CHAPTER two
Felix felt his smile tighten as his cousin teased the young woman before him. The poor thing was obviously mortified, and although he was amused at her unintended compliment, he did not like to see anyone embarrassed in such a way.
Luckily, his old friend Abigail was better versed than he in making people feel at ease.
“Hush, Ambrose, or else the whole world will discover how jealous you are that you only resemble a Greek statue,” she said, tapping his cousin lightly on the arm.
He saw the brief flash of annoyance cross Ambrose’s face but doubted anyone else would see it before the usual, dazzling smile returned.
“But can you blame me? Forced to live in the shadow of my older, more intelligent, more mysterious cousin? It has been a sad trial for me, you know.”
“Then let me cheer you up by introducing three of the founding members of the Literary Gathering of Dubious Merit to you. Lord Ambrose, Mr Drake, may I present to you Lady Cordelia Delby, her cousin, Miss Manning, and her good friend, Miss Juneberry.”
“It is our honour to meet you all,” said Ambrose with a flourishing bow, “for I have been agog to discover more about the people who made up this particular group. I confess, I was afraid that you would all be Bluestockings with a penchant for writing Improving Works, but I see now that I should not have been afraid.”
Lady Cordelia giggled, but Miss Manning, her face still flushed with embarrassment, frowned.
“I can’t say that Lord Standish has a pair of blue stockings in his wardrobe, nor Mr Filey, but you are welcome to ask them if you like.”
Felix laughed at her audacity even as he saw the irritation flash across Ambrose’s face, and decided that he rather liked her.
“Will you think the less of me, Miss Manning, if you knew that I do, in fact, possess a pair of blue stockings?” he said and was rewarded by a frank, curious stare.
“Are you mocking me, Sir?”
He smiled. “Not at all. My father is considered something of a tulip and is a well-known figure in Bath. He once got it into his head that coloured stockings should be brought back into fashion, and thus bought me a set in every colour of the rainbow. I have not the heart to throw them away, but the blue ones, given the nature of my business, are by far my favourites.”
Miss Manning finally smiled, and it struck Felix that, had she been seated next to anyone but the devastatingly beautiful Lady Cordelia, she would have been remarked upon as a very pretty girl.
“Your father sounds delightful,” she replied. She glanced down at his fingers, undoubtedly noticing the black ink stains. “May I enquire as to the nature of your business?”
But here, Abigail interrupted.
“That will ruin my surprise, Trix. You shall have to be patient for a few minutes longer! I must introduce Lord Ambrose and Mr Drake to my remaining guests, but I promise the treat will be worth the wait.”
Felix was conscious of a slight disappointment as he was led to yet another group of people for introductions, but he forced himself to be at his social best. If there was a chance, however slim, for one of these nobles to take an interest in his business, then he had to take it, and put thoughts of a pretty girl with a sharp tongue firmly out of his mind.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Abby, clapping her hands to get the attention of her guests. “For many of you, this is your first time attending the Literary Gathering of Dubious Merit, and as such were afraid that we would force you to read out your most terrible poetry for our amusement.”
There were a few laughs and jeers at this pronouncement. Felix watched his cousin casually make his way around the back of the circle, and somehow make space for himself beside Lady Cordelia.
“Fear not!” continued Abby, with all the flair of someone who secretly harboured a desire for life on the stage. “The Duchess of Lexborough made us promise most faithfully that we would not continue our readings without her, and so none of you – not even our talented Beatrix Manning – will be asked to read today.”
A mixture of groans and cheers greeted this pronouncement. Abby’s footmen made their way about the room, filling wine glasses as they went.
“Then what’s the point of the gathering?” sighed the young Lord Standish as he made a great show of stuffing a handful of papers back into his jacket pocket. “I had written a sonnet about the arch of your left eyebrow, my dear Lady Gloucester. I was looking forward to reading it to you.”
“I’m sure my husband will be delighted for you to read it to him in the Library, William,” said Lady Gloucester, which provoked a round of laughter as Lord Standish pretended to be terrified.
Felix had heard about Lord Gloucester, of course, though only met him briefly that morning. How on earth such a starched-up individual had won the vivacious Abigail was beyond him, but then he’d never seen his childhood friend so happy.
Love never made any sense to him.
“For the rest of you, I have a treat in store,” said Abby, her enthusiasm infectious enough to have every last person in the room, even Ambrose, leaning forward in anticipation. “Lady Devenish, who sends her love to you all from Bath, recently discovered a delightful bookseller with some truly entertaining works. She asked if I would be willing to introduce him to you all, and allow him to read the opening chapter of a book she swears we will all adore.”
“Lady Devenish has exceptional taste,” commented someone, although Felix couldn’t make out who. He sent up a private prayer of thanks to Lady Devenish and her charming son, who had recently become patrons of his establishment.
“Indeed she does – but then she told me the name of this new publisher, and I nearly fainted with surprise! Mr Felix Drake was my neighbour as a child, and although I had lost touch with him over the years, I know him to be a man of exceptional intelligence and wit. My dears, may I once again introduce him to you, only this time, as our entertainment for this afternoon. Felix, if you would be so kind?”
Felix stepped forward to the chair beside the fireplace and found himself blushing at the rousing cheer and round of applause that greeted him.
“I’m not sure that I can outdo such a marvellous introduction,” he said, which provoked more laughter.
At an encouraging nod from Ambrose, Felix held up the book he had been clutching so tightly since his arrival.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, as a publisher. Library owner and bookseller in Bath, I’ve had the great good fortune over the last few years to help many an aspiring novelist and poet to publish their works. This volume in my hand, however, is something special indeed. I have not had the pleasure of meeting the lady who wrote this delightful novel, but the first volume has become a hit with my customers, and I hope it shall prove so with you as well.”
“Oooh, a mysterious novelist,” said Lady Cordelia, clapping her hands together. “Has she written something terribly scandalous?”
“That will be for you to judge,” he replied with a smile. He opened the book and began to read.
*
Trix felt the smile begin to slip from her face, no matter how hard she tried to retain it.
