by Abigail Agar
There were four drawers in the desk, but when she went through them, she found a stack of fresh paper, pen, and ink in one, more books in another, one with news clippings, and the fourth with letters from people in his life. There were quite a few recent ones from a woman named Clarissa, which caused Pippa to feel a sudden burst of both jealousy and curiosity.
Upon closer examination of one of the letters, she determined that this woman was his sister as opposed to some romantic interest.
But the manuscript was not in the spot where she had seen him leave it after their meetings, which he had only done twice in front of her. Perhaps it was in his bedroom? Oh, could she really dare to go in there?
Pippa decided she would have to work up her courage for such a thing. Before that, she would look through the rest of the rooms.
She made her way to the parlour and began to search under the settee and on the mantle. She opened a trunk, which happened to contain only blankets. Still, she did not see her manuscript.
It was not in the kitchen, nor the drawing room. It was not in the dining hall, nor the spare bedroom. She had searched and searched and searched those rooms from top to bottom and had not seen it anywhere. She had even scanned the shelves to see if a stack of pages happened to be wedged between any of the books.
But nothing.
Realising that her defeat was nearly at hand, Pippa relented and made her way to Mr. Brooks’ bedroom. She opened the door and steadied her breathing, reminding herself that this was all about finding her manuscript and she did not have to blush upon seeing where he slept.
Pippa bit her lip as she entered the room, shyly glancing around and taking in the sight of the window, the dresser, the vanity, and the bed. It was a simple room, decorated in dark shades of earthy green. It smelled like books and cinnamon. Pippa found that she was drawn to the room, more so than she was comfortable with.
She snapped herself out of her thought and remembered why she was there. She had come to find her manuscript. Nothing else. This was not the time to be curious about Mr. Brooks. This was the time to find her pages and get out of the house and back to her own home before her mother and father began to ask questions.
As Pippa was forging her way through the room, she could not find what she was looking for and she began to grow deeply discouraged. All this searching had not provided her any sort of solution. Her manuscript was nowhere to be found. She could not see it anywhere and it was frustrating and distressing in every way.
Seeing that she was failing, Pippa stood straight, her hands on her hips, and looked around the room once more before she had to accept her defeat. She sighed and turned to leave.
And there he was. Standing in the door frame, watching her with a smirk of amusement on his face.
Pippa’s jaw dropped open and, for a moment, they were frozen there, staring at one another, as she took in the realisation that Mr. Brooks had just discovered her searching his bedroom.
“M-Mr. Brooks. I was just here to—”
“Look for your manuscript?” he asked, clearly knowing her exact reasons for searching his home.
Although she was embarrassed to confess it, she was also relieved that he was not questioning what other reasons she might have for snooping around his home.
“Yes, precisely,” she said, clearing her throat.
“And did you find it?” he asked.
Pippa hung her head in defeat.
“No, you did not. I have made sure that you will not find it by going through my home. You see, I am a cautious man, and I was not going to risk you or anyone else stumbling upon it by coming here. Still, I find that I am very amused that you have such boldness,” he said.
“Amused? You find it amusing that you stole something which belongs to me and now I may not have it back?” she asked.
“I find it amusing that you were willing to go this far to track it down. I find it amusing that you are so desperate to keep me from publishing that you would become a thief.”
“How dare you,” Pippa said, taking a step forward and looking him in the eye. She was furious as she had never been before. Furious that he would accuse her of being a thief when she wanted her own words back.
“You call me a thief? What hypocrisy is this? What makes you think that you are somehow better than me when you are the one who has gone out of your way to make it appear as though my novel is yours? You stole something which is so precious to me that I must get it back. You are trying to behave as though my words are yours and I shall never forgive you for it,” she hissed.
Mr. Brooks underwent a sudden change in his eyes. Pippa saw the regret laced in them. She saw that he did understand that he had made an error, but she also saw that he was torn and knew that he would not give her manuscript back.
He was in too far. He had already made this commitment to the readers of England that he was going to publish a book and he would not be able to take it back without everyone knowing that he had lied.
“Miss Blackwell, I…” he trailed off and she saw the apology in his gaze as it fell to the floor in shame.
