by Bird, Peggy
Charlotte pointed to a gown in the magazine. “Jasmine has already created a lovely white gown for your coming-out ball, but we must think beyond the dance, to the entire season. We’ll have a formal dinner in the weeks following the dance. How about a dress such as this?”
Rosemary placed a hand on her stomach, which now knotted with anxiety on top of her excitement. “Mother, I can’t think of dinners or ball gowns right now. My entire future is in jeopardy.”
“Quit being so melodramatic, for goodness’s sake. I’m quite certain your father or brother can come up with a solution, so indulge me a bit and let’s talk dresses. After all, having a wonderful season is part of your future, too.”
”I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine, Mother. I need to get to work on my questions for Papa and Halwyn.”
Rosemary’s stomach calmed a bit as she rose and went back to the garret to compose her test. Maybe her mother’s idea would work. Perhaps her father or brother could pull it off.
• • •
Boston
Henry Cooper stood defiantly in front of his father. His back was ramrod straight. Instinctively, he lifted the toes of his right foot and straightened his leg at the knee, pushing his heel out in front. He landed on his heel and brought his back foot up to the en garde stance. This was indeed a fencing match, even if the weapons were words rather than swords, and he was ready for it. Prêt, his mind whispered as he prepared for his father’s initial attack.
“I am not pleased, Henry.” His father, Maxwell Cooper, glanced up from his perusal of the latest issue of The Atlantic Monthly, tossing it across the desk toward Henry. “Why didn’t you think of this magazine-style format? Wasn’t the purpose of your fancy education to give you an advantage over our competition? I still don’t understand why you couldn’t have just gone to my alma mater.”
Allez. Henry took a deep, steadying breath. The bout had begun. This was nothing more than a beat. His father’s simple preparatory motion was designed to hit Henry’s blade at its weakest point, but Henry refused to give way. Instead, he returned the jab.
“The fact you went to Harvard was enough reason for me to choose to go elsewhere. Besides, you’re the one who shipped me off to Uncle Jacques when I was just a boy.”
His father glared at him. “You are well aware of the reason you were sent to your uncle’s.”
Henry remained silent, refusing to get drawn into a counter-attack. This match would be played out on his terms.
His father picked up the magazine once again.
“James Lowell took the helm of this magazine, which was founded by Francis Underwood and host of other liberal writers. And he immediately flaunted convention by featuring a female writer on a regular basis. Here’s another article written by that Harriet Beecher Stowe woman. If he keeps up with this kind of behavior, his innovation won’t last. Then, we can swoop in and take it over.”
Henry paused before he spoke. He followed up his father’s attempt at a parry with a riposte, an attack of his own.
“I think Lowell’s idea is brilliant. Miss Stowe is an excellent writer. What does a person’s gender matter if they are the best at their craft? Or at business? I would prefer to work on the expansion of the railroads with Uncle Jacques. Why not let Marguerite take over here? She’s much better suited to publishing.”
His father’s brows knit together, and his face twisted into a sneer. “I did not name my company Cooper and Daughter Publishing. It is Cooper and Son, and for a very good reason. Marguerite spends her days writing sonnets, and not even good ones. Keats and Shelley have nothing to fear. Her job is to get married—and soon, before the eligible pool of bachelors disappears. Your job, however, is to help expand my empire.”
Now they were getting down to it. It was Henry’s turn to parry. “I have no interest in your ‘empire’ or in working for you.”
“Nonsense. Why else would I have called you home? I’m sending you to New York City tomorrow. I have purchased a company there, a small outfit, but they have been experiencing some success. They specialize in those quickly written, lurid potboilers called dime novels. Your job will be to integrate their stable of authors into our company. We don’t need to honor any of their current contracts, but they do have some good authors I want to hold on to.”
Henry glanced at his father, his right hand immediately coming level to the floor and his wrist twisting inward, ready to thrust. He brought his hand down from its fencing position with considerable effort.
“While I readily admit leaving Boston is most appealing, I will only take over the new company if I can have complete control.”
His father took a cheroot out of the top drawer of his desk and made a grand show of lighting it before he spoke again. Henry inhaled the cigar’s soothing aroma as he waited for his father to continue.
Maxwell rolled the cigar in his fingers as he glanced up at his son. “Maybe you’re right, and the publishing business isn’t for you, Henry. Any stiff competitor, such as James Lowell, would ride roughshod all over you. I will need to oversee the business, to make certain you are running it to my satisfaction.”
Henry couldn’t stop the threat from leaving his lips. “It’s complete control, or I go back to Uncle Jacques and work with him.” He almost wished his father would turn his back on him once more. Then, Henry could be free from his undeniable need to please his father. The need that began when he was only fourteen, with the loss of his mother.
“This is your final test, son. If you can’t do my bidding in New York, I’ll find another partner to take over that branch of the company. Perhaps Lowell.”
Henry took a small breath to steady himself. His father was asking for a real battle. “You couldn’t abide working with Lowell, Father. He sees women as equally competent as men when it comes to penning good works of prose. You’ve presented an idle threat. I’ll give you one month, possibly two. If I am still as disillusioned with the publishing business as I am now, you may give the business to Lowell or whomever else you damn well please.”
