Mrs.Potter nodded and took another sip of hot tea against the chill.A moment of silence passed companionably before she said, “Have you heard from that scoundrel, Andrew Mallet?”
“My messages to his house came back undelivered.I have no idea where he is.”She fumed inwardly.She returned to find her notes in good order but incomplete.He had taken more in her absence and returned nothing.No notes.No translations.No Andrew.With luck, she would move in a few weeks.Without the work, she had no idea how she would fill her days once she did.
Georgiana jumped when a wrinkled hand reached over to pat hers.The naked sympathy in Mrs.Potter’s knowing eyes shattered her.Her voice, thick with tears, protested.“Don’t weave fairy stories, Edwina.I am angry about my work, only the work.”
* * *
“A woman you say?”
“Yes,” Andrew replied.“It’s important for you to understand that the primary author of the work is a woman.She did the preliminary research and the final translations.”
Bailey’s print shop, Andrew’s last chance, lay tucked in a small alley, the public mews really, just off Fleet Street.The place proved to be a happy surprise.Windows displayed a number of lovingly printed works.Most of them were poetry and history; there were no gossip rags or caricatures.It gave Andrew hope.
“Y’don’t say!Poems by women.Greek.Translated by a woman?”
John Bailey, a small, balding man with perpetually rolled sleeves and an ink-stained nose, looked amused.He grinned infectiously.“Always did believe their minds work as well as ours.Better in some ways.Might make it a novelty to some folks, generate some interest that way.”
The little man rubbed his chin doubtfully.Finding him had been a stroke of luck.He asked to see the work and left Andrew to cool his heels while he read it through.He handled the manuscript with care—and the respect it deserved—as he spoke.
“Marvelous work.What’s the lady’s name?”
“The lady prefers to remain anonymous.”
“Pity that.Most of them do.Not that I’ve seen this work from a woman before.More than a pastime, this.”
“The lady is a scholar.”
“I can see that.Can’t go to those fancy university presses, though, can she?”
“No.She can’t.”
“Still, if we’re to do business, Mr.Mallet, perhaps you best tell me what you’re struggling so hard to hide.”
Bailey’s was a small establishment with two to three books in wide distribution.He relied on small print runs from the aristocracy to stay in business.He might notwant to risk the wrath of the Haydens.Andrew owed him honesty.
“The lady is the Duke of Sudbury’s daughter.”
Bailey’s whistle was low and slow.“That bunch won’t like the uproar, if there is one, now would they?Might add interest.”
“No.The lady will remain anonymous.”
“Pity that.And you act as her agent?”
“Yes.”Andrew didn’t hesitate.They had shaken hands.He was her partner.
“Fair enough.Too fine a work to go by the wayside, Mr.Mallet.Shall we talk business?”
* * *
“Do you plan to marry,Lady Georgiana?”Peabody beamed at her.Georgiana regretted the impulse that led her to ask him if he had changed his opinion about her ability to bear children.He had been so sure in her first visits, but that was months ago.She felt much better now.Strength and energy filled her.Her monthly problems had disappeared.It seemed pointless now, however.She felt like a fool for asking.
“No, Mr.Peabody, of course not.It is just that my courses have become normal.”If anything, they had slowed and were late this month for the first time.“I feel infinitely healthier due to your regime.I wondered, that is all.”
The little man’s brown eyes warmed with sympathy.“I am delighted to hear that you feel so much better.You are remembering the dark green vegetables, I hope?”
“I had difficulty with some details of your regime while at Mountview, but now that I am home, I am following them to the letter.”She wondered briefly how she would manage the Yorkshire spring with few funds, but she put the thought away.The other parts of her instructions would be easier without a high-strung chef to contend with.Henri paled at the thought of brewing tea from nettles, alfalfa, and seaweed.She had learned to do it herself very quickly.It had been easier to brew the tea than to gain access to Henri’s kitchen, but she had managed.Beef tea, herbal tea, bushels of dark green vegetables, and iron-rich water—taken together they worked magic.
“Splendid!As to fertility, I can’t say for certain.I wouldn’t be unhappy to be wrong, but unless you put it to the test, we won’t know, will we?Still, I see no barrier to you taking a husband if you wish.”
