Read all about it and don't forget to enter the fab #Giveaway at the end.
The Lady and Her Quill is the first novel in best-selling author Ruth A. Casie's new regency romance series, The Ladies of Sommer by the Sea. Published by Dragonblade, this title is available in Kindle Unlimited and sold for 99 cents. Grab a cuppa and enjoy an excerpt and be sure to enter the giveaway before grabbing your copy!
The Lady and Her Quill
Publication date : November 16, 2021
Her mind kept telling her to stop loving him, but her heart couldn’t let him go.
Welcome to book 1 in the fabulous new series, The Ladies of Sommer by the Sea from USA Today Bestselling author Ruth A. Casie!
Renowned author Lady Alicia Hartley has lost her muse after a bad review. She blames it all on the author JC Melrose. A chance encounter with a handsome, witty Justin Caulfield has her heart racing, and her muse seemingly back. Is he her savior or her worst nightmare?
He didn’t see the turbulent ocean. He was too busy dealing with a different tempest.
The recently retired Captain Justin Caulfield is facing his own demons. As gifted author JC Melrose, his stories honor men who died at the hand of one man. His only focus is to avenge their deaths, that is, until he meets and falls in love with Lady Alicia.
The two authors take on a writing challenge based on a story of stolen gold taken from the newspaper headlines all to determine the better writer. While researching the story, Lady Alicia is captured by the thieves’ ringleader. Can Lady Alicia turn this mystery into an award-winning story? Can Justin save his real-life heroine?
Can they both overcome their own challenges for a happily ever after?
Series
Read an excerpt:
Chapter One
London
November 1814
Lady Alicia Hartley
clutched the heavy parcel under her arm and hurried along Fleet Street through
the thick fog. She took scant notice of the people rushing past her or the
church bells chiming noon. New ideas fluttered and flittered through her mind.
Success had led to opportunities she never dreamt possible until now. Her lips
pursed as she tried to suppress a satisfied smile.
Caution. The small inner voice
broke through her dreaming and her brows knitted together. Don’t be
reckless.
Alicia rubbed the amber stone
she wore around her neck. The pendant was a gift from her father.
Confidence is everything was one of Mrs.
Bainbridge’s guiding principles.
It started with Miss
Whitlock. Since Alicia was a little girl, Miss Greta Whitlock had been her
governess. Alicia was fond of the tall, pleasant woman who at times was more
like an older sister. Some of her best memories were sitting in the window seat
in the attic room, staring at the sea and just talking about hopes,
aspirations, dreams, and well, everything. Nothing was prohibited. If anything,
the woman encouraged her to be an independent thinker and draw her own
conclusions.
Alicia soon became proficient
in drawing, needlecraft, music, and dance. While only a passing knowledge of
French and Italian was expected, Alicia excelled past songs and snippets of
poems and stories presented in the romantic languages. Her natural curiosity
eventually drove her to acquire fluency in both, and proficiency in Greek and
Latin.
Her schooling included
the practical study of household management that went beyond managing the staff
and counting the silver, but also included training in hiring, purchasing, and gardening.
Decorum ruled a lady’s
life from her core to her habits. Nothing less was tolerated. Everything she
did was scrutinized and criticized. Miss Whitlock had done her job well.
They spent hours in the
attic at her desk and looked forward to those days her father was not home. He
agreed she could use his library when it wasn’t occupied. She sat at the large
table, surrounded by books, and enjoyed their sweet, musky scent.
Of all the subjects, her
true love was writing – taking the actions, colors, sounds, and emotions of
imaginary people and places she conjured in her mind and translating them into
words for others to read and enjoy.
She had all but driven
Miss Whitlock dizzy with her thirst for knowledge and her quest to improve her
writing.
By the time she was fifteen,
she mastered all the acceptable subjects a young woman was expected to learn
and others some people would think unnecessary, a waste of time, or worse, scandalous.
With her parents’
agreement, her governess sometimes submitted her essays to the village paper,
the Sommer Sentinel. Mr. Leon Hawkins, the elderly owner, enjoyed her
short story about “Margaret’s Miracle,” a long-held folktale about the village
mayor’s daughter Margaret and a Scottish trader. It was a reflective essay that
spoke about the tale and introduced ideas based on facts she researched.