She had been looking forward to hearing Mr Drake read. He had a beautiful voice, rich and decadent like freshly whipped cream, and it was always a treat to listen to someone else read out loud. Usually, her Aunt and cousin asked her to read to them on their rare evenings at home, so Trix had closed her eyes in anticipation of an enjoyable half hour.
Then Mr Drake had begun the first chapter, and her world began to fall apart.
She did not realise it during the first two paragraphs, despite the familiarity of the words, but slowly they began to burrow into her consciousness. She opened her eyes and stared at Mr Drake as he read line after line from her novel, and the people around her laughed, groaned and clapped as he did so.
“I must reject your opinion, my Lady. A woman who can find it in her heart to spend a fortune on an ugly puce dress but not spare a shilling for the poor is not someone whose advice I feel I can take,” said Mr Drake in a voice pitched an octave higher than necessary for the heroine.
“Good grief, it’s Eugenia Pulford!” laughed Lord Standish, much to the merriment of half the audience.
Cordy reached over and took hold of Trix’s hand.
“Did you know?” she murmured.
Trix could only shake her head, having lost all power to speak.
Mr Drake continued to read, and the audience began to interject with guesses about who each character was supposed to be. They were utterly wrong most of the time, but that didn’t matter. Soon the villains were based on noted members of the Ton, with the hero and heroine deemed to be the newly married Lord and Lady Cottingham.
“I have known you all my life, my truest and dearest friend, but never did I know that I loved you until you were destined to marry another,” said Mr Drake.
The Marquess of Shropshire playfully took a swipe at Lord Cottingham’s head, while Henrietta, Lady Cottingham, wiped tears of laughter away from her eyes.
“Your author has a witty, if barbed tongue, Mr Drake,” said Henrietta, and there was much agreement from the audience.
“You must reveal her identity to us,” declared Lady Loughcroft. She smiled, but there was a hint of steel in her voice that put Trix on edge.
“Please do!” laughed Lord Standish, apparently amused at being cast in the less-than-flattering role of the foppish nephew of the villain. “Lord knows I owe the woman a slice of cake and a piece of my mind for that portrayal of me.”
It wasn’t you! Trix wanted to shout, even though her courage failed her. None of the characters are supposed to be any of you – not even Eugenia!
Cordy squeezed her hand tightly but said nothing.
“I’m afraid that I have no notion who the author is,” said Mr Drake with an apologetic smile. “All contact has been by letter through a lawyer in Bath.”
“A mystery!” declared Lady Gloucester. “Read on, Felix! Perhaps we can discern who the writer is from the rest of the book!”
Mr Drake, however, closed the novel with a theatrical snap.
“I’m afraid that I only brought this first volume with me, my Lady, and that you shall have to buy or loan copies of the rest of the book if you wish to know more.”
“Fiend!” she laughed.
“Businessman,” he shot back. “I am more than happy to take orders while I am here, and of course you are all welcome to subscribe to my shop – especially if you spend any time in Bath.”
It was clear that the official part of the Gathering was over, so the guests began to talk amongst themselves or else make their way across to Mr Drake. What snippets of conversation Trix could hear did nothing to calm her racing heart. Speculation over the author’s identity was rampant, as was the debate over which character was caricaturing which member of the Ton.
“You’re our resident authoress, Miss Manning,” said Herbert Filey in a loud and cheerful voice that could no doubt be heard by everyone in the room. “Do you have some insight into who this mysterious writer could be?”
Trix forced herself to smile. “Not Eugenia Pulford, that much is certain.”
Everyone laughed, but Cordy squeezed her hand so tightly it felt as though the bones in her hand would break.
“Be nice, dearest; I think Eugenia will suffer enough when this book becomes all the rage in the Ton.”
Trix felt the blood drain from her face. She turned to look at Cordy with something akin to horror. “You don’t think it will become all the rage, do you?”
Cordelia looked grim. “If the reaction of this group is anything to go by, I believe that it will.”
“Good Lord,” said Trix, so many conflicting emotions battling in her chest that she had no idea how she felt.
Lord Ambrose, who had chosen to sit beside Cordy at the beginning of the reading, leant forward with a handsome smile.
“My cousin is devilishly clever, is he not? Since neither of us is much on the town, we were not fully aware that so many members of the Ton were caricatured in this novel. By keeping the authoress a mystery, he has done well to build interest, and I expect he will become a frightfully successful publisher in the not too distant future.”
“I don’t think the author intended to caricature anyone,” said Trix before she could help it. ‘People do so like to see themselves in novels, after all, that they are probably quite wrong about the writer’s intentions.”
“We don’t know anything about the writer’s intentions, dearest,” said Cordy through gritted teeth as she once again squeezed Trix’s hand tightly. “Although if Mr Drake is going to be as successful a publisher as his cousin says, then perhaps you should speak to him about your writing.”
Trix blinked as she grasped the subtext to Cordy’s words.
“Right. Yes. Talk to Mr Drake. Excellent idea.”
Lord Ambrose favoured her with a brief, dismissive smile. “Fancy yourself something of a novelist, do you, Miss Manning? I’m sure that Felix would be happy to spare you a few moments to explain how to write one to you.”
“How kind of him,” she replied, proud of herself for not flinging a glass of wine in his face.
“What do you think of the novel, Lady Cordelia?” he said, effectively dismissing Trix as he turned a truly dazzling smile onto her cousin.
Cordelia let go of her hand; her attention caught up by the handsome Adonis smiling at her.
Trix swallowed. On the one hand, it might be safer to allow whoever had stolen her work to keep all credit and thus render her safe from the disapproving gaze of the Ton. Lady Loughcroft looked less than amused, and that did not bode well for when the high-sticklers had the opportunity to read the book.
On the other hand, this was her novel. She’d worked hard on it, laboured over it, and had long dreamed of being able to support herself from the proceeds of her writing instead of being a burden to her family. She was pretty enough, but too poor to be of any real interest to those gentlemen seeking out a wife. The few who had taken an interest in her had done so under the incorrect assumption that she was somehow in line to receive a dowry from her uncle. As soon as Lord Delby corrected them on that matter, her would-be suitors had run for the hills.
She glanced around her. Although some of the people present were evidently not amused by the novel, others were quite excited by it, and Mr Drake was practically swamped with people looking to purchase or loan a copy.
