by Sally Orr
“Yes,” Lady Sarah said in a casual manner. “Once we heard how much money Mr. Drexel made publishing his field guide, we all thought it would be a good idea to do the same. I’m sorry you were not present at the meeting when we decided upon this matter. But, as you are fully aware, we could use the extra funds. Now the book has been so successful, we might even be able to rescue every governess we find.”
Several ladies nodded in a perfunctory fashion and one clapped.
“Much easier than holding a bazaar, for example,” said Sybella, the group’s treasurer.
Meta was at a loss for words; her throat seized.
Her disappointment must have shone on her face, as Clara glanced down to her lap. “Our intent was to protect you. We—I—suggested the book might also save you from the attentions of a scoundrel. I…mean you were observed in his close company, and you surely don’t want any hint of scandal attached to your good name.”
Meta’s irritation overwhelmed her, and a brief silence fell over the room. Her affection for George must have been patently obvious for her friends to attempt such a faulty scheme to save her from him. Close to tears, she remained standing, expecting to run to the door the moment one fell. “If we were seen in close company that evening, it’s because it was raining. I had no desire to get wet and become ill.”
Many of the ladies appeared unsettled, focused on their teacups, or absentmindedly stirred their tea.
Meta’s mind swam in confusion. “I understand your motives were to protect me from him, I guess. I can assure you that is not necessary.”
Her friends appeared to relax.
“For personal reasons concerning others, I must insist that all publication of your field guide cease immediately.” Her palms became damp, so she nonchalantly brushed them on her skirt.
“But, Meta,” Lady Sarah said, “we too have earned a significant amount of money for the accounts, enough for every governess. No more begging husbands or fathers for funds.”
Sybella remarked, “Husbands can be particularly troublesome.”
All of the married women agreed.
“So true.”
“Yes indeed.”
“Without a doubt.”
Meta turned to Lady Sarah and held out her hands. “I promise to match the expected profits, pound for pound, when you stop the publication. But stop it must. You have hurt Mr. Drexel’s reputation unfairly, and now his promotion is in jeopardy.”
“We used random initials followed by dashes,” Lady Sarah said, her brows knit. “So I don’t see how anyone could come to the conclusion it was his name in the book.”
Meta gave her friend a resigned smile. “I don’t pretend to understand why people attached names to vague initials—for the fun of it, I presume—but I know they do. They consider it a game. Remember Lily’s difficulties? Her name was unjustly attached to initials that merely resembled hers.”
The women lapsed into uneasy silence, punctuation by a great deal of noisy tea stirring.
“Mr. Drexel,” Meta said, in a choking voice, “has worked hard for years to overcome the stain on his reputation from his ill-considered field guide. Today he is considered for promotion, a well-deserved honor for his hard work on the tunnel. Your…well-intentioned field guide may have prematurely ended his career. Civic gentlemen may not seek him out for projects, solely on the basis of rumors derived from your book.”
Silence filled the room. The ladies all stared at their laps or out the window.
“I have come into some money recently,” Meta said. “So reimbursement is not a hardship, believe me. But further publication must be stopped immediately.”
Lady Sarah spoke in a low voice. “You must be fond of Mr. Drexel to defend him so.”
The word “fond” was sometimes used when one did not wish to mention the word “love.”
Was she in love with George?
With the speed of a thunderclap and the heat of a fire’s spark, the answer was yes. A sudden clarity assailed her. Yes, she loved George.
It began when he had kissed her and she let her hand softly linger on his cheek. Then it grew into a passionate love. Unlike the gentle, friendly love that she felt for her husband, her love for George burned. She now recognized this love as the dream of every female growing up. This love was the subject of novels of romance, the desire for the touch of the children you create together, and the loving tenderness that grows from a life shared. This love would never fade with neglect or time.
“Meta, are you feeling well?” Lady Sarah tilted her head down to catch her eye.
She looked into her friend’s eyes and nodded. This was also a love that could never be; George did not need her or want her friendship. Moreover, he was a reputed rake, complete with the unfeeling reputation that came with that title. To him, women were merely a conquest, or names in his book, or a means of celebration. She fought the welling of a tear.
While his barriers against love were ones derived from his personality, her barriers stood even taller—her unquestioned devotion to the needs of her family. This was her duty and her greatest joy. Nothing could make her happier than attending to their wants and desires. So to leave them to reside elsewhere with another spouse was out of the question. She turned around to discreetly wipe away the troublesome lingering tear, then faced her friends again.
Since her love could never be realized—or spoken of—for the future she must deny or hide it. This time another unwanted tear welled so quickly, it fell down her cheek before she could wipe it away.
Silence claimed the room.
“Yes,” she said, holding her chin high. “I am fond of the whole Drexel family, but you are mistaken if you think I have matrimonial expectations. Mr. Drexel has gone out of his way to help my brother, Fitzhenry. So you see, he blames me for your field guide and is under the impression I have done him a great disservice for his kindness. That is the main reason for my tears. I regret that terribly, and I am determined to set the situation to rights.”