Hawkins also printed her
more creative pieces. One, her story that featured an upper-class lady and her
plight in London society, had been very well-received.
“You make me proud,”
Miss Whitlock had said, standing next to her at the library table, her hands
clasped in front of her.
Proud. Alicia glowed brighter
than the light from the oil lamp at the compliment.
“Put your books away and
bundle up. It’s bitterly cold out, and we’re going to the tearoom today.”
It was an innocent
excursion. One they had made many times before. One she thoroughly enjoyed. Or
was it the biscuits that drew her there?
When they arrived at the
tearoom, Miss Whitlock led the way to a table by the window, where they joined
another woman.
“Honoria, I’d like to
introduce you to Lady Alicia Hartley.”
Miss Whitlock turned to
her.
“Lady Alicia, this is my
dear friend, Mrs. Honoria Bainbridge.”
Everyone knew Mrs.
Bainbridge – if not in person, then most definitely by reputation. She was the
head of the Sommer-by-the-Sea Female Seminary, an elite school that every girl
in the district, if not all of England, wanted to attend.
One didn’t apply
to the seminary. Admittance was only by Mrs. Bainbridge’s personal invitation.
She and Miss Whitlock
took their seats. Tea was already laid and waiting for them. At first, Alicia
thought she would be a silent observer and given an opportunity to occasionally
add her voice to the conversation.
Instead, she sat at the
table as if she was a pane of glass, one both women saw right through. As tea
progressed, she became anxious, and she had no idea why.
“Lady Alicia.” Pulled
from her stargazing, she faced Mrs. Bainbridge. “Have you seen the London
papers? Edmund Kean has signed a contract with Drury Lane. He is to play
Shylock in The Merchant of Venice. They are expecting a comedy,” Mrs.
Bainbridge said as she picked up her teacup. “What do you think of the play?”
It was a straightforward
question.
One she was prepared
for. She had studied Shakespeare and knew the play. “To me, the play is a
drama, especially when Portia, disguised as a lawyer, begs Shylock to show
mercy to Antonio. Her speech on the quality of mercy is dramatic and moving.”
Alicia took a breath and leaned forward, eager to go on. “The characters are
sensitive and engaging. I don’t see this play as a comedy. Although, I do think
there are scenes where Shakespeare inserts comic elements to provide relief for
the story’s tension, but is the play a comedy? Not to me.”
Mrs. Bainbridge smiled
and gazed at her thoughtfully, then turned to Miss Whitlock.
“With the cold
temperatures this last month, the Thames has frozen. There are plans for a frost
fair between Blackfriars Bridge and London Bridge on the first of February.”
Mrs. Bainbridge set down her teacup and sighed. “I was a little girl when they
had the last one.”
Alicia really didn’t
want to talk about Shakespeare or the frost fair. Alicia stared out the window
at the cold gray sky. She willed herself to stay in her seat.
“I read your story in
the Sommer Sentinel.”
Alicia whipped her head
around and again faced Mrs. Bainbridge.
“Your story, the
experience of a young upper-class woman who must navigate London society for
the first time and falls in love with a social superior, was very good. I
thoroughly enjoyed the way you re-created the social world. Your characters are
sensitive and engaging. I like the way you let your reader experience their
distress and tenderness.
“The conflict is
well-planned and given with enough context to maintain a good pace and keep
your reader turning pages. You are a good storyteller.”
Alicia felt her face
flush at the compliment. “Thank you, Mrs. Bainbridge. I’m glad you enjoyed the
story.”
“I do see room for
growth.”
Alicia stared at the
woman and tamped down her annoyance. What was wrong with her writing?
She didn’t think the
headmistress would wait long to tell her.
“Draw out the
conversations. Just because you know where it is going does not mean
your reader does. And give a little more exposition within the narrative itself
as an anchor.”
“It is very kind of you
to give me some direction. I will certainly keep your comments in mind.”
“I expect you will. I
see a young person eager to succeed. You will, you know. You are a gifted
storyteller.”