Trix stood up and crossed the room toward him.
It was not as though she had any real prospects of spending another Season in the Ton, anyway. She was tolerated as the cousin of Lady Cordelia Delby and was under no illusions as to what her welcome would have been without her rich relatives to support her.
At the end of the day, it did not matter that her grandfather had been an Earl. She was just Miss Manning, the daughter of a vicar and a Woman of Letters who held some fairly radical notions about female emancipation. Not exactly the kind of girl that the matchmaking mamas of the Ton were looking for in a future daughter-in-law.
“I’m afraid I’m telling the truth, Lady Cottingham. I truly have not met the author in question, nor do I know her name. Her lawyer has handled all transactions between us.”
Trix remained at the back of the small group, for some reason irritated at the women who cooed and complimented Mr Drake repeatedly.
Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was charming, Yes, he a divine voice that she could probably listen to reading out to her for the rest of her days and never get bored.
He had also published her book without her permission.
Finally, the rest of Lady Gloucester’s guests drifted away, and she had her chance to speak with him.
“Miss Manning! I was hoping to have the chance to speak with you,” he said, and then smiled at her in such a way that she was rendered temporarily insensible.
“Oh. That’s… I… um… why?”
His grin, if it were possible, became even more handsome. Some part of Trix’s brain vaguely wondered if a devastating smile would work better on the hero of a story, or the villain.
Possibly both.
“Abby – I’m sorry, I mean Lady Gloucester – mentioned you particularly to me. She said that you have been reading out a very amusing story to the Gathering that might be of interest to publish.”
Trix blushed. “Lady Gloucester is too kind. The novel she speaks of, well, I wouldn’t read it out anywhere except the Literary Gathering of Dubious Merit, which I think says everything you need to know about it.”
He cocked his head to one side, regarding her with a thoughtful gaze that made her heart do queer things in her chest.
“Do you know, Miss Manning, that I have never found Lady Gloucester to be one who deals in Spanish coin? If she believes your work is of merit, then I hope you would consider her assessment a fair one.”
“I had not thought of it like that,” she replied, feeling her cheeks burn even more fiercely.
“I would very much like to read your work, if you would but let me,” he said gently.
His words recalled her to her purpose. Trix straightened up, clasping her hands firmly in front of her as she forced herself to look Mr Drake directly in the eyes.
“But you have already read one of my stories, sir,” she said, proud that her voice barely quivered.
He looked confused. “Have I really?”
Trix nodded at the book in his hand and lowered her voice until it was barely a whisper. “Yes, for the story you just read out to this room was mine, and I have not given you permission to publish it.”
Chapter three
“Of all the lucky meetings!” declared Ambrose, rubbing his hands together. “Lady Cordelia Delby! And in a setting where I won’t be hounded away by some over-protective duenna! I say, Coz, I might start attending more of these bluestocking events with you.”
Felix rolled his eyes. “Is finding a future wife all you think of these days? You’re becoming quite boring, you know.”
“I don’t exactly have a choice,” replied Ambrose, his brow darkening alongside his mood. “Ever since Father decided to cut me off I’ve had to scan about for some way to support myself. A rich wife would do nicely, titled family even better – and one as pretty as Lady Cordelia is even nicer again.”
“You could take an occupation, you know.”
Ambrose let out a snort of disgust. “Why would I want to do a thing like that? You might be happy to forsake your birthright and go scrubbing about for a few shillings, but I was not born for that.”
Felix shook his head, not willing to pursue this argument again, and especially not when his mind was full of more important things.
They strolled together back towards his sister’s house on Beaumont Place, where they were staying while in London. Felix’s sister, Mrs Raven, was married to a naval Captain of some note, although she lived in a quiet way in one of the less fashionable parts of town. Ambrose had never deigned to stay with her before, but now that he was low on funds he had rekindled a love for his “baby cousin” that may not have fooled Maria, but she was too well bred to say so.
While Ambrose waxed lyrical on all the occupations he had so manfully considered and dismissed (including more improbable careers, such as joining the Admiralty), Felix turned his brains to the more important matter at hand.
Miss Beatrix Manning.
She would not be the first person to claim authorship of an anonymous work the moment it looked set to become successful. In fact, she was the third person to lay claim to The London House already, not including the Lady who had originally sent him the work via her lawyer.
He did not believe for a moment that Miss Manning was the woman who had sent him the perfectly-written manuscript on poor-quality paper. She was related to the Delby’s, after all, and he doubted that they’d seen poor quality anything in all of their waking lives.
And yet something about her manner, her barely concealed outrage, had given him pause. Abby had certainly seen fit to single the girl out for his attention, even going so far as to imply that publishing something of hers would result in a large number of noble subscribers to his business. She had no need to pretend that she was the author of a book she had not written, and for the life of him, he could think of no reason why she would feel the need to do so.
“Is the cousin promising?” asked Ambrose, apparently having exhausted his list of reasons why he wasn’t cut out for a career of any description. “She was going to speak to you about writing, I believe.”
“Miss Manning?” he asked, aware that Ambrose’s mind had wandered back to the prospect of marrying the rich lady Cordelia. “I had barely the chance to speak five words to her before Lord Standish tried to convince me that his book of bawdy limericks would be all the crack.”
“Were they any good?”
“I’m impressed at the number of swear words that rhyme with the Thames and have considerably expanded my vocabulary as a result,” replied Felix. “However, I’m fairly certain that I would have the press shut down for printing profane materials, so I declined the opportunity to publish the collection.”
“And Miss Manning’s story? Her cousin seemed to think the girl had some talent; will you read it if she presents it to you?”
Felix hesitated, some odd intuition telling him not to share the allegations about The London House with his cousin.
“She did not mention it to me directly,” said Felix, consoling himself with the fact that he was at least truthful. “From what Abby says, Miss Manning truly does have the potential to cut a dash in the literary word. However, there is a considerable difference between reading your work to a friendly audience and throwing it out into the unfeeling arms of the public.”
Ambrose grinned. “Excellent, old chap! As a lover of all things literary, I shall endeavour to further my acquaintance with Lady Cordelia, so that she may exert some influence on her cousin.”
