by Linda Banche
“And I will step on you both.” Trant’s usual sour expression had deepened with every passing moment. The lemons again. He must regularly dine on them. “I fail to see what you find so amusing.”
Coffey dashed tears from his eyes. “That is because you have not read Pride and Prejudice. You really should, you know.”
“Yes, indeed.” Trant’s voice was a disgusted drawl. “When I have nothing better to do.”
Fellowes straightened. “I must read her book.”
Frank nodded. “I brought a copy, if you would like to do so.”
“Good.” Fellowes grinned. “Clara and I will read it together.”
Coffey pushed upright. “Excellent idea. Do not take too long. I want to read it with Ellen.”
“I for one will subscribe. For myself and Clara.” Fellowes pulled a sovereign from his purse. “Will that do?”
“You are most generous. I am grateful.” Frank fished his notebook out of his pocket.
Coffey flipped a sovereign toward Frank. “Put Ellen and me down for a pound, too.”
Frank caught the coin and secured the contributions in his purse before duly recording the transactions. “While I would like you to tell people about the book, please keep Felicity’s name out of it. She wishes to remain anonymous for the time being. But, of course, you can tell your ladies.” Thank providence for such good friends. Without even knowing Felicity, they had aided her in her goal. With his help, of course. How happy she would be. And when she was happy, he was happy. Would that he could do more for her.
Coffey caught Fellowes’s eye and tipped his head toward Trant. As one, they turned and addressed their scowling friend. “Your turn.”
Trant blinked. “I have no interest in contributing to such a novel. While the lady is probably very talented, I care not for such books.”
“Gammon. Of the four of us, a pound will lighten your purse the least.” Fellowes rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in Trant’s face. “Come now, Trant, or I will not restrain Coffey the next time you two want to brangle.”
Trant slapped Fellowes’s hand away. “As if I cannot take him on. You had better come up with a better threat than that.”
Fellowes stroked his chin. “Well, then, either you give me a sovereign now, or you will have to give both me and Coffey a sovereign.”
“I know a better threat.” Coffey’s smile was all teeth. “Cooperate, Trant, or I will tell Fellowes, and everyone else here, your middle name.”
Trant’s jaw almost flattened his cravat. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Coffey’s grin stretched. “Yes, I would.”
Fellowes’s forehead wrinkled. “Why is that a threat?”
Coffey grinned like a boxer about to land a blow to his opponent’s unprotected side. “He hates his middle name. And I do mean hate.”
“Does he?” Fellowes lifted his chin at Frank. “Do you know his middle name?”
Frank nodded.
“And you did not tell me? Fine friends you are.” Fellowes’s words were accusatory, but the edges of his mouth curved upward. “By thunder, I will give you a pound just to find out.”
“Five pounds!” Lord Roderick Erskine, the biggest gossip in the ton, waved a bank note over his head.
“Ah, a competing bid. Just what we want.” Coffey rubbed his palms together. “Do I hear six pounds?”
“Six!” From Mr. Bartholomew Obins, the second biggest gossip in the ton.
Trant’s jaw sagged lower. “Here, I will give you…” He dug into his pocket.
“Seven!”
“No, eight.”
“I’ll pay nine!”
“And I say ten!”
Shouting men jumped up from their seats and crowded around the four friends. Pushing and shoving, their voices rang out through the room. The bidding leaped higher and higher.
Trant’s jaw worked and his face took on a sickly green tinge.
Coffey’s smile widened so much his lips might never return to their normal size. “His sore spot. We should use this more often.”
Frank laced his fingers over his stomach. “In a worthy cause, I assure you.”
“Forty!”
As if a switch had snapped closed, the room quieted. The frantic men, some blinking, others with their mouths agape, looked at one another.
A portly gentleman turned away. “A little too rich for my taste.”
His stick-thin friend followed him. “Mine, too.”
Another scratched his head. “Why do we want to bet on his middle name?”
His friend dragged him from the throng. “We are gentlemen. We bet on just about anything.”