Mrs. Bainbridge gave her
a smile, not one of those smiles that didn’t reach the eyes, but a smile that
came from her heart.
Alicia took a biscuit
and finished her tea. She gave Miss Whitlock a fleeting glance. Her governess
sat proudly by as she engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Bainbridge.
She liked her governess,
but she wanted to learn more. In truth, she longed to be under Mrs.
Bainbridge’s tutelage. The headmistress worked with her students to create a
plan filled with courses that surpassed anything Miss Whitlock could teach.
Some were usually only available to men.
Mrs. Bainbridge’s words
kept repeating in her head.
You are a gifted
storyteller.
With tea over and the
snow beginning to fall, they said their good-byes and departed.
“What do you think of
Mrs. Bainbridge?” Miss Whitlock asked as they walked along the river.
“She’s an excellent
judge of writing talent.”
Miss Whitlock stared at
her for a heartbeat or two before she burst out laughing. “Yes, she is,” she
concluded. “And I think she gave you excellent advice.”
Mr. Dodd, the Hartley’s
butler, opened the door as they reached it.
Alicia and Miss Whitlock
went into the drawing room, laughing like schoolgirls. The soft scent of violet
on the air announced her mother was present.
“Did you have a nice
outing?” Lady Hartley said, looking over her spectacles as she stitched a
sampler.
“It was wonderful. We
had tea with Mrs. Bainbridge. And I was careful, I didn’t spill my cup and I
only took one biscuit.”
Lady Hartley smiled and
put down her stitching. “Yes, I know you can be quite civil when you put your
mind to it.”
“Mrs. Bainbridge
complimented me on my essay that was in the Sentinel.”
“Then she must have good
literary taste,” her mother said. “Before I forget, you received a letter.”
“It must be from Hattie
in London. She told me she’d write to tell me when she was returning to
Sommer-by-the-Sea.” Alicia took the dispatch from the salver and opened the
letter.
She took a seat next to
her mother, read the contents, then stared at the note without saying a word.
“Alicia, is anything
wrong? I’ve never seen you so quiet,” her mother said glancing at Miss
Whitlock.
Alicia looked at her
governess then her mother.
“What is it?” her mother
asked.
“It’s an invitation.”
Her heart was beating so loud she was sure her mother could hear it. She lifted
her chin. “Mrs. Bainbridge has invited me to be a student at the
Sommer-by-the-Sea Female Seminary.”
* * *
Looking back, she had no
idea that tea with Mrs. Bainbridge would change her life. That was seven years
ago. She spent five wonderful years at the Sommer Female Seminary learning
everything she could. Now, two years later, she still heard Mrs. Bainbridge’s
words warning caution.
She clutched the parcel
to her chest. This completed project was a good one. Better than her last. As
soon as she presented it to Mr. Caulfield, he too would be enthusiastic.
Remain calm. Be gracious and
pleasant but remain firm.
By the time she had mentally
repeated the words several times, her doubts quieted. Of course, Caulfield
would bargain. She would remind him their past achievements were for the most
part her doing. She no longer wanted to sell her story to Caulfield Publishing
for a fee and receive nothing beyond that. Her books sold well and made a
profit, but only for Caulfield.
The sales gave her the
confidence to ask for a change in their financial arrangement on this the last
book in her contract. She would gladly pay all the production costs for
publication. Caulfield Publishing would distribute them and get ten percent
from the profits, a reasonable and more equitable financial arrangement. It
would also give her more control of her work. She pressed her parcel closer to
her chest. If he wouldn’t budge, there was the letter that arrived in
yesterday’s post.
How could he refuse?
Her smile dropped and
her step faltered. Question her project, perhaps, but refuse? He couldn’t. He
wouldn’t. Would he? A cold chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran up
her spine.
A passing carriage
startled her shaking her out of her moment of distraction. Alicia looked about.
Temple Church was to her right. Her destination wasn’t much further. She
resumed walking, but at a slower pace.
What if he did not agree
to her request? She stared at the ground as if by some miracle the answer lay
at her feet.
“I admire your
conviction, Alicia, but you can’t always have your way. In all things there is
a give and take, a bargaining. Coming to a mutual understanding is the way both
you and the other person will be successful.”
