Instead, he said, “We can discuss it when you finish the book.”
Many months from now. Didn’t books take a great deal of time?
“All right,” she said and tucked the purse into her lap, but she seemed uncomfortable and asked if she might retire after only a few sips of port.
“I know you must be tired, Miss Beasley. All those kittens you had to cuddle.”
He would never forget the sight of Mina and Susannah sitting in the straw, each with a kitten held against a cheek and the other kittens tumbling over their laps.
Henry watched Susannah go up the grand staircase before making his way to his study. After his absence of more than a week, he had a sizable stack of correspondence waiting for him on his desk, and it included a letter from the Manwaring Brothers.
The Right Honble. The Earl of Ashthorpe
My lord,
We received your letter addressed to Mr. Augustus Puddlewick, the author of ‘The Tales of Tommy Treadwell’ and ‘The Further Adventures of Tommy Treadwell.’
We regret we are unable to forward the letter. Our accounts show that two different men, a Mr. Roger Beasley and a Mr. George Beasley, were the agents of sale when we purchased the Puddlewick manuscripts. However, we have not come across the Beasleys again in all these years and would not know where to find them.
Would you like us to hold the letter in case we ever do learn of Mr. Augustus Puddlewick or should we return it to you?
Yr. humble servant,
Lionel Manwaring
PS Forgive the impertinence of this request. If you ever manage to correspond with Mr. Puddlewick, would you kindly direct him to write to or visit us at our firm in London?
And Henry had his own letter to write.
Dear Aunt?—
I have returned to Bledsoe Park with Sir John’s message for you.
Regarding the matter for which I asked your assistance, please do not trouble yourself any further. I have changed my mind.
My apologies, and I am very grateful for any efforts you might have already made on my behalf.
Your nephew?—
AshthorpeHenry
Eleven
Her king wielded the executioner’s sword in the public square and beheaded two traitors—a general and a privy councillor.
That night, the concubine held her king and did not shame him for his tears.
—The Concubine and Her King.Unpublished MS.
Susannah found it difficult to dream up anything to write down when it felt like her own life had turned into a storybook. She would have thought the exact opposite, but it seemed simple surroundings inspired her fancy, while luxurious ones could not be improved on by her imagination.
She had a bedchamber fit for a queen, although she had been told that it was not in fact the bedchamber that had been built especially for Queen Elizabeth. She was grateful because she wouldn’t have been able to sleep a wink in a bed that had once held a queen.
But, still, her room was the size of the downstairs of the Beasley cottage, and the canopied bed had twice the breadth of any bed she’d ever seen. The contents of her sack took up scant inches in the clothes press, and everything was soft and silken and tinted in a blue that was halfway between the pale ice of the earl’s eyes and the dark blue around that lighter shade.
Not that she had been thinking about the earl’s eyes.
Lord Ashthorpe himself had given her a tour of the house, including the large library where a table had been designated for her writing. What her father would have given to have the use of this library! His first born, most likely.
