“Thank you.” The relief in Henry’s voice was palpable, and Ottilie’s heart ached for him.
“As a matter of fact, I’m pleased you’re coming with us to London tomorrow. We can meet with my publisher before I return to Kent.”
“Why should I need to meet with your publisher?” Henry asked.
“Didn’t I tell you? I gave him your book of poems, and I am sure he will have finished reading it by now.”
Ottilie gasped.
“Youwhat?”
“I read your work, and I was impressed. So, I gave it to my publisher, and after glancing through a few poems, he asked me to leave it with him.”
“Why?” Henry looked aghast.
“I assume he’s considering publishing it.”
“Henry, that’s wonderful!” Ottilie clasped her hands together.
“Didn’t you get my letter?” Henry frowned.
“The one where you asked me to burn your poems?”
“Yes, why didn’t you do as I asked?”
“Because you’re awriter, Henry. And there isn’t a writer in this world who hasn’t wanted to burn his manuscript at some point, only to rescue it from the embers, minutes later.”
“Do you really think he’ll publish Henry’s poems?” Ottilie had to restrain herself from hugging Jack.
“I cannot say for certain, but at the very least, he is considering it, so he must think Hudsyn’s work has promise.”
“I don’t know what to say—I can hardly believe this.” Henry removed his straw hat and ran a hand through his hair.
“There’s nothing for you to say.” Jack slapped Bastin on the back. “All you need do for now is meet with the publisher.”
Henry rubbed his forehead. “I need time to think on this.” He took a step forward and then stepped back again as if he could not decide what to do with himself. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling rather warm. I have a sudden urge to free myself of these clothes and dive into the ocean.” He pushed his hat back on his head and strode down the promenade toward the beach.
Ottilie’s chest constricted as she watched Henry march away. “I hope he will be all right,” she said.
“He’s feeling a little nervous, that’s all. Perhaps I should have consulted him before giving his work to my publisher. I acted too hastily.”
“No, you didn’t.” Ottilie turned to him. “You acted out of friendship and with great generosity. Thank you for that.”
A sheepish smile appeared on Jack’s lips, giving his face the appearance of boyish innocence. “He has talent and would have met with success without my help.”
“Still, that was kind of you, and I know Henry appreciates the gesture.”
Jack lowered his gaze, giving Ottilie a view of his long, black lashes. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very kind to you the last time we talked,” Jack said, lifting his dark eyes back to meet hers.
Heat prickled Ottilie’s neck. “No, you weren’t.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “There is no excuse for accusing you of—”
“Colludingwith Sir Richard, I believe you called it,” Ottilie concluded for him.
He nodded and hung his head like a shamed puppy.
“Thank you. I accept your apology.”