More wisdom from Mrs.
Bainbridge. The woman had an uncanny way of always seeing the truth of a
matter.
It would be best for her
to be prepared to listen, then bargain. See a way for both she and Mr.
Caulfield to come away a winner. Satisfied she had a plan, she quickened her
step, eager to come to an agreement with her publisher and present him with her
finished manuscript. She crossed Fetter Lane and came to her destination,
Number 32.
Alicia entered the
building, climbed the stairs, and stood at the door to Caulfield Publishing.
Isaac Caulfield was a congenial gentleman for the most part, but occasionally
he acted like most men—opinionated, closed-minded, and unrelenting.
Caulfield Publishing was
not the first publisher she approached. She had set her sights on the renowned
William Lane. With grace, he declined her manuscript and advised her the best
and probably only way her story would be published was if she paid to
have it printed and sold copies to her family and friends.
As an afterthought, he
suggested a small, unknown company, Caufield Publishing.
She returned home
heartbroken. Her sister, Beatrice, and brother-in-law, Captain Douglas
Elkington, tried to soothe her. She told them Mr. Lane suggested another
publisher, one more willing to produce her type of story. It was Elkington’s
approval that made her consider the idea. Intent and undeterred, she approached
Isaac Caulfield.
He was not enthusiastic
when she brought him her first manuscript.
Not at all.
He was ready to reject
her story before he read a single word. Desperate, she cajoled him into reading
the piece before he passed judgement.
That was two years ago.
Now, their business arrangement was a successful one. Earlier this week
Caulfield released and sent her fifth book, The Lost Dowry, to the
library on Leadenhall Street.
Her triumphs were on her
side.
Alicia took a deep
breath, straightened her spine, turned the latch, and entered. “Good day, Mr.
Caulfield.”
The publisher sprang to
his feet.
“Lady Alicia.” He pulled
out his pocket watch. “You’re early. What a pleasant surprise. Please, be
seated.”
“I apologize for my
early arrival, but I am eager to speak with you.”
“Are you here alone?” He
came to her side and glanced out the door.
“Yes.” She winced at the
trace of defiance in her voice. Another social blunder. Beatrice warned her London
propriety was different from that at home in Sommer-by-the-Sea. It amazed her
that a different world existed three hundred miles south of the village.
A chaperone.
The idea made her teeth
itch. Today, Beatrice was otherwise engaged and in truth, Alicia’s patience ran
thin waiting for her.
She stepped inside. The
office was cramped not because it was small, but because it was in disarray.
Everywhere she looked, there were books and papers. Dark walnut bookcases
stuffed with unorderly books lined the left side of the room. Light filtered
through bedraggled curtains on the large windows to her right. Several stacks
of papers filled Mr. Caulfield’s desk, which was positioned in front of the
window. Similar bookshelves were on either side of the fireplace on the far
wall – but were hidden behind a pile of papers on a second desk across from
Caulfield’s. The clutter of papers and books rendered that desk unusable. A
modest fire burned in the grate to take off the chill.
She was surprised the
entire place didn’t go up in flames.
She stepped with care
around crates that littered the floor, removed the London Gazette laying
on the chair, and settled into the seat.
“My sister was
unavailable to join us. She and her husband are preparing the family for a trip
north to join our parents for the village’s Harvest Festival. I wanted to speak
to you before we left.”
Had he heard her? She
followed his stare. He was focused on the Gazette in her hand. She
glanced at his desk, the chair next to her, but there was no place to put it.
“I’m leaving with the
family for Sommer-by-the-Sea. I look forward to reading at Mrs. Miller’s
Circulating Library. I wanted to thank you for seeing that my books were
delivered.”
“You’re most welcome.
I’m sure reading small segments of your story will encourage people to either
borrow or buy your book. I am glad you’re here. I wanted to speak to you today
on another subject. I too, will be leaving London.” He reached for the Gazette.
“Here. Let me have the newspaper, if you please.”
Alicia took a quick look
at the headline: Missing Walmer Castle Chest Found – Empty?
