by Abigail Agar
“All right, I have an idea,” he said.
“What now? What more am I to give up for the sake of your whims? What else are you going to tell me I am not allowed to do with the book which I wrote for my own self because I wanted it?” she asked.
Doyle tried to be patient with her, knowing that he would be equally frustrated if he was in her situation.
“I have a compromise with the romance, which will allow you to keep it. This way, we both get what we want. You keep the romance, but I have it toned down and not quite so picture perfect,” Doyle said.
“And what exactly do you have in mind?”
“I thought that we could have his character be a good man—but not rich or titled.”
Miss Blackwell raised an eyebrow in thought.
“No wealth or title?” she repeated.
“Precisely. Because that sort of story rarely happens. There is no reason for your orphaned young woman to suddenly meet a grand duke and be married to him. It is unlikely, and I do not believe that it adds anything at all,” he said.
“But…” she trailed off, apparently thinking about his words.
“Think about it, Miss Blackwell. Honestly, if there is any reason at all for him to be rich, something which adds to the story, I should be happy to hear it. But if it is only for the sake of catering to those women who hope for it, you must confess that there is something deeper to address in the novel.”
He saw the way her eyes narrowed, but also that she was intrigued by the idea.
After all, it was rare to find a book like this in which the man was not so fanciful. Most of the time, he was wealthy or titled or had some other thing which made him desirable to the average young women.
But they were not going to do that. He was determined.
“I just think that the readers are going to be disappointed,” she said.
“And who are your readers? If you maintain this love story as you wrote it, your readers will be entirely made up of young women. But if you change it, I assure you that you are going to have the literary and prose experts of England reading your works. They are going to have an understanding of what you really offer,” Doyle replied.
“You think so?” she asked.
“I do,” he nodded.
“Why are you so bothered by this though? Why would anyone be? There is nothing wrong with a little bit of the fantasy of her finding a man who has everything,” Miss Blackwell said.
Doyle could not answer at once. He had to think through why he felt the way he felt and how he knew that there would be other men who read this who might feel the same.
It didn’t bother him at all. The thing which bothered him was the idea of noblemen getting whatever they wanted at all times. No other man in society wanted to deal with something like that or to have to face it in their reading. Reading was a time for entertainment, and they would not be entertained if they were reminded of their inferiority.
He would have to explain that to Miss Blackwell, but it was not relegated only to this one work. He expected that he would have to show her in the future as well, in times when they might write together again.
Would they? Would they ever write together after this?
And would he be bothered by any future romances in her books?
In fact, it did also bother him that Miss Blackwell thought along those lines. After all, she would not have put such a character in the book if she did not think that way. Was it possible that she had a dream of marrying from someone among nobility?
Why did that bother him?
Doyle looked at Miss Blackwell and took in the sight of her beautiful eyes and her lovely dark hair. He wished that she would be alright with someone like him.
That thought surprised him. Why was he thinking along those lines? That was not something that he had anticipated, and Doyle had to remind himself that he and Miss Blackwell were constantly at odds with one another. They did not have a great deal of peace between them so there was no reason for him to think of anything more taking place.
Yet, for some reason, he could not deny that small desire within him. It was a desire to know her better, a desire for her to care for him.
There was something deeply frightening about that, but it was also deeply true.
“Mr. Brooks, I think we have come to a compromise. I like your idea and I like that it keeps an aspect of my own intact,” she said.
“Excellent. In that case, let us rewrite this gentleman to be a…what should he do for work?” Doyle asked.
“Perhaps he could work at a bank?” she suggested.
“Very well. That would be adequate, I suppose,” Doyle agreed.
They got work on revising this character and Doyle felt significantly better. He appreciated that Miss Blackwell was going to give him the chance to represent a man who was rather average and still make him important and desirable to the women who read the book. The men who were to read it would appreciate that the character was much more like them.
Doyle was also glad that Miss Blackwell was appeased by this and did not fight to have her heroine married to someone with wealth and status. It was as though she was unbothered by the possibility that a woman could love a man who was without those things.
