“All right.” I fumbled with the clasp then pulled out the pouch containing my manuscript. I held it out, my hands shaking. After losing the title page to the neighbor’s garden, I had to create another one in a hasty scrawl, else I could miss my appointment time. I prayed Moran liked it, regardless.
He flipped open the pouch and slipped out the pages. “Kneeling at the Altar of Achilles. I wasn't expecting that title from a woman.”
I was more than pleased by his compliment. “It was difficult to craft something which epitomized my story. Ophelia is the daughter of an earl and has to choose between two men as she tries to solve the mystery surrounding an ancient altar. A gothic novel at its finest.” Ophelia was based on my alter ego, a brave woman who fought all odds to gain what she wanted. Unlike me, she wasn’t a wallflower or a spinster invisible to everyone but her family. Men adored her, and she’d the respect of everyonearound her. There were no ghosts in my ancestral home, but adventure lurked in every corner of my imagination.
His smile turned into a grimace. “This is a gothic novel?”
“Yes, it is. I mentioned it in my introduction letter. Didn’t you read it?”
“I liked your title.” He flipped the pages back onto the desk and pushed them over to me. “Sorry, I’m not interested.”
My hand flew to my neck, terror setting in. I had to speak to the publisher. “Mr. Moran hasn’t seen it yet.”
“I’mMr. Moran, and I have seen it. By the title, I expected something different; something that is more aligned with the other books I’ve published.” He drummed his fingers on the table, the rude gesture speaking of his impatient nature. “Alas, I’m not interested in it. But thank you for coming.”
My hopes dashed, I stared at him with horror. “How would you know if you liked it? You read none of it. I assure you it is quite thrilling, I—”
“I’m sure it is. I don’t, however, have any more room in my portfolio for a typical gothic novel. I need something that excites my readers.” He pressed his lips together, his thick eyebrows furrowed.
“My manuscript is exciting. If you simply read it, you will see.” I had put my heart and soul into the work. The servants gathered around the fire each night as I read the story. They had hung on my every word. Moran spoke in riddles, and I wished he would be clearer.
He tapped one blunt finger against his chin, his brown eyes direct. “When I said excite, I didn’t mean in the mental sense.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. My story is a love triangle wrapped around a mystery. Will she choose between the dark knight or Lord Golden? I can assure you that women will flock to read the story for the romance, men for the action.” The man on the pedestal in the duke’s garden was Lord Golden cometo life, his sculptured body a masterstroke of bone and sinew. Before today, I hadn’t seen a naked man other than in pictures.Hewas everything I imagined my hero to look like. The other man had been dark-haired and brooding, rather like the dark knight. Both men had been too far away to see anything in great detail, yet close enough to titillate my imagination.
After a weighty pause, Moran sighed. “Look, you seem like a pleasant young lady, and while I’m sure your book is perfectly acceptable, it isn’t what I’m looking for.”
Tears pressed at the back of my eyes, and I tried to keep my composure. This man was rude. Even if he wished to publish my book, I wasn’t sure I wanted to work with him. Unfortunately, when faced with confrontation, I broke down in tears. One fell down my cheek, and I wiped it away.
“Do not cry, Mr., er, Miss Lillian. Since you came all this way, I’ll read a few pages and give you my initial opinion.” The starkness of his stare softened, and he picked up the first few pages.
I was somewhat placated by his concession and tried to control my emotional outburst.
With a sigh, he began to read.
Although he was doing what I wished, the sign of weakness on my part was humiliating. I removed my handkerchief from the briefcase and dabbed at my face.
The silence between us was broken by noises from the street. I had such high hopes when I walked through the door. If he didn’t wish to publish my story, I would find out what I needed to do for him to change his mind.
He put the sheets down and leaned back in his chair. “Your writing style grabbed my attention. Lord Golden and the dark knight are stellar names but lose Ophelia. The name is overdone in the genre. What other works do you have?”
“My other works?” I had been working on this book for most of the year. “I’m afraid I have no other finished manuscripts. I do have several books plotted out. I—”
“I recommend you write several more and present them together to another publisher.” With one hand, he lifted a glass full of amber liquid. He drank down the contents, wincing before he dropped the glass back on the desk’s surface
Mr. Moran was sauced. I stood and stuffed the manuscript into the leather. Misery hit me. I had sent requests for an audience to over twenty-nine publishers. He was the only one who responded. “Tell me, Mr. Moran, what books are you looking for?”
“The kind of books that excite a certain target audience. Gothic novels appeal to the masses.”
“They are all the rage,” I said in defense of my preferred works of fiction. The authors he scoffed at put lots of work and imagination into their books.
“They are the rage. And I currently have enough of them to publish for the next ten years. I don’t need anymore, thank you. However, if I was presented with a book of a more niche nature ...” He retrieved a bottle from somewhere on his cluttered desk and poured another glass of scotch.
“More niche. Can you be more explicit?” I had no idea what he was referring to, but I was curious.
He studied me for a long moment. “I’m afraid an innocent woman wouldn’t be able to write such a novel. It requires life experience.”
“I have never met a ghost, yet I have written about them. A genuine writer uses her imagination.” My imagination had been pricked after viewing the men in the garden. Is that what he meant? I had to be careful with what I said. Even I knew what they were doing was forbidden.
