She locked those thoughts away now lest one of her guests comment on her color. Fortunately they busied themselves accepting cups of tea or coffee from Jocelyn and nabbing little cakes with their fingertips.
“The printing will be finished tomorrow and the subscribers’ copies will go in the mail by week’s end,” Althea said. “Clara met with our delivery women on Monday, and each will come by and receive the copies she will bring to the bookshops to which she attends.”
Lady Farnsworth, black-haired and steely-eyed, balanced her cup and saucer in one hand while perusing a proof of the journal with another. “It is certainly the most impressive volume so far. I think the order of the entries gives it a certain gravitas without appearing so weighty as to bore one silly.”
Lady Farnsworth’s own essay came first in that order. She was one of their contributors who used her real name, and a political report by the widow of a baron did lend gravitas to the journal. As politically minded as any man, Lady Farnsworth might not be received by the finest ladies, who disliked her growing eccentricity, but it was said the smartest men welcomed her company. As to her social standing, she had long ago become outspoken in her opinions on what she called the tribal oddities of the ton. Well into the autumn of her life, she had ceased caring who liked her.
Clara and Althea had decided Lady Farnsworth’s reports alone would give the journal credibility and had been delighted when their invitation to write forParnassushad been accepted. At least they might stifle any criticism that a journal full of apparently anonymous writers might well be the work of only one person.
“I am more impressed by how well the printer engraved the drawings I had made,” Lady Grace said. She wiped her delicate fingers on a linen, lest the sugar in the cakes mar her impeccably designed silk ensemble. Lady Grace always wore garments that made Clara envious, and her tall, willowy form enhanced those fashions perfectly. Add her delicate face, very dark hair, and a rosebud mouth, and other women might be excused for hating her. “He will include those pages correctly, I hope.”
“We have seen the first copies off the press, and he has handled it expertly,” Clara said. Those pages had cost a pretty penny. She could not deny that an essay on fashion was much enhanced by drawings of those fashions. IfParnassusever had to pay its own way, however, that might be a luxury it could not afford.
“It all appears in order,” Lady Farnsworth said, setting the proof aside. “You have outdone yourself. I daresay we should be toasting with something more celebratory than coffee.”
“I have no ratafia, regrettably.”
“Whatdoyou have?”
Althea gave Clara an impish smile. “Yes, what do you have? Surely there is something here for medicinal purposes.”
“I suppose there may be some sherry. Jocelyn, see if you can find the sherry and four glasses.”
Jocelyn had no trouble finding it since it lived in a nearby cupboard where it might be removed easily, illness or not. Indeed, Clara kept some glasses right there with it.
Lady Farnsworth took the decanter and poured herself a full glass before passing it back to Jocelyn. The maid did the honors for the rest of them.
“Oh, look, you published another one of Mrs. Clark’s poems. I am so glad,” Lady Grace said. She still reviewed her own proof, spread on her lap. “Oh, my, this one is rather pointedly satirical.” She read while she sipped. Little laughs punctuated her concentration. “Is her name really Mrs. Clark?”
“It is.”
“There are thousands of Mrs. Clarks in London, so she might as well use it,” Lady Farnsworth said. “A name like that is as good as being anonymous.”Unlike my name, which is known far and wide and takes courage to use, she might as well have added, since her comment included that implication.
“Will we do another volume before the Season is out?” Lady Grace asked. “I ask so that I know whether to make notes as I attend the parties.”
“I would like to try and publish every other month, if we can manage it,” Clara said. “Now that I am living here, I can bring in some help more easily, so it does not all fall to Althea and me.”
Lady Farnsworth’s eyebrows arched high. “You are living here?” Not much surprised Lady Farnsworth, but from her tone this had.
“I moved here last week.”
“Is that wise? I mean, a woman alone . . .”
“I am not alone and will be less alone as the servants I hired start coming.”
“Your grandmother cannot have approved, not that she approves of much anyway.” Lady Farnsworth never hid her dislike of Clara’s grandmother. The two of them were of the same generation, and Clara surmised there had been some unpleasantness between them in years past.
Lady Grace giggled. “I think it is safe to say she did not. I am correct, am I not, Clara? But our Clara is courageous, and I say brava! If my brother were not so malleable, I would be tempted to do the same.” She set down her glass. “I must take my leave now. I look forward to receiving my copy, Clara. You and Althea have a fine journal there, and it will be all the talk.”
She stood. Lady Farnsworth unburdened herself of her refreshments and stood as well. “That will not be all that is the talk,” she murmured.
Once Clara saw them out, she returned to find Althea flipping through one of the proofs.
“We outdid ourselves, if I do say so, Clara. However, every two months may be too ambitious.”
“We will not know until we try.”
“We will need more contributors, however. If you publish that frequently, it cannot always be the same names and voices.”
