ChapterTwenty-One
Despair froze Andrew’s heart, and disgust clawed at his stomach.Georgiana couldn’t–wouldn’t–break free of her toxic family.She clung to comfort and her work.She no longer wanted him, and she didn’t need him.
Anger drove him in a wild frenzy away from Mountview, down pitted country lanes until he reached the Brighton Road where he turned away from the Sussex coast and north toward Cambridge.Twenty miles of blind rage and bone-rattling speed later, he slowed his chaise.The road led to Cambridge, but it passed through London.
London.The road aimed directly at London.The red fog that choked his mind began to clear, and an idea crystallized in its place.She may not want him, but she wanted her work.Very well, Lady Georgiana, I will give it to you.
She told him to send her notes back when he got to Cambridge.She didn’t specify the form.Andrew resolved to give it to her as a printed book.Why not?He was a partner in the enterprise.It was his work too.Besides, he had burned his bridges with Selby and Cambridge.It may be all I have to show for my work.
The idea steadied him.He’d publish the book on his own, and they’d be done.He drove on to London in light of the full moon.By the next morning, Andrew had put up at the Pulteney Hotel, taken a suite of rooms, sent for Harley, and begun to search out printers.
Two weeks and seventeen rejections later, he found himself in the hotel dining room glowering at Jamie Heyworth over dinner, a black mood wrapped around him like a cloak.
“You say you’ve been in town for over a week?You might have called.”Jamie’s affront looked sincere, but it didn’t hinder his appetite.He reached for another chop at Andrew’s expense.
Andrew’s glower deepened.Jamie did Glenaire’s bidding again.Damn Richard Hayden.Even when Andrew turned on a whim to make an unplanned journey to London, Glenaire managed to know about it.Every innkeeper in England must be in his employ.Andrew may as well accept that he would never free himself of Glenaire’s interference and stop blaming Jamie.
“You would have welcomed a visitor?”he ground out grudgingly.
“My rooms aren’t much, but I’d have been happy to welcome you.Of course, with pockets to let, I’m notmuch of a host.Perhaps you knew that.”Jamie’s charm hid a storehouse of insecurities.A deadbeat father and newly acquired bankrupt estate were heavy burdens.
Andrew tried to make amends.“I don’t care a fig for the state of your rooms.I’m just preoccupied.Came to town on business, not to socialize.Sorry to neglect old friends.”
“Can’t blame you, though.The damnable Haydens keep me tied up in their affairs.”Jamie looked shamefaced.“I can’t blame you if you’re angry.”
“What does Richard want this time?”
“Naught, I swear it.At least naught that he’ll tell me.I think sometimes he asks me things so he has an excuse to give me money, not because he needs my help.Saw him yesterday.He mentioned; he thought you were in town.Didn’t ask for anything.Knew I’d track you down, though.I can’t afford to lose old friends.New ones are all puppies who don’t know what’s up or understand what it was like out there.”
That much was true.Waterloo and what passed before marked everyone who fought there.Andrew’s scars were visible; Jamie’s were no less real.The young bucks of London had no idea.
“Andrew!Are you woolgathering or wishing me to perdition?”Jamie didn’t sound offended.He rarely did.
“Woolgathering.I warned you I was preoccupied.”
“How is your business faring?”
“Doesn’t Richard know?”
“Give it over, Andrew.He never said why you’re here, if he knows.”
“He doesn’t.”He knew this probably was nottrue.Andrew took fresh horses at the Frog and Porter and turned directly to London.Somehow, Glenaire knew that much.Jamie’s comments made it clear.Glenaire probably had him followed while he searched out every publisher and printer he could locate.He probably knew everything.
“It hasn’t gone well–my business, I mean.”
“Sorry to hear it.”Jamie helped himself to more capon.“You look dog-tired.”
Andrew grimaced.“Beyond tired,” he said.“I’ve been searching for a printer for over a week.Most won’t touch the work.Not enough popular appeal.”
“Scholarly stuff?”
Andrew didn’t dissemble well either.Glenaire probably knew in any case or would soon.“It isn’t my work, at least not entirely.It’s Lady Georgiana’s.”
“Odd’s blood!No wonder Richard has been in a bother.Lady Georgie’s scraps and bits are to be made into a book?”
“Most of the major printers won’t have it.They say it’s too esoteric.That is when they’re being kind.When gentlemen want translations, they look for books by University scholars.”
“Are they right?”Jamie didn’t read enough to have an opinion.
