“I don’t know why you’re worried about that,” he said as he set aside his hat, retraced his steps, and opened the door. “It would further our purpose, wouldn’t it?”
“It would not,” she replied primly as he returned to her desk. “The only reason,” she added, lowering her voice as she glanced past him to the open doorway, “an unmarried couple should be in such an intimate situation is if the man intends to propose. And we are hardly at that stage. You have quite a few more columns to write first.”
“Quite right,” he agreed. Leaning closer, he added sotto voce, “And we’ve no need to talk in whispers about Lady Truelove, Clara. There’s not a soul out there.”
“Everyone must be at lunch, then, even Mr. Beale. Thank heaven he’s gone. We don’t get on very well, I’m afraid.”
“Why don’t you sack him?”
Clara sighed, giving him a rueful look across the desk as she waved a hand to the chair opposite her own seat. “It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t see why not.” He settled into the offered chair. “You’re in charge, aren’t you?”
“Only temporarily. The paper belongs to my sister, and I am managing it only while she is away on her honeymoon. She hired Mr. Beale. Firing him is not my decision to make.”
“You shouldn’t have to tolerate working with horrid people.”
Clara couldn’t help a laugh. “Says the man who’s never held a job.”
He grimaced. “Sorry. That did sound terribly privileged, didn’t it? Still, he was abominably rude to you.”
“I’m used to it.” Clara made a dismissive gesture that banished Mr. Beale. “It doesn’t matter.”
She stretched out her hand for the envelope, but Galbraith didn’t give it to her. Instead, he frowned, tilting his head to one side and giving her a thoughtful look across the desk. “You don’t really believe that, surely?”
She stared back at him, uncertain what he was referring to. “Believe what?”
“That the way you are treated by others doesn’t matter.”
She watched his frown deepen as he spoke until it was almost a scowl. “You’re angry,” she murmured, taken aback.
“Should I not be? To see you undeservedly berated and then to hear you confess you are accustomed to such treatment and that it doesn’t matter . . . should I not be angry?”
She stared at him, noting the glint in his brilliant eyes and the rigid set of his perfect jaw. She’d seen him angry before, but this time, she realized, it was different. This time, his anger was on her behalf.
Tightness squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe, or even think. Her lips parted, but any sort of reply proved beyond her, and before she knew it, her lips were curving into a smile instead.
That smile seemed to make him self-conscious, for he stirred in his chair and looked away. “Any man would be angry, I daresay,” he muttered. “I could hardly restrain myself from seizing him by the collar and hurling him into the street.”
The pleasure she felt widened, opening inside her like a flower in the sun, because despite what he seemed to believe, men willing to toss other men into the street on her behalf had until now been a nonexistent species.
He looked at her again, and Clara pressed the smile from her lips, for he seemed embarrassed, and she didn’t want to exacerbate it. “As much as I appreciate your offer to dispatch Mr. Beale into the street, I’d rather you didn’t. It would be momentarily satisfying, I admit, but it would also make my life more difficult. As for the rest,” she added as he opened his mouth to argue the point, “when I said I’m used to it and it doesn’t matter, all I meant was that he makes it plain what he thinks of me at every opportunity, but I don’t set enough store by his opinion to care.”
“And what is his opinion?”
“That I am just a silly girl, too immature and foolish to be involved in business matters.”
“Then he’s the foolish one.”
“Perhaps, but to be wholly fair, it’s true that I have no experience being in charge. I was Irene’s secretary for a time, but that’s all. And Mr. Beale’s understanding was that he’d be working under my brother Jonathan’s supervision. Upon my sister’s marriage, my brother was supposed to come home from America, go into partnership with her and take over managing things. Mr. Beale took the position as editor under those terms. But Jonathan kept putting off his return, and now, he has decided to stay in America for the foreseeable future, so Mr. Beale and I are stuck with each other until Irene returns.”
“None of that is your fault. The man ought to accept the situation as it stands with good grace.”
Clara made a face. “He doesn’t yet know about my brother’s decision to stay in America. I keep putting off telling him about Jonathan, because when I do tell him, I’m sure he’ll resign. Still, I suppose it’s unfair of me to keep the knowledge from him—”
Galbraith’s sound of derision interrupted her. “I shouldn’t worry about that, not with a man like him. What’s unfair is that your brother and sister have left you here to deal with their problem.”
“About my brother, you may have a point, but as for my sister, it’s not like that at all. Irene has always looked after me and our father. When we had no money and we were about to lose our home, she was the one who saved us. She started this paper and earned enough of an income from it to provide for us, and I am glad of the chance to do something for her. That said, when she returns, I shall happily hand the paper back over to her, and Mr. Beale along with it.”
“At which point, he’ll learn he’ll still be working for a woman, and he’ll probably quit anyway.”
“Possibly, but Irene can hire someone else at that point. As for Mr. Beale, I don’t know that his resentment stems from working for a woman per se, or if it’s that he just doesn’t like working for me. I’m afraid my sister does a far better job of being a publisher than I do.”
“Stuff. I’ve no doubt you’re doing an excellent job in your sister’s stead. You’ve enough sense to hire excellent staff,” he added with a grin, pointing at himself, “and that’s probably the greatest talent one needs when one’s in charge of a business enterprise.”
