LITMIR.BIZ

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and an unexpected, though modest, inheritance, she was able to invest a portion of it in Nathaniel’s dream—a monthly magazine. Now, the funds from their increasingly successful endeavor supported both of them, as well as several charities for the poor.

      “Shall we return to the topic that brought us here this morning, Nathaniel?” He seemed to have lost the trail of the conversation so she refreshed his memory. “Lord Treybourne,” she repeated the name of A. J. Goodfellow’s adversary. “Are you overly concerned about his reaction to the essay? Or just worrying, as is your custom when each new issue is published?”

      “I fear something of both, Anna. The Trey I knew at school was always direct about his displeasure. If he believes I—we, that is—have crossed a line with this, I think he will contact me directly about it. As to the new issue, I am pleased to tell you that our subscription demand has risen more than ten percent over the last month.”

      She quickly calculated how much that would be, after the additional expenses, and smiled. “That is excellent news!”

      “I have the figures here for you to review at your convenience,” he offered.

      “With your assurances, there is no need for me to do that.” She did not doubt his honesty, just his willingness to see their plan, their campaign, through. Anna understood that their motivations for investing in the publication were completely different, but she also realized early on that they could both accomplish their own aims together.

      “Nathaniel, I do think you should go to London.”

      He seemed startled by her change in topic again and the frown said so. “You do? But Clarinda is coming to visit next week. And Robert.”

      Anna stood and walked to the window, peering through it to observe the activity on the very busy corner outside the offices. Nathaniel politely rose as well. She waved him back to his seat and stared out as she organized her thoughts.

      “I do not think you must accomplish this trip in haste. Truly I think that waiting until after Clarinda returns home is the best timing. Lord Treybourne will be busy this next week trying to frame his response to Mr. Goodfellow’s address. You should not appear too overly concerned with his reaction, but I suspect it would be best to meet him at a time advantageous to you. One when you can speak of gentlemanly subjects and leave when you have made your point.”

      Nathaniel laughed at her words. “Gentlemanly subjects, eh? Will you give me a list and the point I must make as well?”

      “You tease me now, Nathaniel. I trust you to handle Lord Treybourne and his inflated ego and opinion of himself.”

      To her consternation, he laughed harder and louder, crossing his arms over his waist, until tears flowed down his cheeks.

      “Oh, Anna,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You are so comfortable with your ways and your attitudes that you have no idea of what faces you if the Earl of Treybourne takes the bait. When you teach, your students listen because of your experience and expertise. When you advise me on publishing matters, I heed your words because I know you and trust you. But, Lord Treybourne, especially if his father the marquess is involved, will be the most formidable adversary you have faced.”

      Anna felt her spine stiffen at his words. Not specifically an insult, they bordered closely upon an affront to her. Being called a bluestocking was no new matter to her. Indeed, it kept many undesirable acquaintances at bay and many unwanted inquiries unasked and unanswered, so she relished the label for the freedom it granted her. And, she was not embarrassed by her abilities or education. They had served her well and saved her family, as well as countless others, from a life of dismal and unrelenting poverty and its dangers.

      Nathaniel rose now and approached where she stood, taking her hand in his. “I suspect that if you ever face Lord Treybourne in the flesh, you might begin to believe that marriage to me is the lesser of two evils.”

      “Since, dear Nathaniel, you will take care of facing down the devil, I mean the earl, in London, I will worry not over the possibility of it.” Anna slid her hand from his and patted his. “It is part of the appeal, of course, of our unorthodox arrangement.”

      He looked as though he would argue or add to his warning, but he stepped back to allow her to pass. Dawdling here without purpose when others waited on her arrival was rude and not to be excused without good reason, so Anna reached for her reticule and walked past him.

      “And A. J. Goodfellow?”

      “A. J. Goodfellow will continue to chip away at the hardness of society regarding the poor and unfortunate.”

      “So, the arrangements remain the same?” Nathaniel asked, as though there were some measure of doubt in the situation.

      “I do not think there should be any changes at this point. We should stay the course,” Anna offered, waiting to hear his decision. They faced this each month since A. J. Goodfellow had delivered the first essay to the magazine. And each time, she held her breath, hoping that Nathaniel would not lose heart or courage in their work. Anna distracted herself while waiting for his answer by putting on her bonnet and gloves.

      “Stay the course,” he repeated, with a nod.

      She let out her breath and turned the door’s knob to open it. “Well then, I bid you a good day, Mr. Hobbs-Smith.”

      “And good day to you, Miss Fairchild.”

      Their feigned formality was for the benefit of any strangers or visitors in the outer office, for both clerks and Nathaniel’s secretary knew that they were well-acquainted. They might not know the nature or extent of that acquaintance, and most likely were under the misapprehension of some romantic involvement, but she and Nathaniel did not hide their friendship nor most of their working relationship while in the office.

      The men employed there did not, however, know that the woman now being assisted into her pelisse and being escorted out of the offices by Mr. Hobbs-Smith was none other than the political essayist A. J. Goodfellow.

      Chapter Three

      “Lady Simon is thrilled by her success this evening.”

      “If you mean the excessive heat, too many people and late hour, I would have to agree with you, Ellerton.”

      David tried to make his way to the edge of the ballroom where there appeared to be more room to move…and to escape this crush. His third ball this week, this one was no less crowded, heated or unpleasant. But it was a somewhat safe escape from the topic of his predicament.

      “You are too modest, Trey. You are the jewel in her crown.”

      Coming from anyone else in the ton, the words would have been mindless simpering. From Ellerton, however, they were more of a warning. And it was a warning too late in coming, for their hostess was in pursuit and caught them just as he reached the outskirts of the crowd.

      “Lord Treybourne! Surely you are not departing so early?”

      Lady Simon wore a dress clearly meant for a younger, more lithesome figure of womanhood, one that did not compliment her voluptuous curves. Instead it pointed out the glaring changes that older women sometimes experienced. She leaned forward, displaying what she must have assumed was a pleasant view of her décolletage. “My niece, Catherine, had hoped for a dance.”

      She nodded in the direction of the dancing couples, and those not dancing. A young woman whom he’d not met stood, glanced his way and fluttered her eyelashes at an alarming rate.

      “I fear I must, Lady Simon,” he said, taking her hand to keep her back at a decent distance. “Please introduce me to your niece at our next encounter. I have other commitments I must keep now,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone as he threw a glance at Ellerton.

      “Oh!” she murmured in a disappointed tone. “Oh!” she uttered in a now more excited one. Tapping on his arm with her closed fan, she nodded. “Masculine pursuits, sir? Ones best not spoken of in mixed company, I suspect?” In spite of her words, her heaving bosom spoke

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