Chapter Twenty-Two
One way toavoid unwanted callers was to be out. Eli made it his priority to keep Fanny busy and at his side. He wouldn’t make Thursday’s mistake again. With the weekend looming, he decided visits to publishing houses would be their first task Friday morning.
“I’m not certain what you expect to accomplish,” Fanny repeated for the third time after he handed her into the Benson carriage. Susan, the maid Lucy had sent along for propriety’s sake, sat in the rear-facing seat. Eli climbed in beside Fanny.
“Clarion asked me to investigate publishing houses and report back. It is, in fact, the final task on the list he gave me, and I’m determined to do it.”
“Why is my presence required?” she asked tartly.
“Required? No. He suggested you knew much more about the business of books and publishing than I, which would not be difficult considering I know nothing at all,” Eli said.
“Now tell me the truth. Why is Clarion suddenly interested in publishing? Does he plan to invest?” she asked.
“Alas, he is forced by circumstance to invest carefully and that particular industry seems risky to us. They will not know that, however,” he said.
“Truth, Eli,” she demanded, tapping one finger on her knee. “Did you tell him about my ambitions?”
“I may have mentioned it in my report. He asked for all matters pertaining to your needs and plans. Do you mind, truly?”
“I’m gratified that he took my ambitions seriously enough to send his steward to learn more about the business. Pleased, really, but promise me you don’t plan to introduce me to these men as a writer,” Fanny said.
He studied her slowly, unable to ignore her palpable tension. “How have you communicated with them in the past?”
“I wrote to them. I sent manuscripts—no easy task. I sign my name as F. Hancock,” she explained.
“Masking your gender? Wise, perhaps, but unfortunate,” he said.
“It was that or ‘The Rose of Lincolnshire,’ and that made me sound foolish,” she replied.
That bit of nonsense made him grin, which bought him an answering smile.
She fumbled in her reticule. “I made a list for you because I knew you would ask.”
“List?”
“Of the three who have seen—and rejected—my work in the past,” she explained, handing it over.
“You came prepared!” He scanned it quickly. “Minerva, T. Hookham, and R and W Dean. That’s it? Not A. K. Newman? I thought they—But we’ll get a feel for all of them.”
By the second office, they had a successful process. Eli introduced himself as an agent of the Earl of Clarion, leaving Fanny’s role vague, although her incessant note-taking could be interpreted as the publishers chose. He would allude to a general interest in the industry without ever explicitly stating an interest in investment. He would ask three questions: What are your sales figures? What sorts of books do you publish (looking, of course, for romantic fiction, which Fanny had suggested defined her work)? How do you judge a new author?
By lunchtime, when they found a lovely little tea shop just off Regent Street, Eli had information about six different publishers, two of which he could eliminate out of hand, and an animated companion. Her enthusiasm for the project overflowed.
“Shall we continue? We can visit a half dozen more this afternoon,” he suggested. Her passionate yes gratified him more than he could put into words.
The little maid, who had loyally followed them, waiting patiently in the carriage at each stop, had blushed when Eli had brought her in to sit at a small table at the rear of the shop. She smiled as they climbed back into the carriage.
“Thank goodness for Rob’s carriage, if you plan to seek out six more. I’m afraid walking would leave me too weary to speak,” Fanny said, her face a mask of joy.
“I think you would walk the length of England to publish,” Eli retorted. He directed the coachman to T. Hookham on Bond Street.
Hookham’s premises were fine, and the owner’s sons struck Eli as professional. He would rate them as “possible,” though they had rejected Fanny’s work once. Markington-Hughes was easily dismissed after twenty minutes with the smug and ingratiating owner, whose interest appeared to be political. He continued to think A. K. Newman was a possibility.
John Murray proved to be less somber than he feared, yet fiction amounted to a minor part of their business. The publisher made certain they understood the success ofNorthanger Abbey, reminding Fanny she still needed the final two volumes.
They concluded their day at Hatchards so Fanny could do that. She also bought one of the Minerva novels for Susan, in thanks.
Eli took the proprietor aside and soon had a pile of books, one from each of the publishers he deemed “likely,” ones the bookstore workers assured him were typical of the publishers’ offerings. When Fanny tried to protest, he insisted he would need them for his report for Clarion. If he also planned to suggest that she evaluate them and analyze her own work for type and appropriateness for each publisher, well, he would save that for later.
