“What property?” Regina asked.
“I’ve been of a mind to get away from London for a while now,” Blayne said. “With my interest in plants, I’d like to have a spot of land to cultivate, maybe with a wee house on it. I dinnae require much in the way of a home, but a sizeable piece of property would be grand.” It would provide him with the freedom he’d started to crave since Guthrie had left The Black Swan. Blayne ran the St. Giles tavern on his own now and saved every hard-earned penny, but the place was different without his friend there, and with every passing day Blayne could feel himself getting older. It was time to move on and settle down to a quieter way of life.
“Then I hope you shall soon be able to acquire it,” Regina said. She raised her glass. “To Marcus’s medical aspirations and to Blayne’s countryside acquisition.”
Blayne drank and breathed a sigh of relief when the conversation turned to the recent coronation of George IV.
It appeared Regina’s idea of a ball had been forgotten for now, for which he was grateful. Aside from the obvious reasons he had for not wanting to attend, there was the more dreaded prospect of being recognized. As unlikely as it might be after twenty years in hiding, one couldn’t be too careful.
Least of all when one was on the run for murder.
Apprehension filled Charlotte Russell’s veins whenever she had to visit Carlisle & Co. Located on the east side of London, the publisher wasn’t in the worst possible neighborhood, but it certainly wasn’t in the finest one either. Poverty was still rife here, especially if one ventured near Dorset Street where filth and suffering appeared to be on the rise. Toxic fumes from industries such as tanning and dyeing permeated the air with a poisonous scent while the cries from unhappy children made her heart clench.
Dressed in the simplest gown she owned, Charlotte hoped to blend in with the people who lived and worked here while she visited her friend, Avery Carlisle. The pair had known each other since adolescence when a birthday party had brought them together. They’d looked forward to promising futures back then with dreams of marrying suitable gentlemen and settling down to the lives their parents envisioned.
Goodness, how quickly one’s situation could change. Avery’s mother had one day realized she’d rather sail the world with a roguish captain. When the couple ran off together, it plunged Avery’s father into a state so severe he’d eventually shot himself. The scandal had ruined Avery’s prospects completely, but at least she and her younger brother had been remembered in the will. Enough to start their own business.
As for Charlotte, she’d made her debut at the age of eighteen, but rather than succeed at snatching up an eligible gentleman for herself, she’d managed to pair them all off with other ladies. It had been, as her mother, Viscountess Elkins, had called it, an absolute disaster. But the truth was, Charlotte had longed for more than an untitled lord who only viewed her as his entrance to the peerage, an aging gentleman looking to snatch up a young bride, or a penniless fop whose only interest in her was based on her monetary value.
Instead, Charlotte had dreamed of adventure, of impassioned glances and stolen kisses. She’d wanted more than bland conversation and politely reserved conduct. What she’d sought was love – true love – the kind to spark jealousy in the hearts of those who’d chosen to marry for other reasons. She’d wanted a husband whose eyes would burn with desire whenever he saw her, who yearned for her as fervently as she yearned for him. And when she’d realized she sought the impossible, she’d given up trying to find it.
Eventually, desperate to make some progress, Charlotte’s mother had given her attention to Charlotte’s younger sisters, Melanie and Edwina. Both were now respectably married; Melanie to Sir Nichols, whom she’d wed a couple of years ago, and Edwina, to Mr. Henshaw, last month. Neither appeared to be the least bit besotted with their spouse, but then, they also hadn’t had the same romantic notions as Charlotte. With Melanie now residing in Yorkshire and Edwina tucked away in Devon, she had no expectation of seeing them more than once a year at most from now on.
Presently, at the advanced age of seven and twenty, Charlotte knew she was firmly on the shelf. She no longer dreamt of the happily-ever-after she’d wanted when she’d been presented at court. Instead, she lived vicariously through the characters in her stories. Her goal now was of an entirely different nature. It involved a quiet countryside cottage where she would be free to commit her imagination to paper. An independent life completely her own. One with no room for a husband at all.
“This third book of yours is utterly splendid,” Avery said. “There’s still the humor and excitement readers became familiar with in the first two novels, but this one has an added degree of maturity to it. Your writing is stronger and the plot… Well, I could scarcely turn the pages fast enough.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Charlotte said. “I wasn’t sure if the murder was convincing enough.”
“On the contrary, I thought that part worked really well. What I think you may need to look at is Lady Gertrude’s characterization. I fear some readers will find her too brazen when she and the marquess are first introduced. It seems a bit unrealistic.”
“You think I should soften her up.”
“Yes. If she grows more from experience, then the scene where she must overcome her fear of heights in order to help the hero would be so much stronger.”
“Hmm…”
“I have some notes.” Avery handed over a couple of pages for Charlotte to look at. “There are a few other minor details as well, like the inconsistent color of the marquess’s eyes and the elapsed number of years since Mrs. Verdanne, the victim, first arrived in London, along with the number of guests present at the dinner party she was attending when the crime was committed.”
“I see.” Charlotte scanned the notes and saw there was more than that. Several parts of the manuscript would have to be re-written, but she was used to this by now. Apparently, no matter how perfect she thought her story to be when she handed it over to Avery, there were plenty of mistakes to be found.
“With all of this taken into consideration, how long do you suppose it would take for you to review, revise, and return the corrected work?” Leaning forward, Avery met Charlotte’s gaze. “I ask because I think it would be wonderful if we could get the book into shops before Christmas.”
“Would a month be too long?”
“No. I think a month would be fine, but not a day more or it will have to wait to be printed until next year, in which case we miss out on the extra sales we ought to acquire during the holiday season. And since we will be aiming to move quickly on this, I should like to prepare the front and back matter for the book, which brings me to the title. Have you decided on one?”
Charlotte nodded. “What do you think ofThe Marquess’s Unresolved Mysteries?”
“Oh! It’s perfect, Charlotte. Completely in keeping with the previous titles and with a nod to the three old cases Lady Gertrude helps the marquess crack.”
“In that case, I shall leave you to sort out the front and back matter while I take care of the edits.” Retrieving her manuscript, Charlotte placed Avery’s notes on top and slid the stack of papers inside the folio she’d brought with her and stood.
“On another subject,” Avery said. Having also risen, she rounded her desk and faced Charlotte. “I think my brother, Albert, is quite besotted with you. He would most likely die if he learned I’d said anything, but is there a chance you might be willing to accept his attentions?”
“I’m afraid not,” Charlotte said. She gave her friend a pleasant smile. “My pursuits have changed. I no longer wish to marry but rather to avoid it.”
“He would support your writing, Charlotte.”
