The notion of physically operating a press with Effie was . . . Well, it was nearly enough to make Julianna swoon, especially when she thought of her own magazine coming off it.
“You’re saying we could printLe Monde Jolion your press.”
“Onourpress, yes.”
She had to close her eyes for a moment to forestall the swoon. She needed to not get ahead of herself. She needed to know everything. Andsayeverything. Because he needed to know everything, too. “You said there were two questions.”
“Right. Well, the second isn’t really a question. I merely want you to know that I love you.” He smiled, and the sight was so incredibly dear to her. “I am almost certain you already know, but I wanted you to hear it from me and not Leander.”
Julianna gasped. And then began to cry. Two things Julianna allegedly never did.
At least she managed to stave off the swoon.
“I always said I would never marry,” she said through her tears.
“Which is why I’m not asking you to. So don’t cry, Jules, at least not on my account. My question isn’t contingent on my declaration. I still want to be business partners, if you do. It’s just that I can’t . . . go to the sea with you. You understand? I could live in a room in Grub Street with you, or in a”—he glanced around—“cold, dark office with you, but I can’t have you and then not have you. I won’t be used and discarded.” He shook his head, and his countenance softened. “So we shall be friends. And business partners, I hope.”
Oh, Effie. Hewasproposing, in a way. He was proposing something short of marriage, something he thought she might find acceptable, and what lengths he had gone to in order to be in a position to do so.
“You gave up everything for me,” she said incredulously.
“I didn’t. I didn’t know what you were going to say. I still don’t. I gave up everything forme. And I’m not sure I would describe it thusly. I gave up some things, yes, but I did that so I could get another thing.”
“And what is that thing?”
“Freedom.”
Yes. When you unraveled yourself, or unlatched yourself, you were free. To start over.
An idea was forming, an idea that was at once radical and completely obvious. “What if I . . . started a new magazine? What ifwestarted a new magazine?” That was what she should have said. That was what she meant.
“I think that’s a fine idea.” His eyes twinkled. “Evans’s Lady’s Book, perhaps?”
She dried her eyes. “Only self-regarding braggarts have their names in the titles of their magazines.”
“I take the point. Well, your name will be on the inside, as editor and proprietor.”
“And your name?”
“Perhaps I shall be your assistant?” He paused. “When I have time. I shall be awfully busy writing and publishing my poetry.” He winked. “Now who’s the self-regarding braggart?”
“So you shall be my assistant but not my husband.”
“You were right before, in Brighton, when we were discussing our roles in that whole breaking-and-entering scheme.”
“It wasn’t breaking and entering.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “You wanted me to be your assistant, but I insisted on being your husband. You were right. In fact, I think you may have had a prophetic vision.”
Here it was: her opening. Her heart thumped—with fear or love, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. “Perhapsyouwere right when we went breaking and entering in Brighton. Perhaps you ought to be my assistantandmy husband.”
A slow smiled blossomed on his orchid lips. “Julianna Evans, are you proposing to me?”
This was it. As usual, Effie had smoothed the way for her. All she had to do was say . . . “Yes.”
That wasn’t right, though. Well, it was right. It was her answer, the true answer, but it wasn’t enough. She owed him more than that. He’d started to speak but she held up a hand. “I would like to say something to you, if you will allow it.”
“Of course. Your speech is not for me to allow or disallow.”