She glanced at
Caulfield’s extended hand. She was about to give the newspaper to him when she
spotted a corner of the paper was turned down, exposing the book review page.
She opened the paper and stopped.
One review was circled: The
Lost Dowry.
She read the article out
loud.
“This is the fifth
little story by Lady Alicia Hartley. While her other stories held promise, this
book does not reach the standards the author established in her previous
publications. Perhaps the author’s muse has gone astray. The characters and
conflicts in The Lost Dowry had potential but only the heroine, who is
quite good, shines. It is unfortunate that the others appear to have lost their
way. They are forced, mechanical, and obstruct the story. In a word, they are
disappointing. In this story...”
Skipping the summary of
the plot, she went to the final paragraph.
“She should read J. C. Melrose’s
In My Brother’s Shadow or any of the other eight stories in that series.
There is an author who evokes a man’s emotion, albeit the author could
use some assistance with the female point of view. Can you imagine if these
authors combined their skills? They would lay out a plot with characters that
would keep you reading until the last page or the last flicker of your candle.”
The newspaper trembled
in her hand. She went back to the beginning of the article to find the name of
the reviewer. Anonymous.
The coward.
Her eyes focused on the
review. The small quakes and quivers of the paper she held attested to the
state of her nerves.
“How did an appraisal of
my story turn into a review for…” Her words clipped, her tone chilly, she spoke
with as reasonable a voice as she could manage and scanned the article. “J. C.
Melrose?”
She lowered the paper.
Mr. Caulfield’s lips moved as the empty feeling in her stomach built into a
furious storm. She wasn’t aware of anything he said, until his words filtered
through at last.
“Lady Hartley, are you
listening? Reviews like this are...not unusual. Keep in mind, you can’t please
every reader. I’m glad to publish your little stories.”
“Little stories.”
Her heart galloped like a horse in the steeple chase. Her hand touched her
pendant. Remain calm.
But soothing herself was
getting more difficult by the moment. Even rubbing her stone didn’t help now.
People were buying
her novels, all of them. Alicia thrust the offensive paper at him.
“Perhaps we should give
the readers some time. We plan to publish your next story in the summer. I want
to speak to you about my plans for the company. I’ve bought a new press—”
“The plan was for my new
story to be published in February. Now you want a delay? Or do you mean to
cancel our agreement?”
His face closed, as if
guarding a secret. Her heart sank. He accepted this review. He may be
tolerating her tirade, but he agreed with Anonymous.
Unable to remain calm a
moment longer, she shot him a penetrating glare as she rose, her parcel in
hand.
“Not at all.” He sprang
to his feet, his chair scraping the floor behind him. “Being an author is not
easy, Lady Alicia. I warned you before we began you would be at the mercy of
the reading public, a capricious lot. I knew you were persistent and had
promise.” He studied her over the rim of his glasses. “I believe you still do,
but with the new press I have plans to—”
But.
How often had she heard
that insignificant word in front of every variation of the word no, a
weapon men used to deny a woman her due?
“This is one review.”
Alicia paced the small space in front of his desk. “Caulfield Publishing has
published five of my,” she turned and faced him, “‘little stories’ to your
financial advantage.”
He gave her a sheepish
glance.
“Before I let you read
this…” She paused and held up her parcel. “I’ll give your suggestion to delay
publishing more thought, then send you my decision.”
As disappointment and
despair dimmed her enthusiasm, she questioned what happened to yesterday’s
excitement and celebration. The Lost Dowry was in the circulating
library. Congratulatory notes from friends were piled on the salver on the
foyer table.
And there was the
letter.
She couldn’t believe her
good fortune when she read William Lane’s message, although Elkington believed
it. She had never seen her brother-in-law so excited. He took out the sherry
and they all toasted the occasion. But now…her dream was dissolving in front of
her eyes.
How could one awful
review ruin everything? Mr. Lane would not want to read her manuscript now, and
Mr. Caulfield questioned publishing her next story. Remaining calm was out of
the question.
Her secret was out. She
had done a good job and convinced herself and everyone else Lady Alicia Hartley
was an author.
Everyone but one
reviewer. Her breath came in small bursts. She stared at the Gazette on
his desk and wanted to tear it to pieces.