With more mutterings, the rest of the men dispersed. Except for Lord Roderick, who had made the final offer.
“Your lordship, we thank you for your support.” Coffey extended his arm along the sofa top and patted Trant on the shoulder. “But we must give our dear friend a chance to outbid you. Trant?”
Trant’s gaze could splinter wood. “Very well, forty-five pounds.” He spat out the words through gritted teeth.
Lord Roderick tapped his steepled fingers against his chin, the silence stretching wafer-thin. With his ability to generate such suspense, he could have pursued a thriving stage career.
At last, he lowered his arms and then spread them wide. “Finally, a little beyond me.” He clapped Trant on the back so hard the glassy-eyed winner almost fell on his face. “Congratulations, young Trant, you have won.” He shook Frank’s hand. “Make sure you get his vowels, lad. Forty-five pounds is a tidy sum. Enough to have his name first as the largest subscriber.” His eyes glinted. “Or possibly have the author dedicate the book to him.”
“No!” Trant dropped his head into his hands.
Lord Roderick gave Frank the fiver he had brandished. “I enjoyed Miss Austen’s book immensely. I applaud your lady’s achievement in rewriting the novel from Bingley’s viewpoint. I liked him much better than Darcy. I look forward to reading her novel.” He lowered his voice. “And I will not whisper a word about her identity. I can keep a secret, you know.”
Frank pocketed the note. “Thank you, your lordship.”
Lord Roderick’s laugh filled the room as he waved over a waiter and ordered brandies for them all. “For a moment, there, Trant, I feared you would not outbid me.” He brushed a piece of lint off his lapel. “But, never fear. One of these days I will find out your middle name, and I will not pay a farthing to do so.” His grin glimmered. “And then I will tell everyone.”
All the blood drained from Trant’s face.
A moment later, the speedy waiter returned with their drinks, and everyone, except Trant, who fell against the sofa arm, crowded around the servant.
Under cover of the commotion, Frank pulled Fellowes to the side. “Trant’s middle name is ‘Aloysius’.”
Chapter 18
“Thank you, Mrs. Oxenden. I will call on you tomorrow to pick up your pledge.” Felicity wrote the lady’s name in her notebook. Voices buzzed all around her in Lady Tighe’s drawing room, but they were as distant as fading echoes.
Another subscriber to her book! That was the fourth one so far at this musicale, one before the entertainment started, and three now, during the interval. The word had spread much faster than she had hoped. Perhaps she would soon have enough money to publish her novel. If she were a bubble, she would float up to the ceiling and bounce there all night.
“Are you done?” Mr. Norris’s words scoured her ears. She jerked her head up.
He loomed over her, a boiling thundercloud a heartbeat away from unleashing enough lightning to incinerate her happiness.
“Yes.” For now. She tucked the small notebook into her reticule and then settled her hand on his arm. They continued their stroll around the room. Why had he attended this event? Since he didn’t like music, she hadn’t expected him.
If only Frank were here! No pretending not to be excited about her book around him. But tonight he had gone to his club. Other nights
he had had to study with the vicar. She was lucky he had come to the latest Pemberley Society meeting, but he still had had to leave early.
She chewed her lip. Truth to tell, he had been absent altogether too often of late, most often to seek donations for various churches.
Her step hitched. Who gave him those contributions? Bent old gentlemen or pretty young ladies? She could just see him, the center of a flock of lovely ladies, all casting come-hither looks his way. What man wouldn’t respond to such invitations?
She clenched her fingers around her reticle. She wanted to be the only lady at his side. She wanted him to…
Kiss you?
In the darkest hours of the night, she had tossed and turned, spinning waking dreams of their interrupted kiss continuing. Again and again and again…
Mr. Norris cleared his throat.
Oh, dear, now I am in for it. Mr. Norris invariably cleared his throat before he brought up something important. “Important” meaning he disagreed with her about the matter. But disagree about what? He had arrived just before the music started, they hadn’t spoken during the recital, and they had only begun their circuit of the room. She loosened her grip on her poor, mistreated reticule.