None of the ladies said a word. The only sounds in the room were from spoons banging on teacups and plates.
Lady Sarah spoke first. “Please forgive us, Meta. We never meant Mr. Drexel harm. I suppose we were all blinded by the ease of writing such a book—”
“Yes, we had such fun,” Clara stated, biting her lip.
“Frankly,” Lady Sarah continued, “we were blinded by the allure of the potential earnings, and we truly believed that we were doing you a favor. Saving you from the clutches of a reputed rake. But I can speak for all of us when I say that now we wish we had not done it.”
The majority of the ladies nodded.
“Yes, we all apologize.”
“Very sorry.”
“Please forgive us.”
“So it seems to me,” Lady Sarah said, standing to address the group. “We must help our dear Meta in any way possible. Do our best to right any damage to Mr. Drexel’s reputation our field guide may have inadvertently caused. Perhaps if we all put our heads together to solve this problem, we can set the situation to rights. Any ideas?”
Seventeen
Meta opened the front door and carefully stepped into the Broadsham town house, her arms full of packages and boxes. Low spirits had claimed her for the last four days, so she decided to lift them with a little shopping. She bought yards of a lovely violet silk that would emphasize Lily’s eyes, a fur muff for Susanna, new smart waistcoats for the boys, and an adventure book about travels in Africa for her father. Before the packages could be safely taken from her hands, Fitzy grabbed them and unceremoniously dumped them on the table in the vestibule.
“You must come,” he said, tugging on her long glove.
“Is the house on fire? Or can I remove my bonnet, spencer, and gloves?”
He stopped tugging. “If you must.” Watching her closely, he motioned for her to follow him the second she had removed her outerwear.
Stepping into the drawing room, she noticed the room had been put to rights
and the chandelier restored to its place of honor. All the room needed now was the plasterers to come in and remake another roundel in the Adam style. “Wonderful. I cannot tell you how delighted I am that Mother’s chandelier is once again illuminating our lives.” She examined it carefully. Something appeared different. “What’s that large brass ball hanging in the center?”
He beamed. “After consultation with a gentleman of my acquaintance who had experience with machines, I devised a counterpoise, a brass weight.” He pulled a chair directly under the chandelier, stood on it, and lightly pulled the chandelier down to her eye level.
“Can you let go?”
“Of course. It is balanced, so very little force is needed to move it. Now the housemaid will have a much easier time cleaning the crystals.” He gently pushed the chandelier upward, all the way into its proper place.
Meta’s heart swelled with pride. “Job well done. I am impressed.”
He stepped off the chair and tucked his thumbs into this waistcoat, looking ever so much like a young monarch surveying his kingdom.
She smiled, then bit her upper lip. “Can you tell me the name of the gentleman that assisted you?”
“The idea was mine, really. And there is no need to call in the plasterers. I’ve decided to cast my own roundel, since I need more experience with the medium.”
Meta suspected the involvement of one of the Drexels. Perhaps the elder one, since Fitzy spent most of his time with George’s father. But for her own sanity and Fitzy’s pride, she decided not to pursue the subject further. “This calls for a celebration. I’ll instruct Cook to make you whatever dish you choose tomorrow.”
“For which meal?”
She laughed. “All of them.”
His eyes widened. “I will have to give this great consideration.”
“Excellent thought.” She sat on the cream silk sofa and rang for tea. “While we wait for tea, I want to tell you about my new plan.”
“Ma’am?” the servant said from the doorway.
“Bring us some tea and those cinnamon cakes if the girls have not eaten them all.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The servant left the room.
“While I was shopping today, I devised a scheme to help Mr. Drexel.” Since the Learned Ladies promised to demand that their publisher cease publication of their field guide, Meta needed to remove the ones that remained in circulation. “My plan requires your assistance.”
Fitzy stood by the fire, one hand on his hip and looking the part of the master of the house. He wore his newfound confidence proudly, like a new coat.
“So tomorrow, you and I,” she said, “and James too, if he is available, will attempt to purchase every copy of The Ladies’ Field Guide to London’s Rakes. This book was penned by some friends of mine and has jeopardized Mr. Drexel’s chances of promotion; therefore, we will attempt to remove all of them from circulation.”
“That explains why you would not let me call upon the family.”
Still overwhelmed by guilt due to her edict not to bother the Drexels, she gave him a feeble smile.
“But removing published books from all of London? It might cost a hundred pounds, maybe even more,” Fitzy said. “Do you know how many copies were printed?”
She shook her head. “No, but we will do our best. Money is not an issue. We will start first thing in the morning too. As we may have many shops to cover.”
“If you say so. I hope we salvage the relationship. I would dearly love to openly visit the Drexels again.”
She bit her tongue. Without doubt, one of the Drexels had helped him with the restoration of the family chandelier, when his own father could not. She saw no advantage to pressing the matter further. “We both want our friendship with the Drexels to continue.”
