“And finally,” Archie continued with a flourish, “the most important rule of Earls Trip . . .”
They spoke in unison. “What happens on Earls Trip stays on Earls Trip.”
Leander awakened and added, “Go!”
Chapter 2
Editorial Independence
Mr. Glanvil was running late.
Mr. Glanvil was always running late, though, so Julianna wasn’t sure why she was so aroused over this particular occurrence of tardiness. But as she sat outside his office attempting to edit a recipe for teeth cleaning and whitening, she grew increasingly agitated.
Hewas the one who insisted on these weekly meetings. Meetings that, even when they commenced at the appointed hour, were a waste of her time. When he made her wait to see him, the affront compounded but not usually to this degree.
She sighed and set down her papers.
It was because Effie was bound for Brighton.
It made her happy to think of her dear friend turning her face to the sun, letting the sea water and air do its good work.
She and Effie had corresponded, in recent months, about the concept of holidays. Effie took quite a lot of them. Which was unsurprising, for Julianna suspected that Euphemia Turner was the daughter of a gentleman. Perhaps even a member of the aristocracy.
Julianna, by contrast, did not take holidays. She could not afford to, in more ways than one. While her modest savings might have permitted a short jaunt to a place like Brighton, she pinched every penny. Ambition required sacrifice.
That’s what she told herself, anyway.
More to the point, she couldn’t afford the time away from the magazine.
The magazine above all.
Julianna had a few adages she lived by, a collection of directives that shaped her thinking and therefore her behavior.The magazine above allwas paramount among them, a kind of secular First Commandment.
Shehadconsidered taking a holiday. In the summer, when the July and August issues were combined and the editorial and production schedules therefore less harried than usual, she might have, for example, hopped on a London-to-Brighton coach and enjoyed a brief respite. She had long wanted to try sea-bathing. Something about the sea called to her—theoretically, for she had never seen it.
But she didn’t have anyone with whom to travel. If she wanted to make such a journey, it would have to be alone.
Could she even get away with it? She was unmarried. She didn’t have a maid.
Pish. She ordered herself to abandon such fancy. She wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’twantto go anywhere.The magazine above all.
She just . . . got distracted sometimes by the crashing of imaginary waves on an imaginary shore.
The door to Mr. Glanvil’s office opened, and the man himself appeared.
“Julianna! My apologies for keeping you waiting. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Ryan. He’s a whaler out of Massachusetts, and we’ve struck a deal to ship whale oil here.”
Mr. Glanvil had inherited his late father’s shipping business.
Unfortunately, he had also inherited Julianna’s late father’s magazine.
“Mr. Ryan, my sister, Miss Julianna Evans, edits a little magazine I own.”
A little magazine.
Julianna’s head burst into flame as she dipped into a curtsy. “Mr. Glanvil and I are not related by blood,” she said calmly as her head burned. “My mother married his late father seven years ago.”
“Mr. Ryan runs whaling ships out of a place in America called New Bedford,” Mr. Glanvil said, appearing not to have heard her disavowal of him. “Whaling ships! Can you imagine?”
