mr. Lesley is expecting me.”

The man nodded and rose, walking to a door in the rear of the shop. “This way, if you please, Miss. Mr. Lesley will be with you in a minute or two.”

“Thank you.” She followed him into a smaller room, equally full of books, where several comfortable chairs were arranged in front of an imposing desk. There were at least two inkwells, a small mountain of documents and a cup of tea resting on the well-worn surface.

This was clearly an office that was used a lot.

Letitia was comforted by the nature of her surroundings. Books, to her, were friends. It was delightful to be in the company of so many of them all at once.

Mr. Lesley arrived via another door, apparently disdaining the humble frontage. He bowed and seated Letitia, offering tea—which she politely declined.

“Thank you sir, it’s a pleasure to see you once more.” She produced the bundled manuscript she had wrapped carefully earlier in the morning. “I have worked through your suggestions as diligently as possible. And of course I’m hoping they meet with your approval.”

With her heart in her throat, she placed the package on Mr. Lesley’s desk.

“I’m very happy to hear that, Miss Smith.” He eyed her with a slight smile. “I am glad to know that Lady Corinth has devoted herself to this work.”

Letitia froze. Then sighed. “Damn.” The oath was soft, but made Lesley laugh. “I really did my best, you know.” She shook her head.

“I understand completely. And if it’s of any comfort, I shall continue to refer to you as Miss Smith. No one shall know that Miss Smith and Lady Corinth are one and the same.”

She inclined her head. “I appreciate your discretion, Mr. Lesley.”

“I’m not about to jeopardize the success of what I foresee as a very popular book by offending its author.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t offend you for anything. Even a best-selling novel.”

“No, I meant you think Cytherean Tales will be very popular?”

“In my professional opinion, your book has great potential to attract interest, discussion and probably more than a little outrage.”

“Oh dear.” Letitia’s heart skipped a beat. “Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” Lesley shook his head. “The more outrageous it is deemed, the better it will sell.”

“And in your personal opinion?” She had to ask.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought, my dear. I’ve been in this business a long time and I’ve seen books that are worthy of a place on every bookshelf in the country, and others that are barely worthy of wrapping dead fish.” He sighed. “I have even published a couple of those. I don’t ever intend to do so again, which is why I devote my full attention to each and every book we accept.”

“You are thorough.”

“Yes, I am. My name as publisher is worth something. Thus the fact that not only do I think your book has merit—I believe it will sell extremely well—is based on my experience.” He tapped the manuscript. “You, my dear, have created a volume that will appeal to men with its more lascivious passages, but will also appeal to women on an educational level. And that, may I say, is a rare feat of literary brilliance.”

“Oh, goodness me.”

Letitia caught her breath as Lesley’s words sank into her mind. He really did like her book, and he’d actually understood her underlying reason for writing it. Well, apparently miracles were still happening in this world.

“I’ve surprised you.”

His observation surprised a chuckle out of her. “That is an understatement, Mr. Lesley. You’ve stunned me. I’m finding myself hovering between euphoria and terror.”

“Well now, that’s to be expected.” He nodded genially. “I have heard similar sentiments from that very chair more than a few times.” He turned to a shelf behind him and pulled out a pile of what looked to Letitia like samples of leather. “As far as binding goes, I think the lighter and more feminine we can manage, the more likely we are to pull in the ladies. What do you say?”

He put several pieces of skin on the table, and Letitia moved closer, extending a hand and touching the soft stuff reverently. There was a blushing pink, which was most attractive, a dove grey, a beautiful warm reddish brown, and a pale lavender shade. Each was slightly textured and she looked up at the shelves behind him to see if there were any samples.

“Don’t bother,” he advised. “These just arrived last week and I immediately thought of Cytherean Tales. We haven’t used any of them yet…your book will be the first.”

“If you accept it,” cautioned Letitia.

He sat back. “I’ll confess, Miss Smith. Had you refused to make those changes, I’d have accepted it anyway. I do feel that if you’ve dealt with some of my suggestions, it will be a stronger story and thus sell even better. But either way, I know quality when I see it. So what would you think about using the pink?”

A quarter of an hour was spent in debate about the various merits of pink leather over the others; and included the consequent discussion on type, cover imprint colours and other physical details that sent Letitia’s head whirling.

Her book was going to be published. It was a dizzying thought she had difficulty accepting.

Finally, they were done, rising at the same time from their respective chairs.

“Dove grey it is, then, Miss Smith. With the gold imprint. Stunning, elegant yet not overt in its declaration of interest to either gentlemen and ladies, but appealing to both. I think you’ve hit on the ideal combination.”

“With your assistance, sir.” She smiled at him. “What should I do now?”

He pushed a piece of paper across his desk and removed a pen from the inkwell. “Sign here.”

She looked, and sucked in air. It was her contract, already signed by Mr. Lesley.

She scribbled her name, aware that she would reveal her identity by doing so. There was no way she could sign a legal document in any other way.

She passed the pen back to him, glancing at him nervously as he sanded the ink, blew it clean and looked at her signature. He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Smith. That’s all you need do for now.”

He gave her a kindly smile. “We will send a message when your book has been printed. At that time, you can tell us where you’d like your personal copies sent and then…it’s up to the reading public, bless them.”

“And no one will know any details about the author…?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. In fact, you and I are the only two people aware of that information. Not even my assistants will know.”

Reassured, Letitia heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Unable to believe the events of the last hour, Letitia made her farewells, then aped Kitty by practically dancing to the carriage waiting outside. “I can’t believe it,” she called, waving and seeing Hecate’s head through the window.

She gathered her skirts. “Great news, girls. I did it. I’m an author.” She did another little jig across the street and dashed around to the side of the carriage.

Which put her straight into the arms of James FitzArden who was waiting by the open door to help her inside.

He caught her, laughed, said “Well done, Letitia, love. Congratulations…” and kissed her.

Right there, in the daylight, outside her publisher’s offices.

It was shocking, outrageous, unexpected—and completely wonderful.