Page 32 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
The soft tap on it was so faint, she almost dismissed it as a trick of the wind or a creak in the hall.
But then it came again a little more insistently. It could not have been Anselm, as he would have come through the adjoining door.
She rose from her vanity, where she’d been idly braiding her hair, and opened the door a crack.
Verity stood there, flushed and breathless. Her green eyes were alight and her dark hair a mess of curls around her head.
“Marion! You will never guess!” Verity started, practically vibrating as she bounced in place. “The bookseller, he sent me the address of a publisher! Mr. Hawthorne, bless his heart! Isent them a sample of my manuscript, just a few chapters, and… and they have offered to print it! They want to print it!”
She clapped her hands together as tears of joy streamed down her flushed cheeks.
“Verity, that is wonderful!”
“We must go now! To the printing press! I must deliver the rest of the manuscript before they change their minds. They said they’d have a night foreman there, just for a few hours. There is no time to lose!”
“Now?” Marion’s voice was laced with disbelief. It was so late and the household had already settled into its nightly slumber. A quick glance at the grandfather clock confirmed it was well past midnight. “Verity, that is impossible. It is the middle of the night. It is too risky. Are ye sure this was a real offer? What if someone sees us? Aye, what if Anselm finds out…”
Verity’s jaw set as a familiar stubbornness crept into her eyes.
“I am going, Marion. With or without you. I will not let this opportunity slip away. Not after everything I have been through to get here. Not after… after Lord Fanthorpe.”
“I understand, but?—”
“This is my chance, Marion, my only chance to prove I am more than just… a disappointed bride or some foolish woman. I amjust as good as any man out there! If I were a man, you wouldn’t be giving me such trouble!” Her eyes, though still bright with excitement, were dark and desperate.
“We wouldnae be havin’ this conversation if you were a man…It is not yer fault that things are so hard for us women, but we have to be smart.”
A cold knot formed in Marion’s stomach. She knew that look. Verity would go without her. And if she went alone, the risks would be tenfold.
Her heart heavy, Marion sighed.
“Aye… this is an important opportunity. Very well. But we go together. And ye promise me, Verity, no more impulsive dashes into the night. This is it. The first and last one! From now on, ye do business durin’ daylight.”
“I promise! I promise!” Verity practically sang, already pulling Marion towards the back staircase as she reached for her cloak.
With the complicity of a trusted footman, a young man named Thomas who was recently promoted from stable duties despite his constant losing of saddles, they made their way out.
Thomas seemed to view the Duke’s household with a detached amusement and he displayed a fondness for Verity, so they slipped out of the townhouse.
The London night air was cool and crisp, carrying the distant rumble of carriages. Before long they found themselves in a dimly lit alleyway behind a bustling printing press with the smell of ink and paper hanging in the air. Marion felt the whole experience was invigorating and so she surrendered to the excitement.
Verity, pulling a thick roll of parchment from beneath her cloak, handed it over to a grizzled night foreman under a false name.
“Eliza Jane Bennett,” Verity whispered. Her voice was barely audible over the clatter of machinery emanating from the large building. “For Mr. Michael Murray!”
The foreman merely grunted. He snatched the manuscript and slipped it into a large, dusty bin. Marion remained cautious, looking around the dark alley to ensure their safety. Her senses heightened. Every shadow seemed to hold a lurking threat. But somehow, as if a guardian angel was looking over them, nothing went awry.
In fact, the transaction was swifter than Marion expected.
As quickly as they had left, they slipped back through the quiet streets. Within thirty minutes’ time, they had returned home without even a blip of an incident.
“Promise me, Marion. Promise you will not tell Anselm. Not a word. He’ll never understand. He’ll lock me away and throw away the key,” Verity whispered as she stood outside of Marion’s bedchamber.
Marion hesitated, the lie already tasted bitter on her tongue. How she loathed lying… Yet the fervent hope in Verity’s eyes swayed her.
She saw not a mischievous girl, but a woman desperate for control over her own destiny.
Just like me.
