Julianna had so often felt, in recent days, a lack of belonging, as if she didn’t fit in anywhere. She hadn’t seen a way to ameliorate that.You’ve chosen a lonely life, Amy said. Julianna had chosen the magazine above all else, and she had—she’d thought—accepted the lonely consequences of that decision. She hadn’t, historically, even regarded those consequences as lonely.
Until him.
Once again, her mind was undergoing such a rapid reckoning that she had to force herself to consider his words.You have been speaking about marriage as if it is something that happens to you.
“For women,” she said, “it usually is.”
“I am aware, but you are not an average woman. I have never met someone, woman or man, so utterly in control of her destiny.”
“You are wrong. If I were in control of my destiny, I would not have to fight my mother’s late husband’s son for control of my magazine.” That might be beside the point here, beside the reckoning, but she could not resist pointing it out. “I would not have needed to control the person who is dearest to me in all the world as if he were a doll.” The shame was still fresh.
“It is true that you and Mr. Glanvil are frequently at odds, but I do not take that to mean you are not in control of your destiny. I suppose I am speaking more of your temperament, your mental posture. You make things happen. For example, that Pavilion tour. You don’t hesitate to tell people when they’re being daft. For example, the boys and I and our over-worry about propriety in Brighton.”
He paused. Smiled. “And as for the rest, you have an idea of what marriage would mean for you, but I think you’re discounting theyoupart of the scenario. That’s what I’m saying about you being in control of your destiny. It’s as true in matters of sentiment as it is in matters of business. You have impeccable judgment. I’m not saying there is no risk of heartbreak when one considers matrimony, but I’m also not asking you to marry me.”
The anti-proposal: it stung. The fact that she was disappointed was telling, wasn’t it?
“I have come to tell you that I’ve made some changes in my life, largely inspired by you,” Effie said. “I’ve left home. Not that it was ever home, not really. I’ve left my father’s house.”
He proceeded to spin the most amazing tale. He’d found a brother, and she was so happy for him on that account. He had rented rooms. He was, effectively if not legally, leaving his title behind. It was all very astonishing. It was all very brave. But Effie was very brave, wasn’t he?
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Effie repeated. Also repeated: the pang of disappointment in her chest. “But I do have two questions. First, will you go into business with me?”
“I beg your pardon?” What could he mean?
“I was meant to appear here with an item that would make my case better than I shall be able to, but that plan proved impractical. It turns out when you’re changing your dream in the corporeal world, large objects can’t float up several flights of stairs as easily as the ghosts that haunt them.”
“What are you speaking of?” Why was this all so befuddling? “You were meant to appear here with ‘an item’?”
“Yes. I bought a hand press.”
“You bought a hand press?” Julianna was aware that she was doing nothing more than parroting what Effie was saying. At least she was better spoken than Leander.
“I confess I did not grasp that although Stanhope’s version is smaller than Gutenberg’s, it still isn’t something one can transport in one’s pocket. It’s currently in Simon’s orangery, but we can arrange to have it moved here.” He paused. “Or to my rooms in Grub Street. Depending on what you decide.”
“You . . . bought me a hand press?”
“No. I bought myself a hand press. Well, that’s not strictly true. I finally cashed all the bank drafts I’ve earned from you over the years, but as you well know, that wasn’t nearly enough. Simon and Archie and Olive bought me a hand press.” He quirked his head, and her heart twinged at the familiar mannerism. “That’s not exactly right, either. Simon and Archie and Olive invested in the endeavor I am launching. I’m going to print things. Books—my own, to start. But also, perhaps, magazines?”
“No!” She was beginning to understand.
“Well, not if you don’t want to.”
“You can’t just . . . print my magazine!” After all she had done to him.
“I’m sure I don’t know why not. But that is not what I’m proposing. I suggest we operate the press together. We print your magazine and my books and whatever else. The “whatever else” is key to the profitability of the enterprise.” He winked. “I am told that ‘profitability’ is what a man of business ought to aim for.”
“But why would you offermethis press whenyouhave funded it? Or, I suppose I should say, you and your investors.”
“Yes. They’re investors, and I might opt to keep them as such.Wemight opt to keep them as such, should you care to join me. Or, we might elect to pay them back according to the terms outlined in a dismayingly dull document I signed last week.”
“You aren’t answering my question. What wouldIbring to this proposed partnership?”
“I have a press, but I don’t know how to use it.”
“I . . . well, I suppose I know. In theory.”
“And more to the point, you know people who know. You also know people who might bring their business to us. The way I see it, I supply the infrastructure, and you drum up the business. And the labor, should we require any. See? I don’t even know about that. Do we need pullers? Or can we do it ourselves?”
