“Excellent.” The man wiped his hand on his trousers and extended it to Brody. “I’m Mr. Hudson, owner of this here enterprise.”
Inhaling deeply, Brody accepted the handshake. “Mr. Evans, aspiring editor.”
Mr. Hudson grinned and rocked back on his heels. “Come on. Let’s have a chat in the office.”
Brody was led toward Mr. Hudson’s desk, which stood amid four others. An extra chair was acquired so Brody could sit. He did so at the same time as Mr. Hudson, making sure to keep his face averted from the widow, lest he be discovered by someone he knew.
“Tell me about your schooling,” said Mr. Hudson.
“Um…” Brody wasn’t sure he ought to mention his private tutor, Eton, or Oxford. He finally settled on, “It was thorough.”
“So you can read and write?”
Brody gaped at him. Surely his attire spoke for itself. “Of course.”
“Just making sure since the job does require such skill.”
Brody sent him a tight smile. “How much does it pay?”
“Six shillings a week.”
It was hard to hide the extent of his disappointment. Six shillings was barely more than what his downstairs maid received. He’d hoped this job would earn him a lot more and had to remind himself of its added benefit.
“And what precisely does the position entail?”
“You’ll be reading. Pick a pile, start at the top, and work your way through it. If an opening sentence grabs you, read the paragraph. If you’re still hooked, keep reading until you lose interest. If you don’t by the time you’ve reached the third chapter, recommend the story to me. That’s it.”
“Will you provide me with an indication of what you might be looking for?”
“The next bestselling author. Plain and simple.” Mr. Hudson drummed his fingers on his armrest. “Well?”
Brody glanced around and decided there were worse things in life than having to sit in a room with five other men and read. Especially since he had nothing better to do with his time. And if the job led to a publishing contract, it would be worth every second.
If not, he could always quit.
“I accept,” he told Mr. Hudson. “When do I start?”
“At once,” Mr. Hudson informed him. He showed Brody to a small desk in the far corner of the room and gestured toward the manuscripts stacked in various piles. “Start reading and let me know if you think you’ve struck gold.”
3
Harriet Michaels rushed around the street corner before stopping to catch her breath. Her heart raced faster than a curricle bound for Gretna Greene. It was him. The same man who’d bumped into her last week on her way to work.
Her pace had been brisk that morning, her thoughts on the bright and happy future she hoped to ensure for her younger sister, Lucy. She’d turned onto Holborn and—oomph. The handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on ploughed straight into her.
The very man who’d just entered her place of employment, knocking her sideways once more and turning her world upside down.
With one hand braced against the brick siding, she closed her eyes briefly and focused on getting her nerves to stop hopping about in her stomach.
What was he doing here?
Not looking for her. That much was clear. The lack of recognition she’d seen on his face suggested that colliding with others was such a common occurrence for him, he paid no attention to whom he collided with. She huffed a breath. Just as well since having others take note of her wasn’t in her best interest.
With her black locks cropped in a masculine style and the clothes she elected to wear, she’d managed to hide her sex, and in so doing had acquired a job that not only earned her a decent wage but that she also enjoyed. A rarity, for people in her position. But she’d worked hard, proven herself, and was well enough educated to outperform anyone else looking for similar work.
And with a twelve-year-old sister to care for, it was imperative she kept her head down, avoided attracting attention, and prevented her employer from figuring out she was a woman. He’d most likely sack her on the spot if he knew. Not only because she’d deceived him, but because the business she dealt in had been reserved for men.
Pushing away from the wall, she recommenced walking. The errand she had to run, collecting the recently ordered title block for a novel they’d start printing tomorrow, would hopefully distract her from those sky-blue eyes. A task she’d found unreasonably difficult to accomplish since her first encounter with whomever the gentleman happened to be.
