Page 60 of How Not to Marry a Duke

Mr. Elder waved a dismissive hand. “Publishing is a fickle business and changes day by day, miss. I will still accept your manuscript, of course, but my terms will have to be different.”

“Precisely how different?” Adeline spoke for the first time.

His eyes flicked to Adeline, then returned to Mary. “I can no longer offer a royalty. I will pay ten pounds for the novel.”

Mary gasped. “Ten pounds! But it has taken me a year to complete. It is my best work to date.”

His mustache twitched. “Time is money in my business as well.”

A trickle of dread ran down Adeline’s spine at the man’s obvious prejudice, followed by a simmering anger. The situation reminded her of the two women at the dressmakers—oh, their bias was different—but they were similar in one important respect—both were demeaning to one’s self-worth.

Adeline couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow the publisher to take advantage of Mary or to cause her suffering. She leaned forward in her chair, pressed a palm flat on his desk, and eyed him. “You seek to steal her work.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard what I said. Offering her ten pounds is akin to robbery!”

Mr. Elder’s face turned a mottled shade of purple. “How dare you!”

“My sister is right,” Mary said, her voice firm. “I refuse your terms.” She reached for the manuscript on the desk.

Mr. Elder’s hand snaked out to land on the manuscript. “You will regret this. No publisher will take a woman’s book. My offer is the best you’ll receive.”

Mary tugged the manuscript from beneath his hand. “Come along, Adeline. It’s time for us to leave.”

The man pushed back his chair. “Don’t be a fool. You will regret this!”

Mary glanced back, her face pale. “I don’t believe so.”

Once the two sisters were in the carriage, Mary began shivering. A tear slipped down her cheek. “That didn’t go at all as I’d expected.”

Adeline’s heart ached for her sister. “He is a cad.”

“I know. But I can’t help but think that if I had submitted my book through correspondence, like I had my short stories, this would have ended differently. Mr. Elder would know me only as a man, and I would have seen my work published.”

“Do not doubt yourself. Mr. Elder is a jackanapes.”

“He isn’t the only biased publisher.”

“You don’t know that for certain. Do not allow that man to ruin your dreams.”

Mary didn’t seem to hear her. She shook her head, her brow tight with strain. “What was I thinking? All men are alike. If Edwin even knew I wrote, he would prohibit me from pursuing publishing.”

“You know how I feel about Edwin. He’s a step below the measly Mr. Elder. If you want to continue to publish as M.J. Price or as Lady Mary, sister of the Earl of Foster, or any other pseudonym you fancy, then I will support you. We will find another who will value you work.”

Mary wiped a tear with the back of her hand and managed a weak smile. “Oh, Adeline. I wish I had half of your determination.”

Adeline squeezed her hand. “It’s not determination. It’s plain stubbornness!”

Chapter Eleven

Adeline hadn’t forgotten Warwick’s invitation to his home. After attending the dressmaker’s with the countess, then the publisher with her sister, she was finally free to see him. The Duke of Warwick lived in a pile of stone in Berkley Square. Lady Heywood’s home was grand, but the duke’s residence dwarfed every home she’d so far visited. Made of gray granite, a mermaid fountain greeted guests in the round driveway, and well-maintained lawns with Roman statues lined the drive. At the sight of the perfect lawn, she immediately thought of Warwick’s lawn trimming invention. How many gardeners did he employ?

“I’ve never been in such a grand home,” Hasmik said.

“After the country, I can’t picture Warwick living here,” Adeline said.

The poultice she’d prepared was in the basket she carried. Adeline lifted the brass knocker and rapped. Warwick’s butler opened the door before she could knock twice, and they stepped inside a magnificent vestibule with a crystal chandelier holding a hundred candles, a priceless Chinese vase, and artwork from Gainsborough, Rowlandson, and Hogarth on the walls. “Hello, Lady Adeline. Miss Hasmik.”