Still, he wondered about her. Who was she meant to marry? Her family was wealthy enough and, although they did not possess a title, they were in the circles of men and women who did.
Was it possible that she spent her evenings being courted by the very sort of men whom Doyle so disliked and did not wish to be a part of? Or was she the kind of woman who detested public events? Did she have private suitors, or did she dance and flit about?
Who did her mother and father want her to marry? Would they ever have any respect for someone like him who was simply the owner of a bookshop?
All these questions haunted and bothered Doyle. He wanted to know more about Miss Blackwell, but he also wanted to know if he were ever going to have the life he wanted for himself when he could barely even confess that he did want to marry.
Who would marry a man like him? He was strange and unfashionable. He was withdrawn and introspective. Was it possible that he could find a young woman who would love him anyway?
And would he ever love a young lady as much as he loved his books? That was the true question.
However, when he looked back at Miss Blackwell, the question was answered with ease.
Chapter 11
“I just do not understand all of this time that you are spending with him. The man was incredibly unfair to you,” Fiona said, shaking her head and looking along the alley they were cutting through.
Pippa gritted her teeth. She knew that Fiona was right and yet, somehow, she found it difficult to bring herself to a place of truly caring. All she wanted was to see the work of her book come to fruition. Nothing else mattered. Not really. She didn’t care if Mr. Brooks was no more than a dreadful, land-pirate thief.
“Oh dear. I know that face,” Fiona said.
“What do you mean? What face?” Pippa asked.
“You have it in your mind to defend him,” Fiona said.
“Me? No! Of course not. There is no defense,” Pippa said as they walked, clutching her manuscript to her chest. She had rewritten every last word insofar as she and Mr. Brooks had made their edits, and she was not going to let it out of her sight this time.
“You are correct. There is no defense and yet, I can see from your expression that you would be more than happy to defend him, if given the chance,” Fiona said.
“Please, Fiona. I assure you that it is not so. I simply appreciate what he is doing to help me become published. He really is not so bad as we may want to accuse him of being. I know that what he did was wrong—and I have no intention of forgetting about it—but I am also incredibly grateful for the fact that I get to have my book out in the public with my own name on it,” she reasoned.
“Yes, I can imagine that shall be very satisfying for you, even if he was a terrible lout
for what he did,” Fiona said with a sigh of disapproval.
“Anyway, we may disregard all of that. Honestly, I want to think only on the positive aspects because I have had so much of negativity these days,” Pippa shrugged.
In truth, she was feeling much brighter and happier these days. Working on her novel invigorated her and gave her a true belief that everything would come together. She would, eventually, manage to convince her mother and father that she was doing the right thing, pursuing the right path.
Even if they were unwilling to hear the truth from her lips, she would speak it. She would be sure that they would come to support her at last.
As they were walking, they turned a corner and Pippa ran straight into George. She took a step back, wide-eyed with surprise at having bumped into him.
“Oh! Mr. Sinclair, what a surprise,” she said.
George was also clearly surprised, and he immediately looked away from the two young women, appearing extremely anxious and agitated.
“Is…is something wrong?” Pippa asked.
“Hmm? No. Not at all,” he said.
Still, he would not look directly at her and Pippa was sure that there was, indeed, something very wrong with him.
“Mr. Sinclair, please. If something is amiss, I would have you tell me,” she insisted.
He looked up at her with innocent eyes, although she could see the lie underneath the expression.
“Honestly. There is nothing wrong. Please, Miss Blackwell, you must trust me. I have nothing to hide,” he reasoned.
She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, but then relaxed. Whatever it was, there had to be a reason for his silence, and she was certain that she would figure it out eventually anyway.
Even in that quick moment, however, George underwent a drastic shift. His look of paranoia shifted into a strange confidence. The smile that took hold of his expression was one of self-certainty. He looked at Pippa with an intensity that very nearly made her back away from him.
“You know, Miss Blackwell, you could be a trained interrogator, the way you speak to people sometimes,” he said, complimenting her.
“You think so? I always thought of myself as observant enough to be an investigator, but an interrogator? I do not know about that,” she replied.
