Sophie’s throat bobbed as though she was trying to fight back tears. “I must. It’s my life’s work.”
Eleanor understood. She knew what it was to have built something through years of blood and sweat. There was nothing she wouldn’t have done to keep her work going. Nothing.
“Please offer Lillian a position of some kind. I cannot afford to keep her on without guaranteed work and she should not be thrust into unemployment because I am no longer what I was.”
Sophie reached a hand across the desk but Eleanor was too far away for her to catch. “If you’re willing, I will keep you too. You would be the best in no time.”
Take the offer, Eleanor.There was a mortgage to pay and no promise of work elsewhere, but the thought of walking back into that room and starting at the bottom was too much to bear. She shook her head. “I couldn’t. I can’t.”
It was the response Sophie clearly expected. Her shoulders sagged, and she slumped low in her chair. “What will you do?”
Eleanor shrugged. “I don’t know. Reach out to other publishers, I suppose. See if anyone will take on a dinosaur.” Her voice cracked, and she snapped her mouth shut before it could reveal too much.
Sophie closed her eyes for a long moment. “If I could make any other decision, I would.”
Desperate to keep her feelings constrained, Eleanor nodded instead of answering.
“Perhaps you’ll look back on this as a good thing.” Sophie gave a wan smile. “There is more to life than work. You could find a career that doesn’t consume you. You are the most educated woman of my acquaintance. You could choose a career that lets you have a family beyond your cat.”
A family. That thought was just another heartbreak. She had not needed a family because she’d had her work. Then the Captain had appeared and marriage had become a consideration. Now she had neither.
“When will the Linotypes be delivered?”
“By the end of the week. The duke reallocated the last few he had. They were meant to go to Goodman & Sons. I suppose he thought we could use the advantage.”
Eleanor wanted to believe that he’d done so as a final blow to her, but deep down she knew the truth. He’d wanted to help a smaller business over a larger one. She hated it, but it tracked with everything she didn’t want to acknowledge about him. “I will continue working until then,” she said. “I don’t want the schedule to fall behind, so I will stay as long as you need me.”
Sophie shook her head. “It’s unnecessary. I will pay you for the rest of the week, regardless.”
She fisted her hands, reaching for the last remaining mettle she had. “It is necessary. I will do the job I was hired to do until I am no longer needed. That is what makes a person.”
Dear Captain,
I lost my job today. The career that I’ve spent a lifetime building has vanished, and I still don’t understand how.
That’s not entirely true. I am painfully aware of the people and forces that contributed to my downfall, but I still have trouble wrapping my head around the events of the past months.
I struggle to believe that any of it could be true because I have never, not once, even considered this possibility. That was where I failed. I honestly believed that as long as I showed up, worked hard, and was the best at what I did, I would be fine. My success would be assured, and I could go to sleep knowing my worth.
Now I have been shoved into a rosebush with nothing to protect me from the thorns, and neither my talent nor my work ethic matter. I have absolutely no control over my life, and that terrifies me even more than the thought of losing my home, and my library, and my freedom to explore.
I’ve only just realized that I am a piece and not the player. How does one move forward when they have no control of the board?
I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. You didn’t meet me that night, and you haven’t responded to my last letter. I don’t know if you even received it. I lost you, too, didn’t I?
For what it’s worth, that cut is just as deep.
—Booklover
Chapter Twenty-Three
Edwina handed her brother a letter—seal perfectly intact—and watched him expectantly.
He shoved it into his pocket.
“Did he open it?” Jac asked. “I didn’t hear the wax break.”
“He did not,” Winnie replied curtly.
