by Linda Banche
“Since I have already read the novel, I can return it in about a week. I need to edit at night, since I work during the day.”
“Just so. And after you are done, you must give me a fast course on the publishing business.”
“Of course, sir.”
“No ‘sir’, Mr. Russell, we are colleagues. Call me Wynne.”
“Of course—Wynne. And call me Russell.”
They shook hands.
They stopped again at the intersection with Piccadilly to let a large dray pass. Russell inspected his pocket watch and frowned. “How time flies. I must hurry.”
“Wait a moment.” Frank pulled a five pound note out of his purse. “We made no mention of the timing of your payment. You should not have to wait until after the book sells.”
The man gaped at the note he held. “I will not lie and say I cannot use the money. Mr. Blackmore pays me a poor salary, and I had to bribe the delivery boy to compensate him for the loss of a tip.”
Francis added a sovereign to the fiver. “Russell, I like you more and more. Your arrival at Miss White’s house today was a stroke of good luck for all three of us.”
Eyes glassy, Russell pocketed the money. “I hope so. I know I will do whatever I can to make her book a success.”
Chapter 11
Oh dear.
Felicity fanned herself although Lady Stopford’s drawing room wasn’t particularly warm.
A fair number of people, but not a crush, dotted the rows of seats as they awaited the start of the musicale. Hot house flowers’ sweet fragrance scented the air, and their cheery reds, pinks and yellows lent a springtime air to the blue-painted room. A light buzz of voices floated around her. Everything was in place for a lovely evening.
Except…
By her side sat the unsmiling Mr. Norris, a dark blot in the colorful, festive surroundings.
Felicity gripped her fan hard and sent up a silent plea that the music would start soon. How could she converse with someone who made no attempt to keep up his end of the exchange? She had gone on and on about the weather, the room’s decorations and how much she liked flowers, and then her mind froze.
With each flick of her fan, the lull stretched longer. What to say?
“Mr. Norris, I found your coach most comfortable.” Her mother’s voice drifted from the opposite side of her dreary companion.
Mr. Norris inclined his head toward her mother. “I buy none but the best.”
Felicity relaxed her hold on her fan. Thank you, Mama. She needed every scrap of help in the uphill battle to keep the dratted man entertained. My fan thanks you, too.
Too bad Frank had more church training tonight. She always knew what to talk about with him, and they both enjoyed their conversations. Not so with Mr. Norris.
She shuddered. Her mother lectured her over and over on the necessity of a woman marrying a man wealthy enough provide for her, but how could she want her to wed Mr. Norris?
She lowered her fan. Even in repose, Mr. Norris’s face held a frown. Did he dislike everything, or just her writing, an occupation that hurt no one?
She raised her fan again. Despite what her mother said, there was providing, and then there was providing. She didn’t need a rich man like Mr. Norris. An ordinary man would do. One she liked.
She sighed. If only Frank were here. His presence always brightened her spirits…
“Miss White, have you heard anything I said?”
With a start, Felicity surfaced from her thoughts.
If eyes could shoot flames, Mr. Norris’s would incinerate her.
She tittered. Gracious, she never tittered. “Oh, I am sorry. I fear my mind wandered.” As far away from you as possible.
He frowned more deeply. “You have an unfortunate tendency toward woolgathering.”
She curved her mouth into her happiest smile. “I do not see it as unfortunate. I see it as evidence of rich thoughts.”
Instead of grinning, as she had hoped, his frown descended into a scowl. “You are much too flippant. Life is not a party. Life is serious, and we must deal with it as such.”
“Oh, come now, we can also have fun.” She swept a hand toward the dais at the front of the room where a piano, harp, violin and several chairs awaited the performers. “We shall enjoy the music.”
His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Oh, no, another lull. What could she say now? “Tell me more about your estate. I have never been to Cumberland.”