“Lady Alicia, please sit
down. We’ll discuss this and come to a decision that is satisfactory to us
both.”
She glanced at the man,
remained motionless, and held her words behind her teeth, not trusting herself
to speak. Afraid she’d say something she would regret, Alicia turned and
marched to the door with as much dignity as possible.
“My ‘little stories,’ as
you like to refer to them, are all the rage.”
She grabbed the latch
and hoped he didn’t observe her trembling hand or her watery eyes. At the
moment, her single thought was to escape.
“Please, come sit and we
can discuss our course of action without any—”
“Womanly emotions?” Her
voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“No, not at all. I’ve
been trying to tell you about some changes.”
“Another time, perhaps.
My family is traveling north, and I mustn’t delay.” By all that was holy, she
needed to get away from the man.
“I understand. My
regards to your sister and brother-in-law.” He called to her as she pulled open
the door and collided into a solid obstacle. Startled and thrown off balance,
Alicia lost her grip on her parcel and sent the bundle tumbling to the floor.
Strong hands grasped her
shoulders to steady her. Alicia’s head snapped up. She stared into concerned
gray, silver-streaked eyes. She took a deep breath and was surprised by the
scent of lavender and citrus.
“I... I... forgive me,
sir.” She lowered her gaze to the gloved hand on her right shoulder and back to
his penetrating stare. “Release me, please. I assure you I have recovered.”
The man’s concerned
expression vanished, replaced with a humorous glint. He removed his hands and
stepped away.
His great coat flowed
around him as he bent and retrieved her parcel from the floor. Her shoulders
felt the ghost of his strong yet gentle grasp. As he stood, she looked away
eager to leave.
“There is nothing to
forgive.” He bent his head toward her and handed her the bundle. “I, too, would
want to make a fast escape from Mr. Caulfield.”
“Thank you,” she said
without any humor, pulling the parcel close.
“My pleasure, I assure
you.” The gentleman tipped the brim of his hat.
Alicia turned and rushed
down the stairs.
* * *
Justin Caulfield entered
his uncle’s office. He glanced around but found no place for his hat. He
settled on putting it on the stack of books on the mantel.
“Lady Alicia is a
determined woman.” Isaac went to the grate for a taper to light his pipe. “And
she was correct.”
So, that was the
illustrious Lady Alicia Hartley. Ever since his uncle shared the accounts with
him, he’d been going on and on about the woman and her so-called little
stories. That the man was distressed was an understatement. What had upset him
and his treasured author?
“Correct? What do you
mean?”
“She is correct that her
stories generate a considerable amount of money for the company. I won’t lose
her. Her reaction to that review surprised me.” His uncle pointed to the paper.
“She’s received other reviews that have not been favorable. But this one upset
her.”
Justin picked up the London
Gazette.
“Don’t blame yourself.
She would have read or heard about this in due course.” He tossed the paper
onto the desk without reading the review. “We both are aware reviews are
subjective. An author will not please everyone. Did you get my message?” His
uncle asked, then looked up at him.
“I found it when I
arrived last night. I’m going to visit Lord Barrington in Sommer-by-the-Sea and
will make your delivery for you. How did your favorite author react when you
told her you were retiring to the country, and a new publisher and editor was
taking your place?” Justin leaned over the desk and searched through the papers
in the in-basket.
“I tried more than once
to tell her my plan, but the woman didn’t give me the opportunity.”
Justin, still bent over
the basket, stopped his search, and glanced at his uncle.
“You didn’t tell her.”
“Her new manuscript was
in that parcel. But she was like a dog with a bone and wouldn’t let go of the
review. I suggested we publish the story later in the year, perhaps this
summer.”
Justin straightened and
put down the papers that were in his hand. “Let me guess. That’s when she rose
to her feet and stormed out.”
“Near weeping. I prayed
she would keep them at bay. I can’t abide a woman’s tears. I’m certain she
doubts my confidence in her writing. But I assure you, I’m quite convinced of
her ability. I wanted to inform her of our plans for the company. About you
stepping in, but the Gazette review held her full attention.” The man
leaned forward with his face flushed in anger. “A dog with a bone, I tell you.”
