“That is true,” Sophie replied.
“And why would you want to set an entire line at a time? If you find a mistake in the proof, you have to create another entire line. If there’s a mistake in my proofs—which there never is, I’ll have you know—I simply need to replace that single letter. That would take a tenth of the time.”
Sophie reached across the desk, placing a firm and reassuring palm on the mahogany. “Which is why I told himI was not interested. Why change a thing when it’s working so well?”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly. So put it out of your mind.”
Eleanor took a deep breath. She would do just that. She glanced down at the pamphlet, which she’d unwittingly crushed. The ink hadn’t been set properly. It had stained her fingers and there was the smallest smudge of black on her pristine gown. Typical. The manufacturer of this Linotype was promising to revolutionize publishing and couldn’t even set ink properly. What a hack. “Dash it. I must wash my hands before this gets all over me.” She dropped the pamphlet on the desk.
Sophie picked it up and tossed it in the trash can. “Go enjoy the zoo. Come back and tell me all about the echidna.”
Chapter Three
But Eleanor would not be able to tell anyone a thing about the echidna, at least not more than what was written on the plaque outside its enclosure, because the creatures refused to show themselves. So, too, did the wombats and the duck-billed platypuses—platypi?
The only animals that could be seen in the Australian enclosure at the London Zoological Society were a koala curled up in the fork of a branch and a Tasmanian tiger that paced back and forth in its cage, its eyes firmly fixed on her. She reminded herself that if the bars were strong enough to keep lions at bay, they could easily withstand an attack by the dog-sized thylacine, whose build was scrawny and whose stripes made it look more so.
Still, she was agitated. No matter how fast she had walked or how often she shook out her hands or circled her shoulders, it still felt like bugs were crawling over her. The zoo was her happy place. It was supposed to reknit her fraying edges, but that damned Linotype had stirred up dread she’d never experienced. It was existential in nature, as though the entire world was about to shift and shake, and she wasn’t sure where her place would be in the aftermath.
The only certainty was that the Duke of Strafford was responsible for her current disquiet. What right did he have barging into her home and trying to change things? He should keep to his own affairs—whatever it was that aristocrats did with their time. It was the height of arrogance to meddle in someone else’s business, and for profit all the more. Trust a man to come in, balls-forward, and suggest that he knew better than those who’d been in the industry for decades. Well, he would get his comeuppance. No one had asked for his contraption, and no one needed or wanted it.
Forcefully releasing a breath as though she could expel the dread with it, Eleanor turned her attention back to the platypus enclosure, searching the small man-made river for any hint of movement beneath the surface. The sign—neat letters in an unnecessarily plain font stenciled onto polished wood—stated that they were primarily nocturnal animals. The wombats were as well, apparently, which could explain why there were so few people in this particular enclosure, since, in principle, visitors came to stare at the animals, not mounds of dirt, rocks, and mud.
She heard footsteps behind her. “That’s disappointing.” The man’s voice was warm, like mulled wine on a winter evening. She turned toward it, hands moving on their own to neaten her skirts.
He was exquisite. His deep brown hair, touched with gray, framed perfect eyes—rich ochre flecked with gold and rimmed with chocolate. His skin was lightly tanned, and his dark lashes directed her gaze to his, the way good architecture or a perfectly designed cover might. His lips were soft and symmetrical, with delicate curves that reached up at the corners as he smiled at her.
Good God.His jaw could have been hewn from marble. It was as though the Lord had gotten bored with all his other creations and had chosen this man to be his masterpiece. Other men were mere studies compared to him.
Goose bumps prickled across her arms as he arched a brow. She cleared her throat and took a step back, removing herself from his magnet-like pull.
“What’s disappointing?” A half-second later she realized that he must be talking about the absent animals. “They’re nocturnal,” she said, quickly covering her error.
The man took a step closer to the window, his nose almost pressed against it. “A nighttime viewing at the zoo might be more effective.”
“They’ve done them.” Now that his attention had shifted to the animals, her brain could function. “But nighttime viewings don’t exactly provide insight into the animals. They are more focused on fireworks and music and racing ostriches.”
The man whipped his head around to look at her. “You canraceostriches?”
Eleanor nodded, lips pursed. “They harness small wagons to them and you can race them for a ha’penny.” She had declined the opportunity when it was presented to her. She wanted to study the animals, not toy with them. There was nothing on this earth that she didn’t feel the urge to learn about, but respecting a subject was necessary to truly understand it.
“That feels…” He cocked his head, as though searching for the right word.
“Exploitative?”
“Exactly.” He paused. “Although I suppose it’s no different from the elephant rides.”
A familiar jolt of enthusiasm quickened her brain. “Did youknow that there are almost twenty thousand elephants in the transport system in Thailand?”
The stranger blinked. “I did not know that. I suppose it would come with significant logistical issues.” There was something in his tone of voice that suggested they were both imagining the likely worst issue with an elephant-based transport system. London could barely keep up with horse excrement on the roads. Elephant dung was significantly larger.
But ladies didn’t discuss such things, so she parried with another tidbit. “Elephants have a penchant for alcohol and have been known to tear entire camps apart to get their trunks around a case of sato. Could you imagine an elephant deep in his cups let loose in St. James’s Square? The toffs would run screaming in all directions.”
He furrowed his brows. “Most people would go screaming in all directions.”
“True. At least the elephants here seem to be teetotalers. I’ve yet to see one stumbling around trumpeting a mournful tale of how he’s been done wrong.” She was rambling. Why on earth was she rambling?