He face thawed a bit, as if at last he approved of the topic. “Yes. Far from the nearest town. As a matter of fact, we are somewhat isolated up there. We may not see the neighbors for weeks at a time.”
Her heart sank. She liked people. All her new acquaintances had made this London visit enjoyable, in addition to the many things to see and do.
And Frank.
“Especially in the winter. We usually get snowed in at least once each year.”
Her heart sank further. There must be something about Mr. Norris that she could like. “Those long, cold nights sound perfect for playing music.”
He crossed his arms. “I do not care for music.”
No wonder his annoyance when she said they would enjoy the program. With an effort, she widened her smile. “How about playing games? I enjoy cards.”
He flicked a dismissive hand. “I have no use for games. Frivolous. A complete waste of time.”
Did he do nothing for pleasure? “Do you read?”
A smile lifted his lips. A small smile. “Yes, I read the Bible every night. And I gather the servants for a half hour at the end of the day and read them improving passages.” He puffed out his chest. “More than once the butler has told me how much the servants enjoy my readings.”
Because you would probably sack him if he said otherwise.
She forced her smile to remain, else she would cry. Mama wants me to marry this man? “How long have you been in London?”
“A month.”
“What do you think of our fair capital city?”
He snorted. “London is anything but ‘fair’. Filthy streets and air, too many people of the lower orders, and much too much noise. I wonder that anyone can abide the place. I look forward to returning home. I especially find the masses here most disturbing. No respect for a gentleman.”
I understand why they do not like you. I do not like you, either.
A bell tinkled. The chattering hushed and all attention turned to the hostess standing on the dais, a crystal bell in her hand. “The entertainment is about to begin. Please take your seats.”
Saved by the bell.
The performers trooped onto the platform to enthusiastic applause. Lady Stopford had hired an opera singer and several professional musicians. No untalented family members displaying their non-existent skill to the dismay of a trapped audience.
As the notes, soft and restful or full and rousing, wafted over Felicity, her tensed muscles eased. The interval arrived too soon for her liking, but was mercifully short, affording little time to converse with Mr. Norris, especially since he left them to greet a friend.
When he was too far away to hear, Mama grumbled at his abandonment, but the weight on Felicity’s shoulders lightened immediately. And after the concert, thanks to Lady Stopford’s efficient staff, they waited only a little while for their wraps. Again, less time in Mr. Norris’s presence.
Felicity smiled at the footman who brought their outer garments. The servant helped Mama on with her cloak while Mr. Norris helped her with hers.
Then Mr. Norris put on his greatcoat. “Shall we away?”
Felicity gestured toward the hovering footman. “You forgot something, Mr. Norris.”
His features blanked.
She stepped up to him and murmured. “Give the footman a vail.”
His eyes flashed. “I never tip people for doing their jobs.” He strode to the door and ordered the portal opened as if he were master of the house.
Felicity clamped her jaw tight. Mr.
Norris was the outside of enough. She dug into her reticule and pulled out a shilling. “Here, Tom, thank you.”
The footman shook his head. “No, miss, you shouldn’t have to make up for such as he.” He jerked his chin at Mr. Norris’s back.
“Please.” She slipped the coin into his palm and closed his fingers over it. “I wish you to have this.” She narrowed her eyes at Mr. Norris. “And I will deal with that ‘gentleman’.”
Her mother caught her arm. “Do not say anything. We do not wish to anger him.”
“Why not? He angered me with his disregard for Tom.”
Several people murmured at her hissed comment, but she didn’t care.
Her mother shrugged. “Some men are like that. You must make allowances if you want him to come up to snuff.”
Felicity forced her voice to a whisper, when she wanted to shout. “If he is so cheese-paring with a servant, will he also be cheese-paring with me?”
“Please, my dear. This is one isolated incident. Give him a chance.”
Mr. Norris, his scowl carved into his face, tapped his foot beside the front door.
Warning bells clanged in Felicity’s head, but she silenced them. “As you say, Mama. I will take your advice.” For now.