“You are all consideration,” laughed Felix, “however I feel it’s only fair to warn you that Lord Delby has a reputation as a tyrant when it comes to his children.”
“Are you suggesting that he would not be interested in marrying his girl off to the younger son of the Marquis Godwin?” asked Ambrose, faking horror at this pronouncement.
“You know he wouldn’t,” replied Felix. “Your only hope is that your brother’s fourth child also turns out to be a girl.”
At this, Ambrose grinned. “All the signs point to it, old chap. My sister-in-law is thirty, after all, and she hasn’t had a successful pregnancy for eight years.”
Felix shook his head. “Poor woman – and your brother, too. It’s not been easy for them.”
“Stuff,” said Ambrose cheerfully. “They’ve got three bonny girls for their trouble, which is more than many people manage.”
“And you as heir,” said Felix, shaking his head. He and Ambrose seemed to have more and more differing opinions as the years went by.
“Naturally,” said Ambrose, “and then your father, and then your brother, and then you. It’s not as though the Godwin name lacks heirs. She’s silly to risk her life in such a way when my brother doesn’t give a fig about having a son. She always wanted to be the centre of attention, though, so I suppose this is her way of being important.”
In Felix’s experience, Anne had never been anything but a quiet, competent woman not given to any form of dramatics, but he refrained from saying so. Ambrose, he knew, was still smarting from Lord Godwin’s threat to remove all financial support, and simply lashing out at other targets.
“Well if you are delivered of another niece, then perhaps your suit would be favoured by Lord Delby,” he said, not very confident in the matter.
Ambrose, however, grinned. “In the meantime, I shall be my most endearing self. If Lady Cordelia is madly in love with me, I doubt a caring father would say no to our marriage!”
Felix just gave his head another shake, and let his cousin rabbit on without paying him any more attention. His real concern was Miss Manning, or rather, her accusation. Since he had not met the author of The London House himself, he supposed there was a chance that it had been submitted to him by someone other than the original writer.
In fact, if he were completely honest with himself, his trip to London had little to do with Abby’s kind offer to introduce him to potential subscribers, and a lot more to do with the hope of tracking down the mysterious Gentlewoman of Quality who had written such an entertaining book.
“Dash it all, I appear to have a spot on my cravat,” said Ambrose suddenly, pointing with horror as the tiniest speck of dust on the otherwise lily-white muslin. “I must go and change at once. Are we still to attend the theatre with Maria tonight?”
“That was the plan,” replied Felix.
Ambrose grimaced. “Very well. I shall see you at dinner.”
Felix sighed as his cousin disappeared up the narrow staircase to the bedrooms above, muttering every step of the way. For himself, he chose to go into the parlour where he knew his sister would likely be perusing the latest copy of some magazine or another.
“Baby brother! How did it go?” she cried, jumping to her feet as he entered. “Did you meet a monstrous number of new clients?”
He kissed her on the cheek and then urged her to sit back down while he took the chair opposite her. “I hope so, although with my main shop being in Bath I am not sure how well I will take over a longer course.”
“You’ll just have to open a shop in London as well,” she replied, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. “I have just finished the second volume of The London House, and I confess that I have never laughed so much in all my life.”
He smiled. “Did you find any resemblance to members of the Ton as you read it?”
She cocked her head to the side as she considered this for a moment. “Well, I suppose there are a few who might be considered caricatures. Lady Eugenia Pulford is noticeable only for her hideous sense of fashion, but otherwise, I can’t say I noticed anyone in particular. Why?”
Felix frowned, thinking of how pale Miss Manning had looked. “At my reading today it seemed that a great many of the people present were certain that The London House was about people they knew. It did not seem to be an issue, of course, but one can never be sure.”
Maria shrugged. “I don’t move in fashionable circles anymore, so I’m hardly the one to ask.”
Felix paused, looking his sister up and down. “Even with our family’s connections?”
His sister laughed at that. “Good grief, an Irish title our only link to the aristocracy, and the Godwins barely ever bothering to come to town? Felix, I’m probably the most fashionable member of the family barring Father – and he hasn’t been on the town since Vincent declared he was becoming a diplomat.”
“It was a bit of a shock to him, to be fair. And Mother’s health is better in Bath, so it’s not like they can live anywhere else,” he replied without thinking.
Maria smiled. “Agreed, and I did not mean it as a judgement. I simply meant that we are nobodies, even if our uncle is an Irish Marquis. Oh, I get invited to some of the larger parties that are hosted, of course, so I am not trying to claim that I’ve been cast out of the Ton. Simply that I have never been in the inner circle of it.”
“Well if Ambrose has his way, we’ll all soon be thrust to the very centre,” he said, not precisely cheerful about the prospect. “He wants to marry an heiress.”
Maria did not look impressed. “In the suds again, is he? Well, I suppose he is pretty enough to attract a girl – although if his sister-in-law has a son, then I don’t much fancy his prospects of marrying well.”
“That’s what I said, but the baby isn’t expected for a few weeks yet.”
“And there’s less than a month before everyone disappears from London for the summer,” replied Maria with a shake of her head. “If our cousin was serious about finding a wife then he should have come at the start of the Season, not at the end! For a start he’s missed a chance with Lady Helena Weatherly since the Lexboroughs have already left town, not to mention a dozen others.”
“There still seems to be enough people about.”
“Yes, but most of them are either married or not wealthy enough to keep our cousin in the black,” she replied. “Anyway, enough about Ambrose - I am far more interested in your progress today. Did you find many new subscribers? And didn’t Abby want you to meet her young protégé?”
“Something like that,” he replied. “A Miss Manning; some relation to the Delby family, I believe. She certainly thinks of herself as a writer, but it’s dashed awkward trying to talk to a shy young woman in a room full of peers who like the sound of their own voices. I got nothing from her.”
“Well if she is half as talented as the writer of The London House, you’ll be swimming in guineas before the year is out,” she replied.
“Father will be horrified,” laughed Felix. “He still takes it as a personal affront that both Vincent and I refuse to live off his largesse, and is secretly hoping I need him to bail me out.”
“Nonsense, his letters are full of pride for you,” replied Maria. “It’s rather sickening.”
