Chapter Thirteen
Her interlude in the garden with Lord Rockford had settled something within Caroline’s spirit.
For the first time in her life, she felt both understood and appreciated.
More than that, he had genuine faith in her abilities.
And when she remembered how he could have enjoyed her right there and had resisted, well. It filled her with relief and respect.
It hadn’t been long after she returned to the ballroom that Caroline knew she wouldn’t have been pleased for the earl to take her up on such a scandalous offer. Not in the middle of a garden. Not with no greater thought or romance to it.
She did want romance now, it seemed. The thought of it, and the proud memory of Rockford’s good opinion of her, drove Caroline down to Cheapside and to Dunwell & Poole Publishing two days later. She’d taken Phyllis with her to speak with Mr. Dunwell himself.
Like most publishers, Mr. Dunwell did his business in a small, cramped series of rooms that were stacked with sheafs of pages and roughly bound manuscripts.
The smell of ink and glue seemed to permeate the air.
Caroline sat opposite her publisher at his desk, feeling a tad sorry for him. Mr. Dunwell was a beefy man in his fifties with a slouched, tired set to his shoulders and beads of sweat perpetually dotting the mostly bald pate of his head.
“Miss Devereux, before you say anything else, I have to repeat what I told you in my letter,” Mr. Dunwell said before she could open her mouth. “You’ve talent, but Masquerade at Seville is too ambitious a project for us at this time.”
Caroline couldn’t resist.
“If you’d known that Mr. C.D. Winthrop was actually a young man named Colin, would that have altered your opinion of the manuscript’s publishable state?”
The man pursed his lips and looked like he was doing a saintly job of being patient.
“You can’t fault us for taking your age and sex into consideration. I’m a businessman, my dear, not a philanthropist. Writing of history and religion, why, it’s a fair amount of strain on the young female mind. I wouldn’t want you to give yourself brain fever on my account. I’m not being old-fashioned, mind you, there’s doctors who’ll verify everything I’m telling you. I’ve science on my side.”
Caroline hadn’t come to cross mental blades with Mr. Dunwell. His mental blade was rather rusted and blunt, and she wasn’t in the mood for an easy victory. Instead, she had decided to meet him halfway.
“You said if I revised the manuscript, you might reconsider it for publication.” She remained calm and neutral. “Can you give me specifics?”
“Oh. Well, there are a few things.” He seemed surprised, but at least he was amenable to discussion. “For starters, the heroine, Imelda, is too rebellious. She argues with her father and is the first to realize that Lord Applegate is the Devil himself.”
“Yes, but she’s correct. No one else in the family believes her, which leads to the worst sorts of problems.”
“Perhaps it might be better if Imelda used her pure, feminine intuition in place of logic. Women are the more emotional sex, after all. Dear little things.”
Frankly Caroline had seen plenty of illogical, overly emotional men in her life whose blunders cost a tremendous amount. Women were usually the ones sweeping up the mess. But she bit back those words even as she clutched her reticule harder.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Also, when Imelda is forced to marry Lord Applegate, she spends the entire novel trying to outmaneuver him. They feel more like combatants than man and wife.”
“Well, most people don’t want to like the Devil.”
“No, of course not, but she’s too much of a match for him. If she were to allow her tender female sensibilities to be overcome with pity for him and if she were to come to love him in her own silly way, then we might have a novel that would appeal to the more conservative-minded readers.”
Caroline blinked. “You believe more conservative readers will want her to fall in love with the Devil?”
“No, but as a cautionary tale. To show how an innocent young woman can be led astray by her simple feelings, and how she should never have dared to attempt to struggle against the forces of evil. Being meek and subservient to her father should have been enough.”
Caroline wondered how women were able to live with people like this in the day-to-day without wanting to become murderers.
She’d give her father this, at least he thought her capable.
How nice it must be to spout the most inane ideas and have the world applaud you for them simply because you were male.
“Allow me to think on this, Mr. Dunwell,” she said flatly.
He sensed she was not enthusiastic, because he harrumphed and went back to writing on a piece of paper. “Very good, Miss Devereux. Oh, as to your next Gothic pamphlet—”
“It already has a title,” she said. “ The Shocking Fate of Bonnheim Palace. ”
“Yes. Very good. Well, off with you.”
Before leaving the office, Caroline looked back. “Mr. Dunwell, has that creditor been to see you again to ask about my identity?”
“Well, I’m not certain he was a creditor.” Dunwell huffed. “But yes, he’s been by another time. Horrible-looking fellow, tall and menacing. Mind you, he’s become rather insistent on getting your real name and address, and I’ve refused only because our authors’ privacy is paramount. Believe me, I don’t like shady figures coming in and harassing me at all hours.” He looked at her with a wounded pout that suggested he wanted to be petted and praised for defending her against the nameless brute.
“You are, as always, goodness itself,” Caroline drawled.
She motioned for Phyllis, and the pair of them went out the door and back into the hubbub of Cheapside.
Honestly, Caroline rather loved the vigorous world of trade.