Chapter 12
Felicity’s eyelids drooped. She jerked upright before she fell sideways on the sofa, bumping into her mother. Thankfully, neither Mama nor their guest, the long-winded Mrs. Loder, noticed.
She picked up the cup of tea she had set on the table before her. Fortunate she had, or her dress would be one big, brown stain.
The mantel clock ticked away, the sound pressing a heavy weight on her ears. How tedious to be at home to callers, especially the incredibly tedious Mrs. Loder. That lady nattered on and on, her booming voice amplified within the closed confines of the drawing room. She had even scared off Aunt Philadelphia, who could sleep through practically anything.
Mama, her mouth a thin line, poured another cup of tea for Mrs. Loder. That her mother also thought their guest a trial was small comfort.
Felicity turned away and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. How could she escape? Mrs. Loder’s society-sanctioned quarter hour had ended an hour ago. If she stayed much longer, she would put down roots.
The lady also wore the worst-smelling perfume. Felicity wrinkled her nose. She would rather inhale eau de Thames.
Mama offered their guest the plate of sweets. “Would you like a biscuit?” Only three remained.
“Why, yes, I think I will.” She took two.
Felicity rolled her eyes. Mrs. Loder should leave soon. Please.
She had tried to get out of sitting here, but Mama ordered her to stay. Why? Never before had her mother demanded she receive callers. But then, she insisted only after Felicity had imparted the good news about her novel. The post had finally brought something other than rejections, but she had much to do to ready the book by tomorrow.
Which she couldn’t do here.
She tapped her thumb on her teacup. Was Mama’s command an indirect attempt to aid Mr. Norris’s suit by preventing her book’s publication? As much as she loved her mother, she couldn’t dispel the possibility. Mama thought to help her by encouraging Mr. Norris.
Mrs. Loder paused for a second to bite into her biscuit, allowing the clock’s ticking to reverberate through the room.
A death knell, tolling the end of Felicity’s literary hopes. If only she could leave!
Even worse, what if Mr. Norris came by, as he had each afternoon for the past week? The warning bells in her head clanged louder with his every visit. She met his addresses with stiff politeness, but, for some reason, he remained interested in her. To make matters worse, he was everything that was proper with her mother, and Mama refused to listen to her misgivings.
There was no help from that quarter. She sipped her tea and grimaced. Cold. A matching shiver danced along her skin.
Heavy masculine footfalls pounded on the stairs, and then Bates entered to announce another visitor.
More icy fingers caught Felicity in their grasp. Please, not Mr. Norris.
Frank stepped into view, his sunny smile burning away her personal chill.
Just the person she longed to see! She set her tea aside and rose.
Her mother’s greeting was stiffly formal, as usual. Why couldn’t she like Frank? He was so charming, much more than Mr. Norris.
He bowed to Mama, and his broad shoulders tightened the coat across his back. He was better looking, too.
At that moment, Bates bowed Mrs. Clevering in.
That lady, hands clasped at her ample bosom, swept into the room. “I have just heard the most wonderful on dit!” Like a hen settling in to roost, she plopped herself down in Felicity’s former place and bent toward Mama. “You will never guess…”
Mrs. Loder, effectively stopped in her tracks, puffed up like a hot-air balloon ready to burst. She rose and patted her hair. With an explosive huff directed at Mrs. Clevering, which that lady was too busy talking to notice, she took her leave. Her and her dreadful perfume.
Mama absently poured Frank a cup of tea and then leaned toward her friend.
Felicity expelled a thready sigh. Talkative Mrs. Clevering, always brimming with the latest gossip, would occupy her mother, and she could speak to Frank in private.
Frank, tea in hand, the last lemon biscuit poking over the edge of his saucer, wove his way to her side. “Good day, Felicity.”
Felicity almost bounced as she led him to a settee farther from the others. “Frank, I have missed you so. Where were you?” She seated herself.
