“Yes, my lord?” The valet stepped out into the hallway from Matthew’s adjoining dressing room.
“I need a coat. I am going out immediately.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Ablesby dashed back into the dressing room and quickly reappeared with the items needed. “Here you are, my lord. Do you require your cloak? The day has become considerably warmer.”
“No. My frustration will keep me heated enough, thank you.” Matthew dashed back down the stairs, bellowing, “Thebson! Thomas! My coach! Immediately!”
He would make this right for Fortuity even if he had to throttle A.K. Newman with his bare hands. How on earth had they made such a grave error when only Fortuity’s name had been on everything submitted? He found it inconceivable.
“Thomas and Mr. Turnmaster shall be around with the coach momentarily, my lord,” Thebson said as he offered Matthew his hat and gloves. “Mr. Turnmaster prepared it when informed of her ladyship’s illness in case additional help was needed. I do hope our lady has not taken a turn for the worse?”
Matthew found reassurance in the butler’s genuine concern. “She is not well, Thebson, not well at all, but it is my intention to get things sorted, so she will soon feel better.”
“I indeed hope so, my lord. Godspeed to you.”
Thomas the footman burst in through the front door, then came up short and tried to adopt a composed demeanor. “Beg pardon, my lord. Carriage is ready. Mr. Turnmaster wasted no time.”
“Indeed, he did not.” Matthew followed the footman out and climbed into the carriage.
“Where to, my lord?” Mr. Turnmaster asked.
“Thirty-three Leadenhall Street, and make haste as much as possible in this London traffic,” Matthew replied. Perhaps he should’ve ridden his horse rather than bothered with the carriage. Damn this sorry day. It had turned him into a mindless fool.
“’Twill be done, my lord.”
As the carriage lurched into motion, Matthew stared down at the book, still unable to believe the error. Fortuity’s abject disappointment and heartbreak played over and over in his mind.Gads alive!Why the devil had he not unwrapped the bloody thing and looked at it before carrying it up to her? “I am the greatest sort of idiot.”
All he had wanted to do was make her feel better and share in her joy when she realized her dream. But instead, he had broken her heart and torn her soul asunder. He had absolutely crushed her. “This will be made right,” he said with a low growl as he stared out the window. “This isherbook, and all shall know it.”
The ride through the crowded London streets seemed interminable. When they finally reached Minerva Press, Matthew leapt from the coach before it rolled to a complete stop and marched into the establishment, letting the door bang shut behind him.
“Might I be helping you, sir?” asked the startled clerk from behind the counter.
“Lord Ravenglass to see Mr. Newman. Immediately.”
“I… Uhm… Yes. I see. One moment, my lord.” The lad bobbed a polite nod, then rushed down a narrow hallway to the right of the counter.
Matthew rocked up onto the balls of his feet as if preparing to spar at Gentleman Jackson’s club. He felt like sparring and would not regret doing so if he did not get satisfaction regarding the reprinting of the book.
“Lord Ravenglass.” Arthur King Newman, the partner who had taken over upon the retirement of William Lane, the founder of Minerva Press in 1773, hurried to open the swinging door that led to the hallway beside the counter. “Do come back to my office, my lord. My clerk seems to think something is amiss. Surely he is incorrect.”
“He is not incorrect,” Matthew said as he charged down the hall and into the only office walled off from the printing and binding operations. He paused long enough to allow Newman to close the door, then charged toward him brandishing the misprinted book. “Would you care to explain why I am listed as the author of this work, and my wife is not?”
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” The gentleman appeared not only confused but thoroughly shocked. He dodged to one side, caught hold of the book, and backed away with it clutched to his chest. “Forgive me, but did she not apprise you of her decision?”
“Herdecision?”
The publisher tapped on the book’s cover. “She requested that you be listed as the author, so a wider range of readers would accept the book. Quite a wise marketing decision, if you ask me. Upon reading her letter, I heartily agreed, and ensured that the change was made before the copies went to print.”
Matthew stared at the man, his roiling emotions making it difficult to fully comprehend what the publisher claimed. “Lady Ravenglass asked that her name be removed and rather than state the author as anonymous, she requested you usemyname?”
Newman nodded but remained close to the door. He looked ready to make a hasty exit to save his sorry hide.
Cowardice rolled off the man in steady waves, but Matthew sensed he was telling the truth. Newman was too afraid to lie—a wise decision on his part.
“Show me this letter,” Matthew said through clenched teeth.