But then, he looked up at her, firmly.
“I fear that there is nothing which may now be done. Your words, no matter how beautiful and how much they are truly yours, will be published under us both as I have told you. I know that it is your book, but I have done a great deal of work on it as well and, with my name, it can actually be published,” he said.
“Because you think that no woman may do so on her own? Again, I must ask, how dare you? You have the authority to publish a book for the sake of your shop. You know that you want this book published and yet, you are choosing to remain as the rest of the booksellers and publishers of England? You are choosing to give the honour of an author’s name only to a man? And for your own benefit, at that?” she challenged him, taking another step towards him.
He closed the gap, a desperate look in his eye.
“I have no choice, Miss Blackwell. You may feel as much anger as you like, but I must do this for the sake of my bookshop. I have nothing else in this world. No one will take me seriously if I share about this amazing novel written by a young woman. You know who would purchase it?” he challenged her right back.
Pippa did not answer. She hated the answer.
“Do you?” he asked again, before answering. “I would manage to sell, perhaps, three copies. All three would go to young women who love to waste away their days. They would not be the passionate readers you so care about. They would be girls who think they are going to find a tale about some other silly girl. And they would be girls whose mothers and fathers held no standard for what they read.”
“You do not know that,” she said.
“I do. I am a bookseller, Miss Blackwell. I know what people read and I know that no one will take seriously a novel written and published under only the name of a young woman such as yourself,” he said again.
Their faces were only a breath apart and Pippa felt a rage soar through her until it was tempered by something else entirely.
Was Mr. Brooks going to kiss her? The cinnamon smell of the room was made stronger when she realised that he, too, smelled like it. Cinnamon and something sweet, like the hot chocolate she had been privileged to taste once.
And, in that moment, she realised that she wanted the kiss. She wanted it even more than she wanted her manuscript.
Suddenly, nothing and everything made sense.
Chapter 14
Doyle had to make a decision and he had to make it quickly. Was he going to kiss her? Was he going to close the final hairsbreadth between his lips and those of this young woman of whom he was so fascinated?
He steadied himself. She was angry with him and yet, her eyes told him something entirely different. She gazed at him with…hope? Yes, yes, that was it. She was full of hope. Hope that he might kiss her as he so wanted.
But with all the realisations Doyle had gone through, when had he decided he wanted to kiss Miss Blackwell so badly?
When had this become his great desire?
Her eyes, round and blue and innocent, looked up at him, patiently waiting for his response. This stubborn young woman had him so enthralled and she was suddenly at peace in a way he had never seen her before.
There had never been a moment like this. Not between them. Not between Doyle and any woman. And, he believed, no one in the world had ever had this moment.
Doyle decided. He was going to do it. He was going to kiss her. They would finally—
“Ahem.”
The sound from behind him startled Doyle so that he gasped and turned, shocked to see James standing there, his brows raised in surprise to find Doyle and this young woman together, very nearly kissing.
“J-James…” he said, by way of trying to get through his surprise.
But of course! James had been waiting out in the coach this entire time! Doyle had only returned because he forgot the letter he had written to send to Clarissa and wanted to get it in the post that day.
“Forgive this intrusion. I was curious as to what was taking you so long to retrieve the letter, but now I can see that you were rather occupied,” James said.
“Oh, goodness, you—you do not understand,” Miss Blackwell began, trying to explain.
“Oh, I rather think I do,” James said with a laugh.
Miss Blackwell’s cheeks flushed with her humiliation. She pushed past Doyle and into the hall where she did the same to James, heading for the door.
“Miss Blackwell, wait! It’s all right!” Doyle called after her.
But she was already gone.
“Good heavens, you could not have silently retreated?” Doyle asked James accusingly.
“You are angry with me? Well, I had not anticipated that. I am not the one who abandoned all rules of social propriety for the sake of a beautiful young woman,” James said.
“It isn’t like that. Truly.”
“So, you were not about to kiss her?” James asked.
Doyle inhaled deeply to calm himself. He was not sure what more he could say. James had made up his mind and Doyle was unable to refute what James had seen. Of course he had been about to kiss her. It was like a fire in his thoughts and he could not escape it.
