Page 65 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘The maid found it, I invented some story about it being Captain Weyman’s and said Lucy had given it to me to make into ribbons.’

‘Quick thinking,’ he said, nodding in approval. ‘I must have removed it as I was dropping off last night.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘In the panic this morning, I didn’t even notice. I am sorry I put you in that position. I don’t know what came over me last night.’

‘You were inebriated.’

‘It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have let myself get like that to begin with. I’m far from a man obsessed with sobriety, but I do normally know my limits.’

Tom slowed his pace and then exerted a small amount of pressure on her arm, indicating they should stop. Jane glanced around, wondering where he was taking her with such secrecy, but before she could work it out Tom pulled her attention back to him.

‘You might not forgive me so easily for this.’

She frowned, not understanding him.

‘This morning, whilst you were checking the coast was clear downstairs, I saw a piece of paper sticking out of one of the drawers in your desk. It had the most wonderful painting on it.’ He held up his hands as if to defend himself. ‘I didn’t look further than the top two sheets, and even that I know is a gross invasion of privacy.’

Jane felt the blood flood to her cheeks. Even though she dreamed of being published, she hated showing people her work. It was unusual for a woman to have such ambition, to want to strike out on her own and pursue her talents beyond using them to amuse herself and her close friends and family. Hardly anyone except her younger sister had ever laid eyes on the pictures she painted, and the stories were guarded with even fiercer need for privacy.

‘You shouldn’t have...’

‘I know. Believe me, I know, but once I had seen them I couldn’t stop thinking about them.’

Jane spun round, finally realising where they must be.

‘There is a man I know from my school days. I have requested an appointment with him.’ Tom reached out as if to take her hand and then seemed to remember they were on a public street. ‘I have told him there is someone I would like him to meet, someone who’s work I think merits his attention, but I have not told him anything else.’

Jane looked over her shoulder. It was not a publisher she had been to before, although the name was familiar. When she had first arrived in London, she had begun by writing to a few of the more prestigious book publishers rather than traipsing round to their shops. It had not been very successful, but she did recognise the name above the shop here as one who had at least replied and told her gently they were not accepting new manuscripts at present.

‘The man who owns the business is Richard Hambly. As I said, I know him from school, but we were not close. He was older than me. He owes me nothing and the courtesy he does me is just for a meeting. If anything comes of this, it will be because of you, not because of me.’ He paused, looking at her earnestly. ‘I think your work has merit, Jane, and sometimes we have to take the small advantages granted to us in life.’

For a long moment Jane’s eyes flicked between Tom and the bookshop and then finally she nodded. Doing things her way hadn’t achieved anything so far. Perhaps having someone who was open at least to viewing her work was what she needed.

‘Good, come on. I will introduce you.’

They entered the shop and Jane paused for a moment, overwhelmed by the volume of books on display. They were beautifully bound and lined on the shelves with precision and care. Some had little stands that allowed the books to be displayed open, with their innermost secrets on show to the world. The shop seemed to stock a mixture of adults’ and children’s books and for the first time in a long time Jane felt a frisson of excitement. There was a reason this had originally been near the top of her list of publishers she wanted to approach.

‘Mr Stewart, good morning,’ a young man said as he stepped out of the room behind the counter. There was another man there, a clerk, who moved aside and busied himself with arranging a new stack of books on the shelves.

‘Good to see you again, Mr Hambly,’ Tom said, taking the other man’s proffered hand and shaking it. ‘May I introduce a good friend of mine, Miss Jane Ashworth?’

‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Ashworth. Why don’t you come through to my office and we can talk?’

He led the way through the door at the back of the shop to a neat office beyond, motioning for them to have a seat. There were some crates piled high in one corner and it looked as though he was still unpacking.

‘Sorry for the mess. I moved in here six months ago and I still haven’t got the room how I like it.’

‘It is a lovely shop, Mr Hambly,’ Jane said, trying to suppress the nervousness she was feeling.

‘Yes, I’m rather pleased with it. I moved from a few streets away as this is more prominent and gets more passing trade. I kept the old shop for all the printing equipment, but I do miss the whir and bang of the printing press as I work.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Mr Stewart said you have some work you would like me to consider.’

Jane picked up the packet of papers from her lap and slid out the manuscript she had spent so much time on. The paper felt heavy in her hands and she hesitated before handing it over.

‘I write children’s stories, Mr Hambly, and draw and paint the illustrations for them.’

The publisher leaned forward in his chair and took the proffered bundle.

Her heart was fluttering in her chest, feeling like a butterfly that was fighting to break free. Although she had been visiting publishers for the last few months, this was the first time that anyone had actually invited her to sit down and show her work. It felt like a momentous moment, although Jane was acutely aware any rejection now would be a direct response to her work.

‘What age group is this for, Miss Ashworth?’