The next morning, at the first appropriate hour to receive visitors, Meta and Fitzy stood in the middle of James’s small drawing room. His residence now consisted of just enough rooms for the comfort of his one servant and himself.
When James was apprised of their plan for the day, he sat and rubbed his chin. “What an interesting idea. Of course, I’d be delighted to be of service. If money is no object, every copy available in London’s booksellers can be purchased and removed from circulation. But you do realize there is a flaw in your plan?”
The only flaw Meta considered was the inability to reach those who had subscribed to the purchase. Those books were already in the hands of their owners. “What flaw?”
“There is already tittle-tattle about your relationship with Mr. Drexel. If you are seen buying the books, it might compromise your reputation. So I must ask, do you have an understanding?”
“No, of course not.” How did James hear of such a rumor? Was it spread by one of the Learned Ladies, or did it arise from someone else? Regardless, for the sake of her siblings, she needed to remain a respectable widow in the eyes of society.
“While I’m not aware of the source of the gossip,” James said, “it would not be helpful or seemly if you purchased the books. So I believe our best recourse would be for me to enter each shop and buy the books alone. Then you and Fitzy can see that they are hidden or returned here for later disposal. What do you think, my dear?”
Why, for the first time in their relationship, had he referred to her as my dear? Puzzled, she ignored it. “Thank you, James.” His kindness reinforced her belief that Lily has been a fool to refuse him. “We brought a few band boxes and even a portmanteau to hide the books in. So let’s get started. May I suggest we head in the direction of Temple of the Muses first? They sell a tremendous number of books, so it is imperative to get the field guide off their shelves as soon as possible.”
James agreed, so she and Fitzy chose a box to carry, and the three of them headed out. A light drizzle greeted them, but it soon cleared into a fine day. It was still early and most of London had not yet crowded the streets.
For the first half hour, their plan worked like clockwork. James entered the establishment and purchased all of the available copies, stating he needed gifts for the members of his club. Once he left the bookseller, he handed the books to either Fitzy or Meta for hiding. Thankfully, the tome was a small one. By the time they left Hatchards, they carried over fifty copies between them.
When they finally reached the Temple of the Muses on Finsbury Square, she and Fitzy hung back, so James would appear to enter the store alone. Within a minute, she saw him hurriedly exit the store.
“Trouble, Meta.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“Lackington must have purchased at least a hundred copies for the Temple, and I don’t have a hundred friends in my club. If I purchase them all, suspicions will arise that we are trying to remove the book from circulation. So what can we do?”
The three of them stood there, staring at the pavement.
“I’ve got it. We will all enter and buy all of the books. If asked, we’ll say we are missionaries and the books are being purchased to take to India.”
“A field guide to London’s rakes is appropriate reading material in India?” James sighed. “No, that will never do. They’ll know it’s all a hum.”
“How about we describe ourselves as booksellers from America. And the publishers did not have the number of books we needed at the present time, so we came here to fulfill the order,” she said. “If they complain, we will just say they can refill their stocks from the publishers at a later date. We need not reveal that they will no longer be published. Besides, they will sell us—their customers—books. That’s what counts to a bookseller.”
“Very well,” James said. “I have no idea if your plan will work, but we do not have an alternative one, so it’s worth a try.”
Their ruse worked. After all of the Temple copies were purchased, Fitzy volunteered to carry the heavy load and deposit it at James’s rooms. He’d then return with an empty box so they could continue to purchase copies from other booksellers.
By late afternoon, Meta was pleased to realiz
e that no available copies of the books were to be had at central London booksellers. How many copies escaped their efforts because they had been distributed to places like Bristol she had no way to determine. However, their actions today increased her confidence in the eventual restoration of her friendship with George. “I’ll ask Lady Sarah if she knows of other cities where the publishers might have shipped books. Perhaps if the journey is not far, Fitzy and I can take the carriage to retrieve those copies too.”
James led them into his small drawing room carrying a bandbox full of books. “Well, we have certainly done our job for the day. If you buy up the copies in villages around town, all of London will soon forget that silly little book.”
“I do hope so,” Meta said, in a more optimistic mood. Still, the removal of the books seemed to be just one of many more steps needed to restore her relationship with George.
James shoved the box of books behind his sofa. “I will wager that by the time of Lady Sarah’s ball at the end of the month, this muddle over one ill-advised book will end. Then Mr. Drexel can rightfully take his place at the ball as the person of honor.”
“What ball?” Meta wondered if this was another plan the Learned Ladies were attempting to hide from her.
James fetched a white envelope from the sideboard and handed it to her. “It arrived this morning.” He paused. “I’m sure there is an invitation waiting for you at home. So you see, by stopping further publication of their book and giving a ball in his honor, your lady friends are doing their best to right the wrong they started with their field guide. You must be pleased.”
Meta gave him a smile; her thoughts consumed by the pretty invitation she held in her hands. Had they sent her an invitation too? Perhaps the ladies developed a lingering resentment over her objections to their field guide, or some unfathomable secret reason, causing them to deny her an invitation?