She gave him a wry smile in return. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, but I can’t imagine I’m a better judge of who to hire than my sister. Irene is usually an excellent judge of character. She’s also a suffragist, and if Beale held any resentment against women with careers, I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t have sensed it when she interviewed him.”
He shrugged. “Not everyone proves to be as worthy at their job as they might seem in interviews. Any butler or housekeeper could tell you that. And your sister was about to be married, wasn’t she? She might have been too preoccupied with wedding plans to notice his defects.”
“Perhaps.” Clara was doubtful. “Distracted or not, it’s not like Irene to make a mistake.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Not my sister.” Clara laughed at his frown of skepticism. “It’s obvious you’ve never met her.”
“I shall look forward to the privilege of doing so,” he murmured, a frown etching between his brows. “I’ve never met a paragon.”
“Not a paragon, but close to it,” Clara assured him, happy to boast of Irene’s many talents. “She succeeds at everything she does. She’s brilliant, confident, accomplished, clever, and if all that’s not enough, she’s beautiful, too. And she has excellent business instincts.”
“Does she?” His frown deepened, and a muscle moved at the corner of his jaw. “Does she, indeed?”
His voice was tense, the question terse, and Clara looked at him in bewilderment. “What’s wrong? You seem quite vexed.”
“Do I?” His frown vanished at once. “I daresay it’s watching you pull your punches with Mr. Beale that’s put me out of sorts.”
Clara blinked in surprise. “But why should you care? It’s not as if—”
She broke off as that hot tightness squeezed her chest
again. It felt like one of her bouts of shyness, only more acute, and yet . . . sweeter, too. He spoke as if he were genuinely concerned about her well-being, and yet, they barely knew each other.
She swallowed hard, reminding herself that making any woman, even one he didn’t know, feel singled out and extraordinary was as natural to him as breathing. It didn’t mean anything to him, not really. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke, she worked to put an indifferent note into her voice that she was far from feeling. “I don’t see why it matters to you.”
“Well, for one thing, you never pull your punches with me,” he grumbled. “How is it that man gets more polite accommodation out of you than I do? It hurts, Clara, really.”
She smiled, recognizing that he was teasing now. “The reason’s plain enough, isn’t it? Beale might quit on me. You can’t.”
“Thank you for the reminder. I feel so much better about it all now.”
“In all seriousness, despite his antipathy for me, Mr. Beale is an excellent editor.” Even as she spoke, she felt a sudden whisper of doubt. “He must be,” she added at once, squelching that traitorous feeling before it could take hold.
“Of course,” Galbraith agreed at once, his voice so agreeably bland that she felt compelled to explain.
“I don’t have any stake in the paper and never will, so it’s not really my place to judge the editor’s qualifications. Besides, editor is the most crucial person on the staff, and if Beale quit, I’d be lost. I feel obliged to muddle through with him as best I can, don’t you see?”
“I do see. And that’s why it’s aggravating as hell.” Despite his words, his voice was gentle. “What you really mean is that you have doubts about his abilities, but because he was your sister’s choice and your sister seemingly never makes mistakes, you tell yourself over and over that the man must be worthy of the post and that your own instincts, not your sister’s, must be at fault. In other words, Clara, you lack confidence in yourself, and because of that, you trust your sister’s judgement more than you trust your own.”
She inhaled sharply, surprised by the accuracy of his conclusions, though she knew she shouldn’t be. His understanding of people was what caused them to seek his advice and the entire reason she’d thought him qualified to write Lady Truelove in the first place. “You’re very perceptive. But you’re not here to talk about me,” she added at once. “You’re supposed to be solving someone else’s problem, not mine, remember?”
“In this case,” he said gently, “it’s rather the same thing, isn’t it?”
At once, she knew what he meant, and she looked away, her face growing hot. In recommending the Devastated Debutante’s letter, she ought to have known he’d perceive her true motives. How could he not? She looked at him again, forcing a laugh. “And I thought I was being so subtle.”
He held up the envelope, smiling a little. “Would you like to know what advice I gave the Devastated Debutante?”
She was dying to know, but she shrugged, pride impelling her to assume a diffident air. “I shall know at some point, since I have to approve what you wrote.”
He chuckled. “Quite right,” he agreed, but when she held out her hand for the envelope, he didn’t give it to her. Instead, still smiling, he propped his elbows on her desk, broke the seal, and pulled out the folded sheets within.
“‘Dear Debutante,’” he began, casing aside the envelope, “‘navigating the social season can seem a daunting task, particularly for the shy, but take heart. There is a secret to attracting others, even those of the opposite sex, and if you can successfully implement it, I promise that a more enjoyable season and life await you. That secret, my dear, is simply to relax.’”
“Relax?” Bemused, Clara made a face. “That’s your advice?”
“Yes,” he answered firmly. “And if you’ll allow me, I am happy to elucidate further.”
She sat back, lifting her hands in a gesture of capitulation. “Carry on, then.”