“Now, now. There is no
need to get upset. She is emotional and will come around if she wants her next
story published.”
“My intent to delay
publishing her story had nothing to do with that… that article.” He pointed to
the Gazette. “I wanted the new publisher, you, to work with her on her
story.”
“It’s not easy listening
to criticism of your work.” He held papers in his hand and stared at the desk.
A heartbeat later, he let out an exasperated sigh and returned to his search.
“I know. I’ve had my share of disappointing reviews. Whether I work with her or
not, I don’t agree with you putting off her publication date. If anything, I
would publish her next story ahead of schedule. Releasing a new book close to
this review may be to your advantage. If the review is as bad as you say, a new
release could encourage curiosity.”
“That may not be a bad
idea.” His uncle sat back in his chair. The flush subsided from his face. “I
leave the decision up to you and her.”
“You’re not out the door
yet.”
“No. I’ll always be
close. But dealing with creative people is not easy. Their work is an integral
part of them, and at times they are not able to separate their story from
themselves. Like the reviewer has his bias, the author has theirs. To them,
their work is perfect. Take your writing.”
“My writing? I thought
you enjoyed my stories. I write big ones, not little ones.” He teased his
uncle. He was halfway through the pile.
“I do enjoy your
stories. Big or little, they are excellent. Your understanding of soldiers and
the battlefield are exceptional. It’s no surprise to me that Lord Barrington
and the Duke of Wellington call on you even though you are no longer in the
service. You’re the epitome of a fine Highland warrior.”
Justin, with one eyebrow
raised, gave him a sideways glance. “Me? A fine Highland warrior. You’ve
been reading too much Walter Scott.” He returned to looking through the papers.
“You mock me? Well, I’m
not surprised. You always did underestimate your abilities. Put you in a kilt
with a claymore in your hand, and your bloodline will show. It did on the
battlefield. You were fierce – a force few men wanted to cross. But it is much
more than your broad chest and handsome knees. There is another side to the
Justin Caulfield I know.”
“And what is that other
side?” he asked chuckling still digging through the pile of papers.
“There is a very human
side to you. I remember the rambunctious lad who filched tarts from the
kitchen, ran the fields with his friends, and stood up to those who thought to
bully him. You weren’t fast to take to your fists, no. You tried to settle
things with words. But when needed, you stood up for yourself and others. You
never backed down. You’ve grown to understand what drives people. You don’t
abuse it, but rather, you help them to be their best. It is what makes you a
good leader… and you bring all that knowledge and expertise to your stories.
However, even they have room for improvement.” His uncle glanced briefly at the
door. “You could learn a few things from Lady Alicia. It says as much in the London
Gazette.”
Justin picked up the
paper and searched for his book on the review page.
“Where? There is no
review of my story here.” He gave his uncle a questioning stare.
“Read the review for The
Lost Dowry. The reviewer mentioned you as well.” The publisher pointed to
the paper in his hand. “The last paragraph.”
The room was quiet
except for the fire snapping in the grate. His uncle worked on the papers in
front of him while Justin read the review.
“Anonymous likes my
Captain Mallory well enough.” Justin’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile
as he continued reading.
His amusement quickly
died. He lowered his hand to his side still holding the Gazette.
“By all that is holy,”
he said, his Scottish brogue unmistakable in his words. “What does he mean, I
need assistance with the female point of view?”
A mention in a review of
her book? Not even a review of the entire story. He reeled as he re-read the
paragraph and grasped the meaning. Rubbish. Learn from Lady Alicia?
An absurd idea. He gave an indifferent chuckle, returned the paper to his
uncle, and continued to search the basket while he seethed.
“You laugh. Read her
stories. Especially her last—”
“The one with the
scathing review?” Justin interrupted, not lifting his head.
“Read it, Justin, and
you will understand my meaning. She portrays her female characters in a unique manner.”
“How do you accept a
review from someone who is ashamed to use his name, or…” Justin picked up his
head and gave his uncle a questioning glance. “Do you know who wrote it?”
