Chapter 2 #2
“Calthorps, now,” said Viveca, teasing.
“Papa and Mama were Sirens when they passed, so we’ll forever be Sirens in our hearts, I suppose.”
“Well said, sister,” said Viveca.
Saskia always knew how to put what was in their hearts into words.
“And we Sirens can be a serious-minded lot,” she continued, “so it’s useful for us all to have something to settle our busy minds. So, Tessa has tea blending.”
“Exactly right,” said Viveca. “And heaven knows it won’t be our niece Clara or the niece or nephew on the way who will be settling her mind.”
“Isn’t Clara just one of us Sirens?” asked Saskia, and they both laughed.
“Poor Tessa,” said Viveca. “She’s the best mother, isn’t she?”
“The very best,” replied Saskia.
They knew this as absolute fact, for they’d experienced Tessa’s mothering skills firsthand.
After Papa and Mama had perished within six months of each other—Papa had been struck down in the street by a dray horse and Mama fell victim to a swift-moving fever—life choices had been small pickings for the remaining family of four children.
Gabriel and Tessa had been eight and nine years old, respectively, and able to fend for themselves in the way of so many of London’s orphaned children—through the workhouse or by joining a gang and picking the pockets of London’s unsuspecting populace.
But as toddlers, Viveca and Saskia had been too young for any such activity.
However, Providence had had other ideas for the Siren orphans.
Father had clerked for a prominent Gray’s Inn barrister called Mr. Ainsworth.
He’d known Gabriel to possess intellectual gifts, so he’d sponsored a scholarship to Eton College, where Gabriel quickly fulfilled his promise and proved himself a genius with numbers.
Soon, Gabriel was doing all the other boys’ revisions—those who could pay, of course—and was sending the money to Tessa, who was using it to pay the landlord, buy food, and take care of their young sisters.
In those early years, it had been Tessa who had kept the family together. Neither Viveca nor Saskia had ever known want or deprivation. Tessa had made sure of it.
And what a ride life had taken them on since.
Several years ago, Gabriel had used all his Eton and Cambridge connections to establish London’s most exclusive gaming hell, The Archangel, which Tessa ran alongside him, for she was no slouch with numbers herself.
But when Gabriel had up and become the Duke of Acaster two years ago—another unforeseen turn on the ride of Life—and then Tessa became a marchioness that same year, they’d decided to sell their majority stake in The Archangel to none other than Blaze Jagger.
And the thing was, just now, there hadn’t been the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes when they’d spoken.
He didn’t know her for Lady Viveca Calthorp, sister of his business partners.
Likely for the best, she supposed.
She speared her first bite of cake when an object caught the edge of her eye. Not precisely an object, but a stack of papers on the white pine bench below the window. She jutted her chin. “What is that?”
Items related to Sirens were generally strewn about every room in the house, except the kitchen. Mrs. Stanton had rules about paper near fire. Namely, there was to be none.
Saskia hardly glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, well, I’ve been meaning to mention that. It’s a—”
“Is it a manuscript?” interrupted Viveca, already rising to her feet. She grabbed the thick stack and returned to the table, whereupon she began flipping pages. Her brow crinkled. “This is the oddest thing…”
“What is?”
Viveca held up a page that read, Untitled by Miss Harriet LaPlume. “It’s been printed by a press, yet it’s unpublished.” Printing was prohibitively expensive for the general public. “Did you see who submitted it?”
“I believe it might’ve arrived by post?”
Viveca’s brow didn’t release. “Huh.”
“Perhaps,” ventured Saskia, “the author wishes to keep their identity hidden.”
Viveca snorted. “I’m not bloody likely to recognize a stranger’s handwriting, now am I?”
“I suppose not.”
“Have you read it?”
“I have.”
“Is it any good?”
“I believe so.”
Viveca’s head canted. That was a most unusual answer coming from her sister.
Saskia never believed so, she knew so.
“Is it a romance?”
This was the first question Viveca should have asked.
When she and Saskia had formed their vision of Sirens, it had been as a dual enterprise—both circulating library and publisher.
And not just any publisher, but the leading publisher of romances in all England.
Two years later, Sirens could only be characterized as a middling success.
They’d accumulated a base of loyal members who were renewing every year, but nothing like their more prosperous rivals, Lackington’s and Hatchard’s.
Not that Gabriel and Tessa put pressure on them to thrive, but Viveca knew Saskia felt that pressure as keenly as she. It had been a huge accomplishment when Sirens became financially independent from their siblings this year and started paying all its own bills.
But the biggest disappointment so far was that all the releases from their publishing house had met with a decidedly tepid response from the public.
And honestly, Viveca understood. The more successful publishers were receiving the best submissions and snapping them up.
Sirens, so far, had been getting the remaining scraps.
But surely, one exceptional manuscript would eventually slip through to them and they would have their first big success.
Then they would transition from merely paying the bills to actual, verifiable profit.
And this manuscript could be the one.
Well, the odds were that it wasn’t.
But sometimes the odds were wrong.
Saskia reached across the table, as if to take the manuscript. “Perhaps I should give it another read before bothering you with it.”
Instinctively, Viveca gathered the manuscript closer.
“As it happens, I just finished one last night—all about fishing in Scotland, which, in truth, a sizable portion of our members would find absolutely scintillating—so the timing for this one couldn’t be more perfect. I’m in desperate need for a romance.”
Saskia wasn’t giving up. Her hand remained extended, and there was the familiar mulish set of her jaw. “Truly, you don’t have to, if you—”
Viveca picked up the book and tested its weight. “And a hefty one, too. It could be four or five volumes, or even serialized. We haven’t tried that yet, and I’ve heard Hatchard’s is doing great numbers with serialization.”
Viveca loved possibility.
It might be her favorite thing in the world, this feeling.
Like knowing—just knowing—that around the corner lay something wondrous, and all one had to do to reach it was keep moving forward…keep exploring.
“Mm-hmm.”
Viveca eyes narrowed on her sister. “Are you feeling quite all right? You’re looking a little peaked.”
Saskia rubbed her temples and began nodding. “Yes, I think shall go lie down, if you don’t mind clearing up here.”
“Of course,” said Viveca, absently ruffling the pages of the manuscript. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”
Could this book be a wondrous thing?
Time would tell all.
The thing was success was a family condition for the Sirens.
Success…
Again, her thoughts turned toward Sirens Circulating Library’s newest member.
As successful as Gabriel and Tessa had made The Archangel, Viveca had picked up murmurings here and there at various ton gatherings that under the stewardship of Blaze Jagger, The Archangel was flourishing more than ever.
Of course, that could simply be the momentum that Gabriel and Tessa had set in motion gathering speed.
Or…it could be down to the talents of Jagger.
Likely, a combination of both, for if Jagger were going to run the club into the ground, two years was plenty of time to have done so already.
And all without knowing how to read.
What a fascinating man Blaze Jagger was, and she couldn’t help wondering if she would ever see him again.
Here was that feeling again—possibility.
Around the corner of Blaze Jagger, did something wondrous lie?