“Is that any way to talk to your favourite brother?”
“Of course it isn’t – but I would never speak to Vincent the way I speak to you. Now pray excuse me, dearest, but I must go and change before dinner. I am very much looking forward to our trip to the theatre, but it will not do for Ambrose to be prettier than me!”
Felix smiled, the expression disappearing as soon as she left the room. He frowned at the fireplace, his fingers drumming out a tattoo as his thoughts tumbled all about him.
*
“I’ve made a list,” announced Cordy, skipping into Trix’s bedroom and practically leaping onto the bed. “We have about a million things to accomplish, but I daresay with a bit of help from our friends we shall be able to do everything necessary before we leave London.”
Trix, who was sat at the dressing table tying curling rags into her hair, looked over at her cousin with some amusement. “I take it that it is a very long list.”
Cordy blew out a little puff of air. “Very long, but I cannot think of anything to scratch off it! We are in for a very busy month.”
Trix forced a smile to remain on her lips. Only a month left! As much as she longed to see her parents again, she felt as though she had let them down by failing to secure her future while in London.
She gave herself a little shake, forcing herself to turn her thoughts somewhere more positive. A month, after all, was a long time.
“So, what have you put as first on this list?” she asked as she secured the last strip of material into her hair.
Cordy, already in her nightgown with her hair tucked under a lace cap, pulled back the sheets of Trix’s bed and snuggled down into the covers that a maid had so thoughtfully warmed a few minutes before. She held up her hands before her and began counting on her fingers.
“Number one is for you to speak with Mr Drake. It is imperative that he stops printing copies of your book immediately, for if Lady Loughcroft’s reaction was anything to go by, not everyone is going to be amused by the characters.”
“True – although other than Eugenia Pulford I swear I did not mean to caricature anyone.”
“I know you didn’t – but no one is going to believe that,” replied Cordy with no thought to giving comfort. “Number two is for us to discover who it was that submitted your work as their own to Mr Drake.”
“Well, that involves talking to Mr Drake,” replied Trix. “He said that it went through a lawyer, so I have little choice but to ask him directly who this lawyer is.”
“Oh,” said Cordy, her brow furrowing into a deep frown. “Number three involved asking Mr Drake to consider publishing your finished novel – when you’ve rewritten the character based on Eugenia so it isn’t obviously her – so that you can still become a successful novelist.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” sighed Trix, but her cousin wasn’t paying much attention.
“I think we can condense these items, don’t you? So, we have a new number one – you need to speak with Mr Drake.”
“Yes, I was getting that impression.”
“Number two is where I come in. In case Mr Drake refuses your request to stop printing the book, we need to convince everyone that this novel is a shocking bore and not worth their time reading.”
“But that would ruin Mr Drake’s investment!”
“But so will convincing him to stop publishing it,” said Cordy, sounding perfectly reasonable. “Besides, I’ve already thought of that. If you make a few additional changes – maybe move the book to Paris or somewhere – then Mr Drake can republish under a brand-new title, and no one will be any the wiser.”
“That is rather smart,” admitted Trix. She chewed on her lip. “But in the meantime, how will we convince everyone not to read the current version?”
“Aha! By convincing them to read something else!” replied Cordy, looking triumphant. “You have to dash off another one of your stories as fast as possible. The one about the Wicked Uncle, perhaps, or how about the one set in Russia about the evil Grand-Duchess and her plot to overthrow the Tsar and his family? Get them published under your own name since everyone at the Gathering knows about them.”
“Cordy you know I wrote those to be as silly as possible!”
“But people like them, Trix! We all feel like we are in on a great joke when we read them, and there can be no fear that anyone in the Ton who reads it will feel that you are laughing at them directly. It’s perfect!”
“I suppose,” said Trix dubiously, “but you are assuming that Mr Drake would even want to publish them.”
“Of course he will because that’s where we come to the next point on my list: Lady Gloucester.”
Trix blinked at the mention of her cousin’s fashion heroine.
“Why would we involve the Countess?”
“Because she wants to be involved,” said Cordy with increasing enthusiasm. “She simply adores your ridiculous stories and told Mr Drake as much. If she becomes your patron, he will not refuse to publish them.”
“No,” said Trix, shaking her head. “If my books do not stand up for themselves, I am not going to rely on the money of another peer to support myself.”
“Everyone in the Ton relies on money from others to support themselves,” said Cordy with a shrug. “None of us could survive without others. Why would you not take the patronage of someone who wants you to succeed? How is that different from living with us, or your parents? Or as a companion, or a governess, or a spouse?”
Trix stared at her cousin for a long moment, processing her words.
“I say, Cordy, have you been reading my mother’s books again?”
Her cousin grinned. “Moralistic yawns, every last one of them, but she does have some interesting ideas.”
Trix shook her head. “The point remains.”
“Well, would you accept her recommendation and praise, at least? And that of Lady Lexborough, Lady Devenish and Lady Loughcroft? Just their praise?”
“I suppose so,” said Trix carefully. “It would certainly look appealing to any publisher if they were willing to share my novel.”
“You see? I know what I am talking about.”
“But what if can’t convince Mr Drake to stop publishing The London House, or to publish my other stories?”
“That’s where the next point comes in!” said Cordy. “Although – which number are we up to?”
“Either four or seven.”
“Oh,” said Cordy. She frowned again and then shook her head, her cap rustling as she did so. “Never mind. The next step is integral to getting you out of this fix: you must admit everything to my mother.”
“Good Lord, not a chance of it!” exclaimed Trix. “Cordy, I love your parents dearly, but how on earth am I to explain this mess to my Aunt when both she and your father have a distinct dislike of anything that has a whiff of scandal!”
“But she could help!” declared Cordy. “Between her and father, I’m sure they could convince Mr Drake of the correct course of action. I know she can be a bit of a dragon sometimes, but she adores you and would never hang you out to dry, surely you see that?”
“I know that dearest, it’s just that I am already a burden on my Aunt and Uncle; the last thing I want to do is cause them any further annoyance. Please, Cordy! Let us try to sort this out by ourselves first!”
“Only if you swear to me that you will tell Mama the moment it looks like there is trouble on the horizon,” said Cordy.
