I HAVE TO PRINT IT
This just might work.
Caroline read through her article about the fundraiser one last time before turning it in to Mr. Wallace.
Reed had been perfect that afternoon. Not only had he handed over a very large bank note and purchased two paintings, but for the first time in her life, Caroline had witnessed her brother actually charm people. He’d made small talk with the donors, complimented the hospital staff, and most impressive of all, he’d met with several of the children to offer encouragement and they’d all seemed quite cheerful afterward.
Raised to be a land steward, Reed had always mocked such niceties in the past, valuing work above all else. Something had changed, and Caroline attributed the change to Goldie’s influence.
She’d spent more time on this article than the others. Because this one actually mattered. In writing it, she’d imparted not only Reed’s generosity but the good work being done there. She’d included the address where ongoing donations could be sent.
Perhaps the society page didn’t need to consist of meaningless drivel, after all. She could use it for good.
“Do you have that last article for me to look at?”
Caroline glanced up. She was so caught up in her work, she’d not heard the managing editor come in. “Right here.” She stood, handing it over.
She rubbed her hands together, anxious to watch the printing press in action.
When she’d first returned, the office had been mostly quiet. But in the hour since she’d sat writing her article about Tuesday’s Choice, she’d heard the vague greetings from downstairs as others arrived. The clangs and clacks of active machinery reached her from the floor below, along with the distant chatter of the workers, almost soothing in the way it all blended together.
Without acknowledging her again, Mr. Wallace drifted back to his own desk.
There was nothing else to do but go downstairs—something she’d actually been anxious to do—so why weren’t her feet moving?
Her innards did a little flip.
She wanted to see how the paper was actually made. She wanted to watch the compositors at work and begin reading over proofs. Unfortunately, that meant meeting new people. And the last time she had been forced to meet a roomful of new people, she’d made a ninny of herself.
It’s not the same.
She touched the corner of her eye to keep it from twitching while she tried to think of what she would say to her co-workers. As a member of the ton, she wasn’t supposed to acknowledge anyone without an introduction. But this wasn’t a ballroom.
It was a workplace.
Footsteps tapping in the stairwell warned her someone was approaching. She straightened her shoulders and ran through her best introductions. Hello, I’m… who was she? Not Lady Caroline. Oh! Miss Smith—Miss Caroline Smith.
Should she provide her first name? How do you do? I’m Mr. Black’s newest hire. No. Pleased to meet you. I’m the new society writer, Miss Smith. Yes. That sounded appropriate.
Facing the door, she twisted her mouth into what she hoped looked like a confident smile.
But it was not one of her co-workers.
“Are you coming down?” Mr. Black’s stare was more knowing than she’d like. She only held it for a second, shaken by the way her heart jumped.
“Yes. Um.” Caroline glanced at her desk as though she’d been looking for something. “I was just…”
“We’ve plenty of pencils downstairs.” He folded his arms across his chest and slouched against the doorframe. “You’re nervous.”
He knew. And since he knew, she didn’t bother trying to deny it. “Obviously.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I’m fine when it comes to meeting with just a few people… but groups…” Caroline winced. “I can’t help but worry I’m going to do it again.”
“I thought you only embarrassed yourself at ton events.”
“Yes, well. It’s not just the ton. It’s more about familiarity. Unfortunately, I’ve tremendous practice at making a fool of myself when I’m… new. The first time it happened, I was attending a house party at my aunt and uncle’s country estate.”
“Seabridge Manor?”
“Yes. Have you been?”