Was a single kiss so wrong? He was an honourable man and would not have done anything truly improper. They had been together, alone, in his home many times and always in secret so that no one would think that they were behaving improperly. So why was it that now, the first time they nearly kissed, they had been caught?
“I may have hoped to kiss her, but nothing more,” he finally said.
“And I trust you. I really do, but there are many who would not. Including the young lady’s parents. You ought to be cautious, Doyle. You never know what a young woman may accuse you of if she is angry with you and you know that you risk her anger,” James replied.
“First of all, no young woman would make such a claim against me. You know as well as I do that it would come back to hurt her reputation rather than mine. We have seen society fail many young women who were victims of bad men. So, I am not worried about a false accusation.”
Doyle took another heavy breath and sighed, as he always did when he was even a little bit stressed about something. He had never had such an occasion to feel stress as he did now.
“But my concern is far more intricate than that. It is not the false accusations I fear, but the true ones. I worry about what will happen if I do as I planned, James. I have tried time and time again to ignore the sense of foreboding that overwhelms me when I think of publishing under my own name only, but it is there.”
“Why?” James asked.
Doyle looked at him in confusion.
“Why? We have discussed this many times,” Doyle said.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I want to know the reasons behind your feelings of guilt and dread. Is it because you know that it is wrong to steal someone else’s work? Or is it because of how this young lady has moved your heart?”
Doyle swallowed. He knew the answer. He had known it all along.
“It is both, of course. I felt bad about claiming the work from the start, although my desire to see the shop succeed was more important. But…but the truth is that I feel I cannot do this to Miss Blackwell. She would be devastated, and I would hate to be the cause of such pain.”
“Then, I do believe you know what you must do,” James said.
“Of course I know, and yet, it frightens me to think what will come of it. You know as well as I do that our society is not a forgiving one. If I am caught in my lie, I shall be punished for it. But if I steal her work, I shall never forgive myself. So, I think my only choice is to do as I promised her. I shall publish under both our names,” he said.
“Very well, then. You must do it. I shall not accept anything different from you. Honestly, Doyle, I was angry when I learned about your plan to take full credit for a work you only played a small part in. But if you make it right, if you fulfill the agreement between the two of you, I do believe that you shall see that you may have a future with her yet,” James insisted.
“That is simple for you to say, but I have also done what little I can to learn about her mother and father. Honestly, James, I think the two of them are rather unpleasant people. They have very definite intentions for her to marry someone of means and, perhaps, a title.”
“Is she titled?” James asked.
“No, she is not,” Doyle replied. “All the more reason for her to find a baron.”
“If she is not titled, then it is only a preference had by her mother and father. Nothing more,” James said.
“They have wealth, and they want her to marry likewise.”
“Does she want that?” James asked.
“Since when does England care what sort of husband a young lady wants?” Doyle retorted.
“Fair enough. But if she wanted to marry you, I am sure she could convince them,” James said.
Doyle didn’t agree, but he no longer wanted to speak about it. He gestured for James to follow him back out to the coach as he continued to think about everything that had just taken place.
But there was also the part of her book which he hated so much. Miss Blackwell had included the marriage to a nobleman in her novel. Was that a reflection of her own hopes? Was he being a fool to think it was possible that she could like someone in his position who was merely a humble bookseller?
Of course he was. There was no possibility that she would ever love him. Even if she were willing to marry someone who had few means, why would she want to be with the man who had stolen her most precious creation?
If the roles had been reversed, he would never forgive her.
Doyle and James made their way back into town and James would not relent in his thoughts about the possibility of Doyle pursuing Miss Blackwell. Even when Doyle begged him, he would not stop.
“I want to see you happy, Doyle. There could be something true between you. I know that you care for her even more than you are finally willing to confess. So, why would you not allow yourself to tell her, quite openly?” James asked.
“Because it could go very wrong. We are going to publish this book together and if she is unhappy with me, it will end up rather awkward between us. What am I to do if she is angry even with this arrangement? She may never forgive me as it is.”
“I saw her face, Doyle. She would have welcomed the kiss,” James said.