Frank sat more slowly as he balanced his tea. “Mr. Tyler sent me to a rector in Islington to help him raise money for a new church steeple.” He bit into his biscuit and smiled around his chewing. “How much I like these lemon biscuits.” He pulled a face. “Too bad there was only one left.”
“Sometimes I think you come here just to eat lemon biscuits.”
He reared back. “You wound me.” But his eyes twinkled. “The biscuits are an added inducement to seek your company.” He set what was left of his biscuit back onto his saucer. “I wish the Islington church had lemon biscuits. Their refreshments were atrocious. Weak tea and stale seed cake.”
“Poor lad. How did your solicitations go?”
“Very well. I am rather good at talking people into parting with their coin for a worthy cause, if I do say so myself.”
“A most rare and useful talent.” She clapped. “I applaud you.” Oh, she would fly up to the ceiling and stick there if she had to wait much longer to impart her news. “I must tell you something important. Prodigiously important!”
He arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Another publisher wants to read my manuscript.”
“Excellent. I knew others would value your work.” He popped the last of his biscuit into his mouth.
“You are so encouraging. Not like some.” She frowned at her mother, who sparkled as she conversed with Mrs. Clevering.
His lips pursed. “Never fear. I believe in your talent, and in your ability to convince a publisher to accept your book. You are nothing if not persistent.”
“Thank you. Sometimes I have my doubts.” How wonderful he was!
He patted her hand. “We all have our doubts. But the certain way to fail is to give up.”
“Which I have no intention of doing.”
He smiled. “That’s the Felicity I know.”
His confidence in her was a beacon in a lightless tunnel. “The only problem is…” She bunched her napkin in her lap. “Mr. Ward of Ward and Sons wants to see the manuscript by tomorrow. Mr. Russell returned his edits last week, as promised, and I have incorporated them, but I am only about halfway through making a fair copy. I may have to stay up all night to finish.”
Frank took a sip of his tea. “I will help you.”
“You are very kind, but I have over two hundred pages left. The two of us would be an improvement, but may not be e
nough.” The magnitude of the task loomed greater and greater with every passing minute, a mountain too high to scale. Her heart sank into her shoes.
“What about your Jane Austen group?”
How had she not thought of that? Probably because she worried both about her book and avoiding Mr. Norris. “What a brilliant idea! Today is not a regular meeting day, but most likely I can convince a few to help. We can go to Selina’s house. She is one of my biggest supporters.” And if they moved fast enough, she could avoid a possible visit from Mr. Norris.
She jumped up. “Mama, I just remembered there is a meeting of my book society today.”
Her mother, wide-eyed at Mrs. Clevering’s discourse, waved a distracted hand in her direction. “Enjoy yourself, dear.”
Frank gulped down the rest of his tea before he followed Felicity to the corridor. She ran to her bed chamber for her manuscript and her maid, and then, as quickly and quietly as they could, they left.
At the foot of the front steps, Frank offered Felicity his arm. “Are you sure Miss Barrett will be at home?”
“I expect so. She rarely visits. Says she would rather read.”
They had trod a short way down the pavement when Felicity stopped. “Oh, when I tried to pay Mr. Russell for his work, he said you already had. Thank you, but I must reimburse you.”
“Nonsense. A business venture always requires a little blunt up front.”
“But—“
“When your book sells, you can pay me back.”
From the tone of his voice, she doubted he would accept her money. But she would find some way to compensate him.
Selina was indeed at home, relieving a fear Felicity hadn’t dared voice, and they were doubly fortunate to find Anna Tinney also present.
When Felicity explained her need, Selina nodded. “I am delighted about your news. Of course, I will help. Three pairs of hands will work more quickly than two.”
“Make that four pairs.” Anna raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. “You can count on me, too.”
Such generous friends. She was certainly blessed. “Thank you so much. Do you think the rest of the society will help, too?”