“‘To accomplish this, to achieve the ease of manner that will draw others to you, I advise beginning with the simplest changes first: those regarding your appearance—’”
“I don’t see what one’s appearance has to do with anything,” she interrupted again, a bit nettled.
He looked up again with a sigh, giving her a look of mock sternness over the top of the pages. “And you never will see if you keep interrupting.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Go on.”
“‘Gentlemen, it must be said, are visual creatures, but this does not mean they care about fashion. Leave tight corseting and high-heeled slippers behind, for they do little to help any young lady feel comfortable and relaxed. If you have fine eyes, avoid wide-brimmed hats unless you are in the sun, for though such hats may be fashionable, they prevent young men from looking into your eyes, and eyes are the windows to the soul. If you have a nice smile, bestow it as often as you can comfortably do, for it will not only draw others to you, but more importantly, the act of smiling itself will help you feel more at ease, attractive, and confident. Find a modiste whose gowns will enhance the favorable aspects of your figure, and trust me when I say that if a young lady has marital ambitions, displaying a bit of décolleté in her ball gown is not a bad thing.’”
Clara made a sound of derision, causing him to pause again, though not, she soon discovered, to chide her for interrupting.
“I take it you don’t agree?” he asked.
“I doubt a girl’s odds of fulfilling her marital ambitions would be all that enhanced by lowering her neckline. Seems terribly superficial, if you ask me.”
“Indeed?” His gaze swept down, making her blush all over and giving her cause to wish she’d kept her mouth shut. After a moment, he looked up again. “As a man, Clara, I have to say that you underestimate the power of a well-cut ball gown.”
She wriggled in her chair, acutely self-conscious. “Isn’t it at least as important to suggest ways the poor girl can make conversation?”
He laughed. “In a word, no.”
Unamused, she folded her arms, giving him a pointed look across the desk.
“Oh, very well,” he said with a sigh. “Since you’re so insistent . . .” With that, he lifted the pages and resumed reading.
“‘But what, you are surely asking, do you say once you’ve succeeded in attracting some splendid young man and he is standing in front of you? If you can think of nothing to say about yourself, seek a topic that enables the other person to talk. Being a good listener is always appreciated and far more charming to others than being a skilled conversationalist. Whatever you say, strive to put the other person at ease, and you will soon find that skillful repartee is not necessary. If all else fails, there is nothing wrong with acknowledging your shy nature. The response you receive will often be relief and a similar confession, thus giving you and your new acquaintance something in common to talk about. And remember, if you say something silly or make a mistake, acknowledge it at once and laugh about it.’”
“That’s easy to advise,” she objected, causing him to look up. “But it’s not so easy to do.”
“It’s not easy at all,” he said. “But it’s useful.”
“Is that why you do it?”
He smiled and returned his attention to the pages in his hand. “‘Self-deprecation,’” he read, “‘is not only a disarming quality, dear Debutante, but if you learn to employ it, you will soon discover benefits to yourself. For the ability to laugh at ourselves and our mistakes is incredibly liberating. It frees us from any burden of worry over saying or doing the wrong thing. And that brings me back to my first point, one I cannot stress strongly enough to you. Shy people worry too much.’”
Clara grimaced, for that was a contention she could not refute, at least not about herself.
“‘Convinced every eye in the room is upon them and that everything they do is being judged unfavorably,’” he went on, “‘shy people find it impossible to relax. Their worries are usually unfounded, for o
ther people are far too preoccupied with their own concerns to worry much about anyone else, but shy people, alas, never seem to believe this. Dire predictions of social failure fill their heads, preventing them from attaining the relaxed air so necessary to attract and hold the attention of others, and as a result, shy people spend most of their time at social functions wishing they were anywhere else. This demeanor, though not the true reasons for it, are painfully obvious to others, who react by seeking more ebullient companions. Thus, the shy person’s exaggerated fears become self-fulfilling prophecy, and the shy find little enjoyment in the pleasures and pastimes of society.’”
Clara bit her lip, appreciating that he had just given voice to the pattern of her entire social experience.
“‘Do not shortchange yourself this way, dear Debutante. The quality of your season does not depend on one dance, or one conversation, and the quality of your life does not depend on one season. Strive to banish your fears and worries. Cast away your expectations, forget the ambitions of your parents, and set aside the goal of seeking someone to marry. In all your engagements, strive only to enjoy yourself. Smile and laugh and savor every moment of your life, and one day, you may find someone at your side who longs to share that life with you.’”
He looked up, lowering the pages, and Clara suddenly felt it was of vital importance to tidy her desk. She straightened her blotter and moved her inkstand a bit more to the left, donning an air of businesslike nonchalance.
“Well?” he prompted when she didn’t speak. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Is my first attempt to be Lady Truelove satisfactory?”
Satisfactory? Her hand tightened around a sheaf of papers. What a tame word to describe the sort of insight she’d been looking to find ever since she turned thirteen, put up her hair, and went to a party where there were boys. She’d always been aware of her inhibited nature, yet she’d never appreciated just how much it could inhibit others. “It’s—” She broke off, set the papers aside with a cough, and looked at him. “It’s very good. Excellent, in fact.”
The Trouble with True Love (Dear Lady Truelove #2) Page 14