George was quite open with the look he gave her, scanning her from head to toe for a moment, causing Pippa to feel exposed. Her own smile shrank as she was uncertain about his intentions.
“I would certainly allow you to question me again if you so wished,” he said, an undercurrent of flirtation in his tone.
Pippa was at a loss for words. She didn’t know what he was doing or why he was speaking that way. She remembered what Fiona had said about him caring for her, but was that really possible? And why would he talk to her like that? He was risking his own reputation by flirting with her in such an open way.
George simply gave them a nod and a wicked grin before walking off and away from them.
The two young women stood there, speechless, for a moment longer.
“What exactly just happened?” Pippa asked.
“I told you,” Fiona said.
“But…but he was acting as if I was the one to initiate a flirtation. Have I done anything to give him the impression that I care for him? Is there a reason he might believe me to be interested in him…romantically?”
“There is nothing at all that I know of,” Fiona shrugged.
“Then…why? Why did he behave that way?”
“I honestly do not know. There was something in his eyes, a sort of understanding or knowing. I told you that he likes you and that he has for quite some time. Perhaps he has simply decided that it is time for him to express it and see how you feel in return,” Fiona said, her statement sounding more like a question.
“You think so? Was that an attempt to learn whether or not I like him?” Pippa asked.
“I think so. He went from cautious and embarrassed to behaving with the strangest confidence I have ever seen,” Fiona answered.
“Yes, it really was rather odd. I am not sure what he was thinking or what he wants from me,” Pippa said.
“It is clear what he wants from you. He wants to court you, but he first wants you to express that you have feelings for him,” Fiona replied.
“Why would I do that? I have never said that I have any affection or interest in him. I do not know what has given him the impression that it is even a possibility,” Pippa said.
“I know that, but now is the time for you to decide for certain whether or not you really do care or do not,” Fiona said.
“I…I do…not?” Pippa asked, as if Fiona were the one who would have to answer the question for her.
Fiona rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“It does not work that way, Pippa. You are the one who must decide. Please, do not force me into a position of having to make such a choice for you. Come, now. We ought to be on our way. We are supposed to meet my mother at her ladies club.”
Pippa went along with her, thinking that all of this was still very strange. She had never imagined that George would go so far as to act that way around her. He was not being discreet in the least about what he thought of her. He was being quite…quite improper, actually.
But Fiona was right in that she did need to make a decision regarding him. After all, George was a handsome man, and he was quite friendly. Yes, he worked at the bookstore, about which her mother and father might not approve, but it was actually quite nice for her to think about being with a man who loved to read.
Maybe they really could be happy together. Why had she never given it more thought? Was it so crazy?
And yet, as she tried to consider it, Pippa was distracted by someone else entirely. When she thought about her future and the man who could make her happiest, it was actually Mr. Brooks who popped into her mind. His scruffy face, his rugged appearance and rather carefree demeanour.
There was something about him which she found more intriguing than she had ever found any man up until then.
If she did not think she could be happy with George, why should she not consider being happy with Mr. Brooks?
Pippa scratched at the back of her neck and blinked a few times to try and get out of her head. She needed to focus on something else, something a good deal less confusing or…foolish.
That was nonsense. It was utter nonsense to think about being happy with a man like Mr. Brooks, who had wasted her pages with his own notes and who was trying to take credit for helping to write her book.
No, she could not be happy with him and she was not going to pretend otherwise. It was time to let go of that sort of thought entirely.
But he too, was handsome, and he had an intriguing view of the world. No matter how Pippa fought against it, she could not stop thinking about him.
All this frustration was more than enough to embitter her. Pippa just wanted to have an opportunity to look beyond the idea of finding a husband, especially when neither of these men would meet the expectations of her mother and father anyway.
The last thing she wanted was to disappoint them, but it felt as if everything she did was a disappointment. She could not seem to entertain the types of men her parents wished for her to marry. Or, perhaps, it was the other way around. She found them painfully dull or arrogant. They did not understand her love and her yearning for a story.
