The butler nodded and stepped aside, immediately seeing to his greatcoat and top hat. “I’ll let Mr. Kingston know you’ve arrived, my lord,” the servant stated before he disappeared.
Matthew took a few steps into the main hall, his gaze darting to the busts of Greek gods and goddesses mounted on caryatids and placed at even intervals between closed doors. Surreptitiously glancing up the stairs, he had the niggling feeling he was being watched, but he didn’t see anyone.
“Mr. Kingston will see you in his study,” the butler stated, waving to one of the doors that was now ajar.
Matthew nodded and stepped into the study, his attention immediately going to the huge bookshelf that took up the entire wall behind the publisher’s desk. The leather-bound volumes that filled the shelves were neatly arranged, their spines foiled in gold.
In front of the bookshelf, Cornelius Kingston immediately stood from his leather chair and bowed. “Lord Wingfield, it’s an honor to meet you. I am Cornelius Kingston.”
“Mr. Kingston, the honor is mine. Thank you for agreeing to see me on a Sunday,” Matthew stated.
“Please, have a seat,” his host offered.
Matthew glanced about before taking the proffered chair, noting only a single window above a leather-covered sofa behind him. The faint odors of pipe tobacco and ink hung in the air. As soon as Catherine’s father sat down, Matthew began speaking, unable to contain himself.
“Mr. Kingston, I wish to marry your daughter, Catherine. I, uh, I secured her agreement last evening. However, she later learned I possess a title and expressed her dismay.”
“Dismay I assure you she has since overcome, my lord,” Cornelius said.
Blinking, Matthew edged forward in his chair. “What’s this?”
Cornelius shrugged. “She might be an educated woman—I wasn’t about to raise an empty-headed daughter,” he claimed. “But during her sessions with tutors, it seems she developed an intense dislike of how our country is run.”
“She informed me of her opinion. One I share, actually,” Matthew said. “Along with a love of literature, or at least, novels.”
“Ah,” Cornelius said, settling back in his chair. “Is it true you wish to assist her in starting her own publishing company? One that would compete with my own?”
Straightening in his chair, Matthew considered how to respond. “I am not convinced she wishes tocompetewith you, sir, but rather offer books you are not inclined to publish through Kingston Publishing.”
Cornelius dipped his head. “I attempted to gain more insight into her thoughts when she informed me of her plans this morning,” he said, stroking his chin with a thumb and forefinger. “I admit to being surprised… nay, confounded by her ideas.”
“Since you have plans to marry and no doubt sire an heir, she was left with the impression she would not be inheriting your company,” Matthew explained.
“An incorrect presumption on her part,” Cornelius countered.
Matthew furrowed his brows. “You’re not getting married?”
“Oh, I’m getting married,” Cornelius assured him. “And, yes, I may one day be a father again, but I’m not counting on it. As for Catherine, I refuse to hire her for any of the positions at my company because she doesn’t need to work there to know what it is I do—she’s known her entire life what it is I do, and she’s perfectly capable of doing it after I’m dead.”
Giving a start, Matthew cleared his throat. “Would you take exception if she should like to do what you do right now?”
“As a competitor? Absolutely,” Cornelius stated firmly.
“Notas a competitor,” Matthew countered. “As a… an affiliated company. Adaughtercompany, so to speak.”
Cornelius blinked several times. “An affiliated company? With my name, you mean?”
Matthew shrugged. “Whatever name she wishes to call it.”
“She wouldn’t steal authors from me?”
“No, because the sorts of books she would like to publish are very different from those you publish, sir.”
Cornelius displayed a look of suspicion. “What sorts of books?”
Matthew dipped his head. “Novels, sir. Fictional tales offering their readers an escape from reality. Not like those from Minerva Press, though,” he explained, an involuntary shudder accompanying his comment. “No horror. No gothic novels.”
Scoffing, Cornelius considered his words. “I cannot believe my Catherine would wish to be involved in such frivolous books.”
