“Minerva Press, my lord.”
Minerva Press was the publisher printing Fortuity’s stories. Matthew hurried to the doorway and accepted the carefullywrapped package that was the perfect size for a single copy of her book. “Thank you, Thebson. That will be all.”
“Very good, my lord.” The man nodded and closed the door, leaving Matthew to himself with what surely had to be Fortuity’s copy of her first of many books. This would most definitely make her feel better after the terrible day she’d had. He tucked it under his arm, tore out of her office, and vaulted up the stairs, his excitement growing with every step. She would be so very thrilled when she saw her name on the cover. His heart threatened to burst with love and pride. She had worked so hard for this, and now she could hold her dream in her hands.
He slowed when he reached their suite and quietly crept inside just as Mrs. Greer and Anne emerged from the bedroom. “Is she asleep?” he whispered, hoping they would tell him no.
Mrs. Greer fixed him with a stern look thatalmostbacked him up a step. “No, my lord, but she does not need to be disturbed.”
He held up the parcel. “Her dream has come true. I am certain this is a copy of her book. It is from her publisher. I thought that might brighten her day and help her feel at least a little better. Would you not agree?”
Both the housekeeper and Anne beamed at him with the widest of smiles.
“Do go in, my lord,” Mrs. Greer said. “What a fine way to make her feel better.” She held up a finger. “Mind you, the light hurts her eyes a bit, so I turned down the flame on her lamp. Just warn her before you adjust the wick and brighten it.”
“I will.” As excited as a lad escaping his lessons for the day, Matthew eased into the bedroom. “Fortuity,” he said in a loud whisper. “You have received a parcel, my love. A package I feel certain you will wish to open immediately.”
She lay on her side, holding her head and shielding her eyes from what little light filtered into the room from betweenthe closed draperies and the lowered flame of the oil lamp. “A parcel?” she replied weakly. “I am really not up to parcels right now.”
“It is from your publisher.” Surely that would tempt her.
Her deep sigh echoed through the dimly lit room like a lonely wraith rising from its grave. “Are you certain, Matthew? I do not feel well at all.”
“I am positive, my love. Minerva Press is stamped in great, bold letters on the wrappings.”
“Adjust the light,” she said with another heavy sigh. “But forgive me for not sitting upright. My head will surely split in two if I rise even a little.”
After turning up the flame, he eased down onto the side of the bed beside her, taking great care not to jostle her. “Shall I cut the twine for you?”
“Yes, please.”
With the aid of the wick trimmer for the night candle, he snipped the twine, then placed the loosely wrapped book in her hands. It was only right that she be the first to see the physical reality of her dream.
Squinting against the light, she pulled the brown paper wrapping away. The joyous smile Matthew expected never came. Instead, she puckered her brow with the slightest frown. Abruptly, she shoved the book back at him and rolled away from the light.
“Fortuity?”
“Take it away,” she bit out with a short hitching sob. “It is not my story—but yours.”
“What?” He turned the leather-bound book and read the gold lettering beneath the title she had so carefully chosen:Written by Lord Matthew Ravenglass.Hands trembling, he opened the cover to the title page, then bared his teeth. It also stated he was the author. “I shall go to the publisher this very moment andhave this heinous oversight corrected. All copies will be pulled and reprinted. I swear it.”
“It does not matter,” she said in a despondent whisper. “Dreams are for children.” She buried her face in her pillow and wailed with heartbreaking fury.
“Fortuity—” He touched her shoulder, but she shrugged him away.
“Just go, Matthew. Leave me and never return. You heap sorrow upon me from every direction.”
“I did not do this, Fortuity. Surely you know that.”
She rolled to the edge of the bed, grabbed the basin off the table, and retched into it. Sobbing as she finished heaving, she shook her head. “Leave me! Now!”
“I will fix this,” he swore as he backed toward the door. “I promise you.”
“Get out!” Her agony-filled shriek ripped through him.
“What in heaven’s name—” Mrs. Greer charged into the room, then hurried to the side of the bed. “Bless my dear lady. Bless your poor, aching soul.” She gave Matthew an angry scowl, then glared at the door, giving him a clear and urgent dismissal.
He tore out of the room, realizing too late that his coat remained behind. “Ablesby!”