Everything out in these streets seemed far more alive than the cloistered worlds of Regent or Grosvenor Square. Everything back home was meant to be as placid and organic as a painting. Down here, publishers, shopkeepers, and tavern owners squeezed in amongst one another looking for the promise of business.
“We shouldn’t dally, Miss Devereux.” Phyllis kept a hand to her bonnet as she looked about dizzily. “His Lordship will be expecting you home before tea.”
“His Lordship never expects me home.” Caroline gazed up at the buildings all around them and thought again of her father and his indifference.
She thought of Mr. Dunwell and his blitheringly foolish beliefs about what she was capable of as a woman. And those thoughts led her to consider Lord Rockford once again.
What a separate creature he was from the lords and publishers with whom she was acquainted. In Caroline’s experience, men fell into two camps: they believed her competent and left her to fend for herself, or they considered her an ignorant female pet that needed to be kenneled for her own safety.
Rockford was the first man who had ever seemed to fully admire her ambition and intelligence and also want to safeguard her. He’d sheltered her from prying eyes in the garden, from scandalous comments on the dance floor at Vauxhall.
He’d offered Caroline knowledge of the world, had initiated her into ecstasy and information. He did not think her feeble.
But he did not treat her as common, either. Quite the opposite.
Lord Rockford believes I can do this , Caroline thought to herself.
Suddenly, just walking out of Dunwell & Poole and accepting defeat without another word seemed less like common sense and more like cowardice. The earl’s flashing eyes and confident smile played through her mind once more, quickening her heartbeat as it gave her confidence.
“Let’s go back inside,” Caroline told her maid. “I’ve something more to say to Mr. Dunwell.”
“Yes, Miss.” Phyllis sounded like the most put-upon creature in the world.
The girls charged back through the door and into the cramped anteroom that gave way to Mr. Dunwell’s office.
Caroline froze when she saw through the open door that Mr. Dunwell was entertaining another visitor. This man was tall, well over six feet, with a broad back that stretched against the limits of his blue coat.
“Mr. C.D. Winthrop,” the man said. His accent indicated the working classes, and his strong presence indicated he was primarily a physical fellow. “I’m gettin’ tired of coming back here and asking, Mr. Dunwell. All I want’s some simple information. What’s his real name, and where’s he live?”
The voice was guttural and low. This fellow meant business, and it sounded like his business was never good. Phyllis clutched Caroline’s wrist in a panic.
“Now I’ve told you before,” Mr. Dunwell said, though he sounded rather nervous himself. “That information is privileged. We don’t give it out to anyone, especially without a reason.”
“I represent someone who very badly needs to speak with Mr. Winthrop. It’s an urgent matter.” The tall man strode nearer, and Caroline could hear Mr. Dunwell squeak. “My client isn’t used to not getting what they want. Mr. Winthrop should be made aware of that.”
Oh no. Caroline slowly backed away, Phyllis at her side. If Mr. Dunwell caught sight of her now, he might point in a panic and say, “There she is! That’s your C.D. Winthrop! Now leave me alone!”
After all, she thought bitterly, men do tend to be such emotional creatures.
The tall man turned as he heard the front door being opened. He had a hard face with a scowl that seemed well practiced.
“Run,” Caroline hissed. “Phyllis, run!”
The two of them fled out the door and down the street, not caring a damn that people were turning to watch and comment upon them as they went. Caroline realized how bloody urgent this business with Lord Rockford had become.
If that man back there had a client who needed to speak with her, who was used to getting his way, then Caroline never wanted to meet him. Not until she’d a fortune and a title to safely hide behind.
“We must stop running, Miss. People are starin’!” Phyllis cried. Caroline came to a halt but checked over her shoulder. She saw no one suspicious. And then…
He was so tall and so singular-looking that he sailed into view behind them, appearing grizzled and displeased.
Even if he wasn’t following her, Caroline needed to be away from that man, far out of sight. She ducked into an alleyway, pulling Phyllis after her. The two remained silent and tense as they watched, and as the tall dark-haired man walked in front of them.
Caroline almost screamed when he stopped just at the mouth of the alleyway, pausing to look around as if for someone. Then the huge man continued on his lumbering way, and Caroline leaned back against the brick wall, gasping with relief.
“Miss. That were simply too close,” Phyllis moaned. “Lord, what if he turns up at the house? I should die of fright.”
“Mr. Dunwell won’t give me away. I’m certain of it,” Caroline said, though with more emphasis than she really felt. She just had to hope that Dunwell’s ethics outlasted his courage.
She shut her eyes.
She needed to be married to the Earl of Rockford as quickly as possible. These last weeks of getting to know Rockford had been more exhilarating than she could have hoped. They filled her with joy as well as a sense of optimism, both of which were extremely welcome.
But that man was a very real threat and if she was not safely married by the time he came to call, she shuddered to think what might happen.
“I think we can go now, Phyllis.”
But before the women could move, a tall shadowy man came out from behind them and stood in the alleyway, blocking off their exit.
“Where are you going?” the large, surly man growled.