“We were actually hoping you would,” Corwin said. “I’m sure Westcliffe will want to discuss it further. In any event he’ll make sure you receive the manuscript once it’s done.”
“Thank you. I look forward to it.”
“Meanwhile, we’ll likely be biting our nails in anticipation of your verdict,” Stratton told her. He jutted his chin toward the dance floor. “Looks like the quadrille is over. Here comes Westcliffe now.”
“Thankfully without his most recent partner,” Corwin murmured so low Ada almost missed the remark.
“I see you’ve been entertained during my absence,” Mr. Gibbs said as he came to join them.
“Very much so,” Ada said and immediately followed the comment with, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’ve almost finished the novel.”
“Ah…” He glanced around as if hoping to pluck an excuse out of thin air. His eyebrows snapped together. “I believe there were more pressing matters for us to discuss first.”
“Possibly,” she agreed. “And I’m not being critical of you. I’m just so ridiculously excited on all of your behalves.”
Mr. Gibbs grinned. “Thank you, Miss Quinn. I’m pleased to hear it.”
“She’s offered to proofread,” Stratton said.
“I would be honored to do so,” Ada informed them. “And since you know where to find me, you may drop the manuscript off as soon as it’s ready. I’m a quick reader too, so it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days to get you my notes.”
All three men’s eyebrows rose. “Notes?”
“Of course. I’m sure I’ll have some.” When they answered with blank looks she explained, “They will include some suggestions on things to elaborate on, corrections to be made, and possible alterations to the plot.”
“You cannot be serious. I thought you’d just look at spelling and grammar.” Corwin glanced at his friends, his rising panic visible in his wide-eyed expression. “Please tell me she’s having us on.”
“I don’t believe she is,” Stratton said while Mr. Gibbs looked like he was ready to toss himself over the side of a cliff. “Maybe we should ask someone else to proofread. My cousin’s ten-year-old son would probably do an excellent job.”
Ada scowled at them. “I realize this may not be what you wish to hear, but ask yourselves this: Would you rather publish a mediocre book or an excellent one? Which do you suppose will earn you more money?”
“Your point is annoyingly good,” Mr. Gibbs informed her in a dry tone.
“Thank you,” Ada chirped. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He grinned. “I believe our set is about to begin. Shall we?”
“Is this the country dance or the waltz,” she asked as he escorted her to the dance floor.
“The waltz.” He guided her into position and turned her toward him, his left hand clasping hers while his right settled neatly against her waist. “Just follow my lead and you will be fine.”
Ada took a deep breath and prayed he’d be right. The music started and off they went with him sweeping her into a gentle rhythm that forced her feet to move in time with his. He’d been right. It wasn’t as hard as she’d thought, provided he led her in the correct direction and she kept her toes from stepping on his.
“Stop thinking about it,” he murmured, catching her slightly off guard.
“I beg your pardon?”
He gave her a shrewd look. “I can practically hear you counting the steps and your posture’s so rigid I’m struggling to turn you.”
“Sorry, but in case you missed my earlier remark, I’ve not done this before. It’s new to me and quite frankly terrifying.”
“Hmm. What’s your favorite flower?”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with my fear of making a cake of myself.”
“Humor me, will you? I sent you several bouquets but I never learned which was your favorite.”
She sighed. “Peonies for their scent and anything yellow to brighten the mood.”