“I spoke with Herbert,
the editor of the Gazette. Questioned him about the review. He confided
one of their trusted reviewers wrote the piece.”
“Could Anonymous be a
competitive author?”
Would an author question
a fellow writer’s work publicly for their own gain? The idea was not
impossible.
“No. Not at all. This
was a constructive review.” Uncle Isaac sat in his leather chair with an air of
authority. His adamant response startled Justin.
The man protected the
woman as if she were his own daughter. Justin had no intention of conducting
business in such a manner when he took over the reins.
Where is that list? He didn’t have time to
spend all day here.
“What are you
pecking around for?” His uncle pulled his chair closer to the desk.
“The titles of the books
you wanted me to deliver to Mrs. Miller.”
“I’ve sent the list to
the press room and asked that the books be bundled and ready for you tomorrow.
Pick them up on the press floor before you leave in the morning.”
He put the papers in his
hand back into the basket.
“I’m finished here. I’ll
see you when I return from Sommer-by-the-Sea.” Justin stood and retrieved his
hat from the mantle.
“You have my thanks.”
“What are you thanking
me for? Your request was not inconvenient. I already had plans to stay there.”
Justin glanced at him. The man was full of surprises today.
“Mrs. Miller has a solid
business and increases her orders with us each month.”
Justin inclined his head
and murmured, “She’s an important client and needs special care.”
“True, but my gratitude
extends beyond you delivering the books. Your idea to purchase a new iron press
was brilliant. The men were spending more time repairing the old one than
printing. The quality of the books, as well as the quantity, is much improved
as well.
“I had no one to take
over the company. That is, until you came to us. Your stories, your leadership,
and your ideas proved to me you were the perfect person to succeed me. I
decided then and there I would leave you with everything in place, the authors
and updated equipment. I’m eager to see how you will grow the company.”
Justin had suggested the
purchase months ago. However, once his uncle approached him to be his
successor, he was sure his plans had changed. Justin saw his responsibility as winding
down Caulfield Publishing.
Buying a new press was
not the action of a man closing his business.
No one was more
surprised than he was when he met Lord Stanhope at White’s. His lordship told
him all about the hard bargain his uncle struck with him.
“And that’s not all.
Your Aunt Lavinia is making demands on my time, and I haven’t yet retired. I’ve
worked hard to make Caulfield Publishing a success. You are loyal and worthy to
be my successor. I leave the business in your capable hands. Now, be off with
you before I say something sentimental.”
Justin hesitated a
moment before he put on his hat, avoiding his uncle’s stare, afraid the man
would see his shameful expression.
“Have a safe trip,” his
uncle said. He picked up a manuscript from the stack on his desk and began to
read.
He loved his uncle for
his encouragement, support, and sincerity. He built a small but mighty company
that was sound, from the work he produced to the income he made. This turn of
events was unforeseen.
Loyal. Worthy. Capable
hands.
Justin closed the door
behind him. His blood turned cool as he went down the stairs. He left the
building and at the corner, removed a letter from his pocket.
His uncle pushed him to
be more ambitious with his writing.
“Seek out a publisher
who can get you places I can’t.”
He could have strangled
the man for sending Lane his manuscript without telling him.
The unsolicited message
from William Lane Publishing informed him that he was one of two authors under
consideration for the last position on their list. The message came at the
right time, or so he thought. He had to find another publisher with Caulfield
Publishing closing. This was the opportunity he and his uncle had spoken about
months ago.
He glanced up at the
office window. His uncle never planned to close the company. He walked on. What
was he to do now?
About the Author
RUTH A. CASIE is a USA Today bestselling author of historical swashbuckling action-adventures and contemporary romance with enough action to keep you turning pages. Her stories feature strong women and the men who deserve them, endearing flaws and all. She lives in New Jersey with her hero, three empty bedrooms and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a corrugated manufacturer, and vice president at an international bank where she was a product/marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now-writing romance. She hopes her stories become your favorite adventures.
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Newsletter
Giveaway
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Thank you for sharing Chapter One!!
ReplyDeletemy pleasure
DeleteThank you for hosting me during release week.
ReplyDeletemy pleasure
DeleteThis would be perfect for me
ReplyDelete