“You’ll have to prove to me you’re worthy of me turning over the business to you first. Meet my first assignment and sort through the authors. I want you to meet each of them face-to-face and test their mettle. Then we’ll talk about who has control.”
“It’s complete control right now, or I leave for New Orleans today rather than wait.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. Then he spread his hands wide. “All right. Let’s see if you can make a go of it. Page Books has a small press and a shop set up, as well as a business office. It makes sense to keep the entire operation up and running if there are enough good authors to warrant it. We can produce the dime novels from there, and the better books can continue to be published here.”
“And no interference from you? I run things my own way?”
His father huffed. “I said all right, didn’t I? You’ll have dinner with me and your sister tonight, and be off on one of your beloved trains in the morning. My friends the Cabots have relatives in New York, so they can assure your entry into the proper New York circles.”
“I have plans for this evening already, but I will stop in and say goodbye to Marguerite before I leave.” Counter-parry. They had circled around each other, but no real resolution had been gained to ease their strained relationship. They were back where they started.
CHAPTER TWO
Rosemary ran her hand over her stomach as she took her place at the table for the evening meal. The silk gown was one of her favorites, with its stripes of brown, caramel, and white intersecting to provide a delicate crisscross pattern. The creamy lace at the sleeves added a touch of elegance and refinement. Bands of ribbon were placed at strategic points to showcase her small waist.
Halwyn and his wife, Grace, were joining the family gathering for tonight’s dinner. Grace was nearing her due date for the their first child’s birth and could barely squeeze her body in under the table.
Rosemary’s mother, Charlotte Fitzpat
rick, stated the obvious. “Only a few more days now until our Grace provides us with a new grandchild, George.” She ran a hand lightly down Grace’s arm. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m a bit uncomfortable tonight. I think our child wants out, and soon.”
Saffron, the youngest child in the Fitzpatrick family, chimed in. “Halwyn, may I be the first to hold the baby, after you and Grace?”
Halwyn glanced at his sister and smiled. “Don’t you think the honor should be reserved for your mother?”
“No, I don’t. She always gets to do it. Jasmine and Parr’s baby Finn, Ginger’s babies, all of them. Mother gets to hold all of them first. For once, I want to be first, especially since it’s your baby, Halwyn, and you are my favorite brother. Just because I’m only eleven doesn’t mean I can’t be careful with it.”
Charlotte laughed. “I remember when you were born, Saffy. We allowed Valerian to hold you. He was six at the time, and he nearly dropped you.”
Saffron pouted. “Well, I’m not a boy, and I won’t drop the baby. Valerian’s just clumsy, which is why he’s not my favorite brother. But since I’m the youngest in the family, I’ve never gotten to hold any of my brothers or sisters when they were babies, so I think I should now.”
Valerian, who was delving into the mashed potatoes, grinned. “I remember the day I first held you. You were so tiny. And I’m not clumsy. Mother screamed when I tipped you, and scared me so much I almost did drop you. It was her fault.”
Saffron made a face at Valerian before turning back to her favorite brother. “Halwyn, please? Can I be the first one to hold your new baby?” She was not about to be led astray from her quest.
Grace and Halwyn shared a glance. Then he turned to Saffron. “Yes, you may.”
“And it will probably be sooner than we all think.” Grace ran a hand over her stomach and her lovely blue satin gown.
Halwyn was focused on his wife as he followed the movement of her hand, but Rosemary wanted to pry his attention away from Grace, and toward her dilemma.
“Halwyn, you’ve done so much to help Jasmine’s business become the successful dress shop it now is. So I’m hoping you can assist me this time.”
Halwyn passed the bowl of steaming mashed potatoes to his wife before he finally tore his gaze away from her and fixed it on Rosemary. “I’m happy to help. What do you need?”
“How much do you know about my Harry Hawk series?”
“I glanced through the contract Mr. Page sent you when you began the series, if that’s what you mean. Is there something amiss?”
Rosemary and her mother exchanged a glance. At Charlotte’s nod, Rosemary took a deep breath and continued.
“The contract is fine, except for the fact it’s now null and void. Mr. Page has retired, and he’s sold the company to a new owner, from Boston. The new owner will be in town in two days and insists on interviewing each author in person in order to determine to whom he wishes to extend new contracts.”
Halwyn nodded, and grabbed a dinner roll. “Makes sense to me. What’s the problem? You’re one of their best writers, and your dime novels are quite popular.”
Rosemary’s heart softened as she drank in her brother’s praise. “Thank you, Halwyn, for your show of support. But do you even know what a dime novel is? Do you have any idea where my books take place? What they’re about?”
His lips quirked into a half-smile. “I, uh, I …” He locked eyes on Rosemary. “Why do I feel as though I’m back in school?”
Rosemary stared at the table. This was a disaster. She took a deep breath and raised her gaze again to her brother.