Mr. Norris pulled in a deep breath. “It has come to my attention that you seek subscribers for your book.”
Felicity frowned. Of course, he knew. She had just accepted one. They moved in the same circles, and she, Frank, Mr. Russell and the ladies of the Pemberley Society had all sought pledges. “Yes.”
His eyes were shards of ice. “Such soliciting is beneath the dignity of a lady.” A small smile, which was indeed small because his smiles were as rare as snow in spring, crawled onto his lips, as if his statement contained all the essential information and now she would do…something. But what?
“And?”
“You must desist.”
She stopped dead. Of all the insolence! Who was he to tell her what she could and couldn’t do? Even her mother hadn’t tried to stop her. “Really, sir, I wish to publish my book, and seeking subscribers is one way to fund the process.” She stepped forward. If she didn’t occupy herself somehow, she would ring a peal over his head. Or hit him.
He resumed their pacing, as unperturbed as if they hadn’t stopped at all. “As I said before, such soliciting is unmannerly.”
She made a quick mental count to ten before she answered, or she really would punch him. “Fustian. Ladies seek pledges for charities all the time. And gentlemen solicit for business. I see nothing different in my behavior.”
His eyes frosted more. “Then your sensibility is lacking. Something which I distinctly find not in your favor.”
Capital! Mayhap now he will focus his attentions elsewhere. She forced coldness into her manner when she wanted to dance around the room. “I am sorry you feel that way, but I see no reason to stop.”
The chill he radiated could freeze a tropical sea. He opened his mouth…
The tinkling of a glass bell cut through the air. Their hostess, cradling the now quiet bell in her hands, stood before the piano, harp and violins. “The second half of the program will begin in a few minutes. If you will return to your seats?”
Murmuring accompanied the guests as they sought out their chairs. Felicity steered a course for the front row. Such a position would make further conversation with the odious man impossible.
Amid introductory applause, the performers filed to their places and took up their instruments. The music began without delay, too quickly for Mr. Norris to continue his harangue.
Her stiff shoulders relaxed a bit. Politeness did have its uses.
She clasped her fingers together hard and forced her features into repose. She would not let him see how much he had overset her. Her mind whirled with plans of how to escape when the entertainment ended, the melodies washing over her mostly unheard. A shame, because she loved music and Lady Tighe always engaged skilled musicians.
Too short a time later, the last chord faded away. The appreciative guests applauded loud and long, but Felicity rose before the clapping ended. She smiled at Mr. Norris to mask her fury. “Thank you for your company.” She muffled a fake yawn with her hand. “I must find Mama. I feel quite done in and long for my rest.” Keeping her smile in place, she nattered away as they inched through the crowd, so as not to allow Mr. Norris any chance for speech.
The throng moved at such an interminable pace Felicity’s voice might give out too soon, but at last they reached her mother, in the last row where she chatted with her friends. “There you are, Mama. I had a splendid time, but I am sure Mrs. Burrell wants to leave.” Mrs. Burrell had given them a ride, and she liked to depart early.
She tipped her head to Mr. Norris. “Farewell, sir.”
He bowed, his entire aspect sheathed in ice. He was still angry.
Well, she was just as angry.
She caught up Mama’s shawl from the chair back. Under cover of draping the garment more firmly over her mother’s shoulders, she hurried her toward the front door. As expected, Mrs. Burrell was already there, her carriage the first in line outside. The ride home was short, and Mama and Mrs. Burrell prattled away with barely a pause, thankfully leaving Felicity alone.
Tight as a too-small kid glove stretched to its limit, Felicity ran up the front steps. After she and her mother had doffed their outer garments and sent the servants away, she released a pent-up breath. “I am so glad to be away from Mr. Norris.”
Her mother’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”
They climbed the stairs, Felicity relating the tale of their argument.
Her mother stopped, skirts rustling against her legs. “My dear, I wish things were otherwise, but I agree with Mr. Norris. While amusing yourself with that book is harmless, you have become too engrossed with it. I never said anything before because your writing harmed no one. But now, you have a serious suitor. You must accede to his wishes.”
