“Failure is always a possibility, but we minimize it with planning and hard work.”
“You haven’t left me any time to plan.”
“Opportunity looks like inconvenience to the indolent.”
She wanted to stick her tongue out at him. “Must you be so Scottish?”
“I am Scottish.”
“You needn’t make it sound as if that’s the most wonderful status a man could boast of. Back to the matter at hand, please. If I attempt this twelve-edition madness and fail, it’s worse than if I’d let the professor bore everybody for two weeks straight. The readers will say I’ve exceeded my limits and overtaxed my dim female brain.”
“Your brain, while admittedly female, is anything but dim. Think like a general. What do you need for your campaign to succeed?”
Generals were not female… exceptsome of them were. Patience had learned from the same tutors hired to instruct her brother—Papa had seen no reason to also pay governesses—and throughout history, some generals had been female.
There were female deities, female saints, and female monarchs. All the best tribulations in mythology had been female too. The Medusa, the sirens, the furies.
“I’ll need help,” she said. “I’ll need immediate editorial reviews, somebody to run errands for me, andcrumpets. Lots and lots of crumpets.”
She’d surprised him. How Patience loved that she’d surprised the canny, competent,ScottishMr. MacHugh.
“There’s a bakery on the corner for your crumpets. Detwiler will be happy to edit material as you complete it, and I will be your personal errand boy. Shall we begin?”
Gracious warbling cherubim. Patience knew the bakery well—she walked past it every time she dropped off her columns. Mr. Detwiler was as fast as he was competent, but as for that other item...
Apparently, Mr. MacHugh could surprise her too.
“We begin now, and your first assignment as my errand boy is to fetch me a batch of crumpets.”