“Because I’m in trouble. Mr. Page assumed for years that F.P. Elliott is a man, and I did nothing to dissuade him. You know how some men are. They think the only good place for a woman is in the home and having children.” Her gaze drifted to her sister-in-law, and she smiled. “I don’t mean to imply there’s anything wrong with having children, Grace. I hope to have some myself someday. Just not now.”
She turned back again to her brother. “I couldn’t take the chance Mr. Page would not publish me. He made the assumption I was a man based on my books being about gunslingers in the west, and I let him think what he wanted rather than take the chance he’d reject my work.”
Halwyn sat back in his chair, and slid his glance to his father. “I was aware Rosemary used a pen name for her writing, but not for once did I realize she was impersonating a gentleman. So this deception’s been going on for five years now? And you allowed it, Father?”
George Fitzpatrick tugged at his cravat, and took a breath. “Yes, Halwyn, I did. I thought it was harmless enough. Who would have predicted the dime novel would take off as it has, and that my daughter would be one of the authors gaining notoriety? It’s probably best she use a pen name anyway, not to deceive anyone, necessarily, but to discourage her fans from tracking her down here at home. I want peace and quiet when I get home from work, not a crowd of people in front of the house, slinging guns as they imitate Harry Hawk, for God’s sake.”
Halwyn pinned Rosemary with his gaze. “So now a new publisher is coming in, and you feel you need to find someone to impersonate Mr. Elliott, to continue the duplicity? Why not use this as an opportunity to confess that you’re the true genius behind the series?”
“I can’t. At least not until I know what I’m up against. I need to find out what my new publisher thinks of women in the work place. And female authors in particular.”
Rosemary folded her hands in her lap. She doubted Halwyn would help her now. Damn his moral fiber, anyway.
“I’m sorry, Rosemary. I’m aware that your writing is important to you. But if you have to achieve success by duping everyone, is it really worthwhile? Don’t you want to be recognized for your own merit?”
She raised her head defiantly. “Of course I do. I’d love nothing better than to tell the world there is no old, crotchety man stuffed away in a garret cranking out dime novels. I’m the author and I’ve been the author all along. But I harbor no delusions as to how that tidbit of information would go over. If I go to the new publisher on my own and unmask myself before I even know what I’m dealing with, I’ll be escorted out of his office so fast my head will swim. Those are the facts of the matter in today’s society.”
“What about if I do it?” George’s deep voice invaded the staring match between Rosemary and Halwyn.
Rosemary swiveled her head toward her father. “You’d do that for me, Papa?”
“If I can, I’d be happy to. So, tell me about this Harry Hawk fellow.”
Rosemary smiled for the first time. She loved to talk about her hero, who was loosely based on her brother-in-law Joseph. “Harry is half Indian, Cherokee, who is now working in Texas. He straddles two cultures, not really fitting into either the white world or the Indian one.”
“Just like Joseph!” Valerian nearly shouted. “I can’t wait until I turn eighteen, and can spend the entire summer on his ranch. One more year.”
George rested his gaze on his daughter. “It’s nice to see you’re using your family as fodder for your writing. So what does your hero do for a living? Round up wild horses and break them like Joseph does?”
“No, he’s a hired gun for the railroad company that’s encroaching into Indian territory with its tracks. But in order to represent Mr. Elliott, you also need to know more than the premise of my series. You need to be aware of how many books I’ve got planned, what the timeline is for production, and how much I’m paid. The details of my obligation. Do you really think you can pull it off?”
Her father shifted in his chair. “There is a lot to impersonating you, but I’ll devote myself to learning it all over the next few days if it would help you.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Rosemary’s stomach unclenched, and the food in front of her suddenly became appealing. She sniffed the fragrance of the meal with gusto.
“When did you say the meeting was to take place?” Halwyn asked, just as she picked
up a forkful of succulent roast beef.
“It’s in two days, Wednesday afternoon at two o’clock.”
Halwyn turned to his father. “But you can’t possibly attend on Wednesday. That’s the exact time of the monthly board meeting at the bank.”
George smacked his forehead with his hand. “Of course. How could I have forgotten?” His eyes went to his daughter. “I’m sorry, dear, but I’m going to have to retract my offer.”
Rosemary placed her fork back on the table. The beef again resembled shoe leather in her mind. There was no way out except to expose herself. Unless she could think of something else; really fast.
Several minutes later, Rosemary glanced up from the unappetizing food as Grace weakly called to her husband. Grace’s face had turned even more pale than usual, and Rosemary sensed alarm in her voice.
“Halwyn, I think we’d better head home and call the midwife. My water just broke.”
A flurry of activity followed, as Charlotte rose from the table and called for the butler, barking out orders for a carriage to be brought around to the front of the house as soon as possible, and for another person to deliver a message to the midwife. Saffron jumped around the room in her excitement, and insisted on accompanying Halwyn and Grace back to their home, along with Charlotte. In a few minutes, they were on their way for the drive of several blocks to Halwyn and Grace’s stately townhouse. George decided to retire to his library for the remainder of the evening. Valerian quickly finished his meal and left the house to spend some time with his horse in the carriage house behind the main home before heading to bed. The commotion evaporated as everyone departed, and quiet once again fell over the house.
