“Then I will stay in the carriage and finish the book,” she grumbled. “I just cannot stop here.”
She looked up, and her eyes glittered. “The heroine and hero are about to kiss! It’s been three books, and theystillhaven’t kissed, and now, at last, they’re finally going to! I couldn’t possibly put the book down now.”
“It’s been three novels, and the characters haven’t kissed?” Nathan was baffled. “I thought it was a romantic novel.”
Rosalie sighed and flipped the page. “Romantic novels are best when they have a slow build,” she explained. “When there is tension that builds over many chapters and when you don’t know if they will ever actually get together, that’s what keeps women coming back to them.”
“Hmm.” Nathan wasn’t sure he understood this, but then again, there was much about women he didn’t understand.
Like the fact that his wife was reading in the carriage on the way to her cousin’s ball when he thought she ought to be kissing him instead.
Maybe I need to woo her like in that book. Maybe she wants that slow build as well.
The thought excited him; it was like a game, a challenge, a way of showing her that he was listening to her and what she wanted out of romance.
She turned another page of the book, her eyes wide with anticipation and excitement, but then her face fell.
“What is it?” he asked at once.
“Oh, it’s just that they didn’t kiss. Again.” She sighed and closed the book. “I was so sure it was about to happen. They had never been so close before.”
“It almost feels as if the author is teasing you on purpose,” Nathan pointed out. “Playing with your expectations, getting your hopes up, and then pulling back at the last possible moment. It sounds to me as if this author is a bit of a prankster.”
“I think the author just wants to sell more books,” she said with a laugh. “But perhaps it is also fun for him. I don’t know.”
“It’s a man, then, who writes those books?”
Rosalie wrinkled her nose. “But of course!”
“I’m just a little surprised, considering you said that women mostly read them.”
“Well, yes, but…” Rosalie paused. She looked thunderstruck. “It never occurred to me before that a woman could write a romantic novel,” she said slowly. “I’ve never seen one written by a woman. Even the few novels I have seen that are by ladies usually do not have their names printed on them.”
“It’s possible that some of the novels that say they are written by men are actually written by women, but the publisher gives them a man’s name to make them more acceptable to sell.”
“You really think so?” Rosalie looked shocked. “That’s so unfair to the women who write them!”
“Yes, it’s unfair that women writers aren’t taken seriously,” Nathan agreed, “but it’s possible they want the books sold under men’s names so that they will sell more copies. There is more money in a novel written by a man than by a woman after all.”
“I suppose so…” Rosalie bit her lip. “Still, it makes me sad to think that women writers are so looked down upon that they would have to disguise their sex. Women can be wonderful storytellers!”
“I agree. But most people still think that women having careers, especially well to do women, will take away from their duties inthe home. It’s the same reason why women are not allowed to be educated at colleges and universities.”
Rosalie was watching him with interest now. “But you disagree with that?”
Nathan shrugged. “I have met too many idiotic men and too many smart women to believe in such narrow conceptions of what men and women should and shouldn’t do. But what do I know?”
“I like the idea of women writing novels,” Rosalie said, sitting back on the bench and smiling to herself.
“So do I. In fact…” Nathan hesitated. It was an idea he had been thinking about for a while, but he didn’t know how she would feel about it. “Perhaps you should try?—”
“Oh, we have arrived!” Rosalie exclaimed, interrupting him as she clapped her hands together and gazed out the window. “Despite everything, it feels good to be back home!”
Nathan glanced out the carriage window as it pulled to a halt. They’d arrived outside of the Viscount of Carfield’s residence where Rosalie had grown up, now in possession of her cousin. Lanterns were lining the path on the way up to the front door, and garlands of paper stars and moons were hung between the trees. They glittered as they caught the candlelight of the lanterns.
“Oh my, Niles’ wife really did go overboard,” Rosalie giggled. “I don’t think it’s bad, though. Just perhaps a tad unusual…”
The footman opened the door, and Rosalie grabbed her book from the bench and made to put it in her reticule. Nathan, however, reached out and put his hand over hers.
