“Miss Adora Dansey, the young niece of Sir Alfred Dansey. She played a small role inThe Bells of Clovercote, if you recall?”
He nodded in assent. “And the hero?”
“Lord Stuart Alexander Fortescue, an earl. He’s a new character. Very dashing.”
“And this outline that Lady Claridge dictated to you, may I see it?”
“I don’t have it with me.”
“It sounds promising, though I’m not certain you are the authoress to complete her work. You are untried, unpublished, and unmarried.”
“Soon to be married, don’t forget.”
“I suppose Lord Claridge could introduce you to society as his late aunt’s protégée.”
Over her dead body! Upon Lady Claridge’s death, her nephew, Lord Thomas Claridge, had inherited his aunt’s estate. Apparently, he’d considered Ana part of his inheritance as well. The day after the good Lady’s funeral, he’d made his intentions plain: she was to be his. There was to be no dissent. He’d been deep in his cups, and in the aftermath of their altercation had passed out unconscious on her bed. She’d fled Cornwall in the dead of night with only the clothes on her back and a small, precious bundle containing her father’s letters from the war and her mother’s jewelry.
“I wouldn’t require Lord Claridge’s patronage.”
“I beg to differ. His patronage is the only way you’ll be viewed with any respect from the literary community that embraced Lady Claridge.”
“I meant to say that I would have the patronage of someone far more elevated. My fiancé. Upon hearing his name you’ll understand why I speak the way I do.”
Mr. Norwood drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Ifyou reveal this illustrious fiancé of yours,ifyou move to a respectable address in Mayfair, andifyou produce the outline and at least half of the manuscript within the month, then, and only then, will I be willing to entertain the idea of granting you a publishing contract, Miss Crewe.”
“I understand completely, Mr. Norwood. All three terms will be met most expediently. You won’t be sorry, sir. As an intimate of Lady Claridge’s, I’m precisely the person to continue her series. I’ll be honoring her memory while bringing a fresh new perspective to her romantic tales of love lost and—”
“Of course,” he broke in with a predatory smile, “if you don’t produce said fiancé and said manuscript, you will promise to grant Norwood & Pennington sole ownership of Lady Claridge’s outline for her next novel, and we shall have full authority to hire someone else to finish the work.”
Ana took a deep breath. Where on earth was she supposed to find a titled fiancé, and how could she finish half a manuscript in a matter of weeks?
She had no choice. She mustn’t waste this chance to achieve her dream of being published.I’m sorry Princess Amsonia, she thought sadly,you’ll never reach any readers.
“In the meantime, Miss Crewe, I’m a very busy man...” He picked up his pen and began signing letters. She’d been dismissed.
“You’ll be hearing from me, Mr. Norwood.” She attempted to sweep from the room as she imagined a future noblewoman might, only succeeding in nearly knocking a statue of Plato off a pedestal. She caught it just in time, but Mr. Norwood didn’t even glance up from his desk.
He was so sure she was lying.
Shewaslying. Had she lost leave of her senses? What had possessed her to tell such spurious untruths? She hadn’t wanted him to win. She’d always been like that, rushing into battle armed only with her overactive imagination and the certainty that everything would turn out right in the end.
But life had proven that an optimistic outlook and a wide smile didn’t always turn the world in your favor.
Her father was still missing, presumed dead, though she refused to believe it. She clung to the hope that his body had never been recovered. That he was still out there somewhere, searching for her.
Oh, Papa. What have I done? What am I going to do?
The clerk smirked at her as she passed his desk, as if he’d been listening at the door and overheard her humiliation and desperate lies.
“Mr. Norwood said I could take one of your gift bags,” she said in a rush, snatching one off the table and darting for the door.
“Miss Crewe!” the clerk shouted, but she was already out the door and down the steps.
Heart stampeding, she ran down the street, dodging passersby, half expecting the clerk to pursue her. She didn’t think they’d brand her a thief, because of her connection with Lady Claridge, but it had been a dangerous thing to do.
She hadn’t left with her dignity intact, but at least she now possessed one of Norwood & Pennington’s congratulatory gifts.
Not that it would pay her rent.