“I swear it,” said Trix with a sigh of relief.
“We can put that point to the end of the list then, I suppose,” said Cordy, in a tone that suggested she was anything but happy about it. “Which brings us to our next item. No matter what we do some people will have read the book, so we must do everything we can to convince them that you could not possibly have written the novel.”
“I’m confused,” said Trix, lying back on the bed and throwing her arm across her eyes. “If I manage to convince Mr Drake to republish the novel with my edits, don’t I want everyone to know it was me?”
“Not at all,” said Cordy, with a determined shake of her head. “I’m trying to stop you from making enemies, dearest! No, we need to convince people that you would never write something like The London House, and I have a perfect idea.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Don’t be such a wet goose! We can use your mother. No, don’t rip up at me! Aunt Lucy writes such improving works that we can use that to your advantage!”
Trix propped herself up on her elbows and glared at her cousin. “Cordy, you are the one who specifically told me that it was best not to mention that Mama writes books you categorise as moralistic yawns. Even your mother noted that it would not be in my best interests if people knew my mother was not just Mrs Manning the vicar’s wife, but also Lucille Langley, the writer and champion of female emancipation.”
“That was when we still thought that you were looking for a husband,” replied Cordy with a vague wave of her hand. “We thought that once you had engaged the affections of a gentleman, then he would overlook Aunt Lucy’s eccentricities. Now, though, I see they are precisely what we need to help protect you.”
“And how will that work if I’m busy publishing my silliest stories?”
“Because they will be allegorical!” said Cordy, looking triumphant.
Trix decided that now would not be the time to ask Cordy if she knew what allegorical meant, and instead chose to focus on the problem at hand.
“I just wish I knew who has stolen my book,” muttered Trix. “I just cannot believe someone would stoop so low as to claim something I wrote as their own!”
“Which is covered in point one on the list,” Cordy reminded her.
“Which is all well and good, dearest, but how am I supposed to speak to Mr Drake when I do not know his direction, let alone it being most improper of him to call on me.”
“Honestly, Trix, I thought you were the one with an imagination! Why do you think I was talking to Lord Ambrose for so long?”
“Because he looks like Adonis come to life?”
Cordy frowned. “Well yes, that certainly helped, although his conversation does not match his looks in the way one would wish. However, I persevered and may have casually mentioned that we are going to go for a walk in Green Park tomorrow morning. He seemed very interested!”
“Why wouldn’t he? You’re beautiful,” said Trix, trying very hard not to sound envious.
Cordy gave her a playful punch on the arm. “It wasn’t as though Mr Drake was disinterested in you before he started reading, now is it?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Trix, hoping that her cousin could not see her blush.
“And I believe you described him as a pirate king,” said Cordy.
“I did not! That was you!”
“Was it? Well, you didn’t disagree,” laughed Cordy as she jumped out of bed to avoid the pillow Trix flung at her.
“And since you must talk to him to fix this mess, it doesn’t hurt that he is rather pleasing to look at, now is it?”
“Why did I get saddled with you as a cousin,” said Trix, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.
“Divine intervention, obviously! Now don’t worry, darling – we shall fix this mess no matter what!”
“I hope so,” said Trix, flinging herself back down onto her bed. “I really, really hope so.”
CHAPTER FOUR
In Cordelia’s expert opinion, Green Park in the morning was something of a dead bore.
For a start, it was nowhere near as pretty as the countryside, although the herd of cows and the presence of milkmaids, offering a glass of milk fresh from the cow, was supposed to convey that impression. The only real people of note in the park were all under the age of ten and accompanied by their nannies, so there was not even the opportunity to see or be seen. The occasional person on horseback might conceivably be a member of the peerage, but as they were out to enjoy a good ride about the park, there was no real way to tell.
Which all added up to the reason that she’d told Lord Ambrose that she and Trix would be out for a stroll that morning. If he had taken the hint, then her cousin would be able to converse with Mr Drake about her novel in relative peace, but not in a venue that could be considered indecent.
Overall, Cordelia was feeling rather proud of her deviousness in the matter.
“Do you honestly think they are going to come?” asked Trix, clutching Cordelia’s arm as though it were an anchor in the midst of a storm.
“No idea,” said Cordelia, “but at least the weather is tolerable. At the worst, we shall have a nice walk.”
Trix didn’t respond to that.
Cordelia glanced over her shoulder to the footman who trailed behind them. She smiled, feeling sorry that he was forced to walk out with them whether he wanted to or not. He inclined his head to her but otherwise betrayed no emotion.
Perhaps he was just glad to be away from the house.
“Cordy, is that them?” said Trix, nodding toward a group of people who had just rounded a group of trees to come into view.
“I think so, but I’m not sure who the two ladies are… oh, I think it’s Lady Gloucester! How does she get that hat to sit at such a jaunty angle? It would be forever falling off on me, no matter how much I pinned it.”
“You shall have to ask her. Cordy, are you sure this is a good idea? I’m suddenly feeling rather queasy.”
“Too late to back down now,” said Cordelia cheerfully.
There was no opportunity for Trix to respond, for Lord Ambrose and Lady Gloucester chose that moment to hail them. In only a few more moments they reached each other, and the ritual of curtseying and bowing commenced.
“May I make my sister, Mrs Raven, known to you?” said Mr Drake before introducing his attractive sibling to them.
“How lovely to meet you,” said Cordelia, while Trix echoed her sentiments.
Cordy was rather amused to see that some colour had already come up to her cousin’s cheeks and that Trix would not quite look Mr Drake in the eyes. Honestly, Trix was awful around handsome men. She even struggled to speak intelligibly to Lord Loughcroft – and he was married!
“I have heard much about you, ladies,” said Mrs Raven with a mischievous smile. “Indeed, Ambrose has described you to perfection, Lady Cordelia.”
Cordelia forced her smile to remain in place. “Did he truly? He must have been very bored at the Gathering, then, for I was the least interesting person there by far.”
Mrs Raven looked confused, but Lady Gloucester laughed. “Cordy does not much like being complimented, Maria. She refuses to believe anything nice that we say to her.”
“And this is why I never took in the Ton,” said Mrs Raven, shaking her head with mock despair. “I never could understand when I was supposed to compliment or prevaricate – or even what that means!”