Felicity halted on the step above her mother. “You mean if one of my pursuits annoys a possible husband, I must give it up?”
Her mother expelled a weary sigh. “Such is the way of the world. Men control everything. We women exist on the fringes, living on the crumbs they dole out. Marriage is the only way a woman can survive. If you wish to wed, you must give up your book.”
Felicity’s heart was a cold stone in her breast. How could Mama betray her so? “Or perhaps I should find a man who encourages me.”
Something dark and sad bloomed in her mother’s eyes. Felicity had never seen her so stricken. “Finding such a man would be the ideal solution. But Mr. Norris is the only one who has taken an interest in you. Soon we will return home, where there are fewer eligible men.” Her shoulders drooped. “If your dowry were larger, you would have a better chance of attracting someone more to your taste.”
“Perhaps I wish to remain unmarried, like Miss Austen.” The words burst from her lips, sharper than she had intended. She had no desire to be a spinster, but she certainly didn’t want to wed Mr. Norris.
Her mother rubbed her forehead. “Miss Austen this, Miss Austen that. From what I can tell, your Miss Austen spent her adult life in poverty, living on the kindness of her brothers. Her earnings from her books were always small.”
“She died too soon. If she had lived longer—”
Her mother raised a hand. “Again, perhaps. But you have no brothers to provide for you. My jointure is small, and will end when I die.” She continued up the stairs, her body hunched over as if protecting herself from the world’s wrath.
Felicity ran to catch up. “But you will not die for many more years, Mama. By then, I will have succeeded. My books—because I will write many more—will support us both.”
Her mother’s haunted look didn’t lift. “Mayhap. But while you continue with your book, be sure to give Mr. Norris a fair chance.”
Chapter 19
“Another rejection?” Frank accepted a cup of tea from Felicity.
Sunlight spilled into her drawin
g room, casting into relief the dust motes pirouetting in the air. In the corner, her Aunt Philadelphia snored, permitting Frank, Felicity and Russell to converse as if alone.
Felicity’s lips twisted. “Rejection here, rejection there. I will soon run out of publishers to try.” She drooped. “I wish there were another way.”
For a few minutes, only her aunt’s regular snorts and the crackling of the flames in the grate interrupted the silence.
Russell tipped a long-suffering, but amused, glance Frank’s way.
Frank’s stomach clenched. He had bounded over here, the spring in his step more than once eliciting scowls from passers-by downcast by the chill autumn day. He would see Felicity! Thankfully, he didn’t need to meet with Mr. Tyler until late afternoon, the first time in a while, so he could stay a little longer than usual. His epiphany in the park had set his heart on edge, transforming every minute without her radiant smile into a penance. Her unhappiness tore him into little shreds. He wanted to make her every wish come true. But could he?
She tapped her fingers on the chair arm. Her eyes unfocused as if she viewed something in the distance. Then they widened. “I have an idea…”
Oh, no. Whenever she got that faraway look, inevitably she had concocted some hare-brained scheme. He set his tea aside. Best to be ready for the upcoming earthquake.
She brightened as if a candle flared inside her. “Mr. Wynne, you were at the Pemberley Society meeting when Selina suggested we publish our books ourselves.”
“Yes.” He drew out the word. Perhaps if he weren’t too ready to agree, her scheme wouldn’t be as bad as he feared. Then again, the floor might still collapse beneath him.
“Why not start with mine? After all, we have to raise the money for publication ourselves. If we must do that, why not do everything?”
“Sounds like a huge undertaking.” The floor had indeed cracked open. Soon they all might tumble into the chasm. While he wanted more than anything to help her, this idea might be beyond his means.
“Pish-tosh. I can see it now. I will write the books, and you, Mr. Wynne, with your gift for persuasion, will talk printers and book shop owners and everyone else around to our benefit. As for you, Mr. Russell, you will do the editing and handle the day-to-day business.” She handed him a biscuit. “We are so fortunate you have thrown your lot in with ours.”