Cordelia laughed, deciding that she quite liked Mrs Raven, after all.
Lady Gloucester released her arm from Lord Ambrose, and instead took that of Mrs Raven. “Walk with me then, my dear, and I shall tell you everything I have learned since marrying Gloucester – usually by doing something quite shocking!”
“May I walk with you, Miss Manning?” said Mr Drake, offering his arm to Trix. Cordy watched her cousin mumble something that could have been a yes or a no, but Mr Drake was not deterred, bless him.
Which meant that Cordelia was left to walk with Lord Ambrose.
The sacrifices she had to make for family!
She turned to her footman, advising him to head home as Lady Gloucester and her friends would ensure that she and Trix made it home safe and sound. He hesitated for just a moment, before bowing deeply, and turning to walk in the other direction.
“How irksome to have a guard at all times!” said Lord Ambrose as he offered her his arm. “One would think you a princess!”
Cordelia smiled as she looped her arm through his. “We ladies of the Ton are always treated thus. One never knows when some gazetted fortune hunter might try to steal my cousin or myself and ransom us back to my parents. Or worse – try to marry us!”
“What a terrible fate,” laughed Lord Ambrose. “I take it back – you must be heavily guarded at all times!”
“We do well enough when we have chaperones like Lady Gloucester,” said Cordelia with a small shrug. “I should not complain that so many people wish to take care of me. Although it can be irksome at times.”
“Well I must say, I’m glad to have the opportunity to further our acquaintance,” said Lord Ambrose with a smile that did much to improve his already attractive countenance.
“Indeed! How fortuitous that we would stumble upon each other this morning!” she replied,
He laughed that type of laugh that many bachelors of the Ton used when she made a not-particularly-funny joke.
“I, for one, am glad of the opportunity to walk with you,” he replied. Cordy wondered if it would be proper to paint a portrait of him. That way, she could admire his sublime appearance without having to consider his less than scintillating conversation.
She couldn’t put her finger on precisely what she disliked about him. Something in his air rubbed her the wrong way, and although she felt guilty for judging a man on so short of an acquaintance, she could not help but feel that he was little more than a beautiful coxcomb.
“Well it’s more for Miss Manning to walk with your cousin,” she corrected him gently.
“Ah yes, you said that she some ambition to be a writer,” he replied, sparing a glance over at Trix. “Abby said something similar.”
“I have no doubt that her work will be all the rage one day shortly,” said Cordelia, reflecting on how popular the extract of The London House had been at the Gathering. It was such a pity that the wrong version had been published! Were it not for the painfully obvious reference to Eugenia Pulford no one would have thought for a moment that the other characters were based on members of the Ton.
“Life for an aspiring novelist can be expensive,” he commented. “I imagine it is not a particularly lucrative life.”
“As if my cousin cares a fig for that,” laughed Cordelia. “Besides, my aunt and uncle have a very respectable living, and she is a great favourite of my parents. I’d happily sacrifice all my pin money for a year if she needed it to get started. She’s terribly talented, you know.”
Lord Ambrose patted her on the hand. “It speaks to your generous nature, Lady Cordelia, that you are so supportive of your cousin.”
“I’m not generous in the slightest,” she replied, forcing down her irritation. It was strange how much less attractive Lord Ambrose grew the longer she walked with him. “My aunt, if you must know, is something of an author, and Miss Manning has inherited all of that skill with words.”
“You are very fond of your cousin,” he said, sounding amused. “I’m dashed fond of mine, too, but I must admit that I could not tell a good book from a bad one. I have very little talent in that area.”
“No, I can’t write for a fig, either,” said Cordelia with a sigh. “I did once write a tremendously dramatic play, very serious and dark in nature, for the Gathering.”
“I’m sure everyone loved it.”
“They thought it the funniest thing they’d ever heard,” said Cordelia, pouting at the memory. “The worst part is that I then tried to write a funny sketch for the following meeting, and everyone just looked very solemn and confused.”
He patted her hand again. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, but if you like I could ask Felix to look over your work for you, maybe give you some tips?”
“My cousin already did that.”
“And do you find your work improved?”
“Well considering she told me it was probably best to confine my efforts to illustrations, I suspect that it is not noticeably better.”
He laughed again, and Cordelia felt a wave of disappointment in him as he brayed in that faux-amusement she normally experienced at the hands of fortune hunters or societal mushrooms.
It was enough to make her long for Herbert and William, who at least had the audacity to laugh at her with genuine mirth.
“I take it that you have a competent hand at watercolours, Lady Cordelia?”
“Better than competent,” she replied with more honesty than humility. “I can also sketch quite well, I’m tolerable with oils, and Mrs Damer has been so good as to give me lessons in sculpture, although I am not very good at that yet.”
“Is she Horace Walpole’s niece? The one who fancies herself quite an artist?”
“She is a renowned sculptress, yes,” snapped Cordelia.
Lord Ambrose seemed to have realised he had erred. “Please forgive my ignorance in such matters. As you probably know, my family live very quietly in Cumberland, and I am afraid I am ignorant of society outside of Carlisle. Not many of the ladies in my family display the artistic temperament of either yourself or your cousin, so it astonishes as much as it pleases me to learn that the gentler sex has contributed so much to the Arts.”
Cordelia regarded him for a long moment before deciding his apology was genuine.
“Then you are forgiven, Lord Ambrose, and I shall even go so far as to admit that I might be a little bit defensive. I’m just so inordinately proud of Trix, you see.”
“I can tell, so I hope that both she and Felix can work something out,” he replied.
You have no idea, thought Cordelia.
“Now for myself, artistic expression comes only with an interest in fashion,” said Lord Ambrose with a self-depreciating smile. “In London, naturally, I am not anything special, but in Carlisle, I pride myself on being sought out by many ladies to discuss the furnishings of their rooms, or by my peers to discuss the set of their coat.”
Lord help me, I’m trapped with an aspiring dandy, thought Cordelia. He had been so much more attractive when she thought him nothing more than a statue.
She set her expression to one of interest, remembering to interject the odd “really?” or, “how fascinating!” when it seemed appropriate.
She hoped that Trix was having success in her negotiations with Mr Drake. It was that thought alone that kept her from screaming.
*
“You understand, Miss Manning, that I cannot simply take your word that you wrote The London House,” said Mr Drake. “I have already had several other people come forward with similar claims.”
Trix fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration.
“I have already told you three distinct plot points to the novel that I could not possibly know without having written it. Is that not proof enough?”
“In a word: no. You may be acquainted with the true author, and simply trying to claim the glory for yourself. Please, do not rip up at me! Surely you would want me to protect your interests in such a way if you were one of my authors.”
“But I am yours,” she snapped and then felt the heat sear up into her face as she realised what she had said.
Mr Drake looked amused. “I would not claim such a liberty on so short an acquaintance, Miss Manning.”
Horrid man!
“You know exactly what I meant,” she muttered, trying to get her thundering heart under control. “I wrote The London House. You published it. That makes me one of your authors whether we are happy about the situation or not.”
“But you offer me no proof of authorship, only that you have read the book.”
“Ask Cordelia!” she said in desperation. “Or Lady Devenish! Or my mother!”
“I handed Lord Devenish a copy of the book myself. Why would he not mention that he recognised the title?”
“Because it would be utterly improper for me to send letters to His Grace,” said Trix, genuinely mortified at the idea. “And perhaps Lady Devenish was good enough to keep my work confidential, as I had requested.”
“Has she written to you?”
Trix bit her lip. “No. No, I have not had any correspondence about the book being published, only a most thoughtful letter saying how much she enjoyed the chapters I sent her.”
“A letter from a Duchess may convince me,” said Mr Drake. “You truly believe that you wrote The London House, don’t you?”
“I don’t believe, I know,” she replied. “Mr Drake, being an authoress has long been a dream of mine. I have never produced a book I was so proud of, even if I did desperately need to rewrite one of the characters. I am asking you – no, I am begging you – to cease selling it until I can prove to you beyond a doubt that this book is mine, and then have the chance to rewrite those sections that may cause others to be hurt.”
“Then you must provide me with proof, Miss Manning,” he repeated, but not unkindly. Indeed, his whole demeanour toward her was gentle, and under any other circumstances, Trix was sure that she would be enjoying this walk immensely.
“I shall do so,” she replied, letting her determination show. “But I must ask you, sir, to consider my request.”
He sighed. “You know that I cannot. Truly, I do not like to see you upset, but you must understand that I have seen enough charlatans in my time to know that I must be certain. May I suggest a course of action for you?”
“Anything,” she said, feeling utterly miserable.
“You need to consider who may have stolen your work.”
Her head snapped up as she locked her eyes with his. She found herself gripping onto his arm tightly as hope surged through her.
“So you believe me, then?”
His smile was sad for some reason. “I find myself wanting to most desperately, Miss Manning. However, as a businessman, I must protect my interests. Publishing and printing is an expensive business, and I have already delivered copies of the book to various lending libraries. If, as you claim, you did write the book, then it is not in my interest to pay the thief rather than the legitimate author.”
“I will get you the proof you need,” she replied, oddly gratified that he was inclined to believe her claim. “but you must do something for me in return, Mr Drake. Please, I beg of you to speak with the author’s lawyer. Perhaps if he is also aware of the situation, he will ask her to come forward.”
“It is worth a try,” he said, although his expression did not convey much hope.
Trix thought back to her conversation with Cordelia the night before.
“I do… I do have some other books,” she said, feeling nervous.
He glanced over at her and smiled. “Are these the amusing stories that Abby goes into raptures over?”
“They are very silly,” she conceded, feeling her cheeks heating up. “I am not mocking anyone, I promise, although I suppose it could seem that I was making fun of some of the dreadful gothic novels out there. I was trying to write something terrible, but everyone ended up enjoying them, so I keep writing.”
“Perhaps your natural talent kept getting in the way,” he said.
Trix studied his face for a moment before replying.
“Oh, you're sincere!” she said, surprised by this revelation.
Mr Drake laughed, and it was the most delicious sound she had ever heard. Her brain immediately began to weave a plot around a girl sent to live with her strange relatives in an old, run-down castle. Instead of being terrified by screams in the middle of the night, she would become enchanted by the music of deep male laughter coming from the woodland beyond the house while she ate her breakfast.
It would probably be a fairy king rather than a pirate, but Trix thought she could make the plot work with a little effort.
“Miss Manning, I have never known Abby to lay false praise on anyone, and I doubt she will begin now just because she is a Countess. If she enjoys your stories, then I would be enchanted to read them myself.”
“Thank you!” was all Trix could think of to say. “I have several that I would be happy to show you.”
But not the one she planned to write about a fairy king.
And certainly not the one she had begun about a handsome, dark haired pirate who hunted for books instead of gold.
She blushed and was thankful that Lady Gloucester and Mrs Raven called for them to wait as the rest of the group caught up.
“My dears, we have decided that a mini Gathering is in order,” declared Lady Gloucester with a charming smile. “Just some of the original members, but with you, Felix, and your sister and cousin in attendance as well.”
“Isn’t that a capital idea?” said Cordy with a wide smile. “Although I think that it’s best for Trix to do most of the readings, for I’m afraid I burned the only copy of my dramatic play.”
“Perhaps you could display some of your little paintings,” said Lord Ambrose, and for a moment Trix could have sworn that Cordy was going to say something cutting.
Instead, her cousin flashed one of her most dazzling smiles. “What a marvellous idea! And we can ask Herbert to sing for us while Miss Hemsworth plays.”
“Marvellous,” laughed Lady Gloucester. “We can make the rest of our plans while we walk you two lovely young ladies home. I swear I am already excited about this special meeting! Don’t you agree, Felix?”
Mr Drake smiled at Trix. “I admit that I am quite looking forward to hearing Miss Manning read one of these stories I have heard so much about. However, there is one thing I am greatly afraid of.”
“What on Earth could you be afraid of?” asked Lord Ambrose.
Mr Drake grinned at them all. “Lord Standish insisting on reading his limericks to me.”
Everyone laughed, and Trix realised that, despite everything, she was looking forward to spending time at the Gathering, too.