by Amelia Grey
Catalina breathed in deeply as the carriage came to a halt in front of the tall, imposing building. A moment of dread seized her, but she quickly shook it away. She would not go in to see Mr. Frederick lacking confidence. If she could withstand the intimidating Mr. Brentwood, she could certainly handle the publisher of The Daily Herald.
“Are you ready, dearest?” her aunt asked. “Briggs is waiting to help you down.”
Catalina saw her footman holding his hand up for her, his toothless grin as happy as always in spite of the fact the old, gray-bearded man couldn’t hear very well and could say only a few intelligible words. She held up one finger, and he nodded.
Briggs was fairly good with using hand signals to let people know what he was saying. When her father had brought him home five years ago, all he told her was he found Briggs walking on the Old Post Road. He had been beaten by his last employer and sent off without food, water, or clothing other than what he had on. Her father had offered him a job. In order to help the man communicate better, Catalina had hired an old schoolmaster to work with Briggs. Over the course of a couple of years, he’d learned his letters and how to read and write a few words. He always kept a sharpened pencil and piece of used parchment in his pocket.
Catalina turned to her aunt. “I’m ready, but before we go, I want to ask that you let me do all the talking.”
Her aunt smiled indulgently and patted her hand again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, I’m not even sure why we are here, so you’ll have no cause to worry about what I might say.”
“Thank you, Auntie. Let’s go.”
She and her aunt entered the building and asked to speak with Mr. Frederick. They waited for almost an hour before being escorted to the office of the short, rotund man.
“Come in. Come in, Miss Crisp and Mrs. Gottfried. This is certainly a pleasant surprise. How are you two lovely ladies doing on this fine day?”
“We are quite well, thank you, Mr. Frederick,” Catalina replied affably. He held out chairs for them and then walked around to his desk and eased his bulky frame into a squeaky leather chair.
He clasped his hands and laid them on his desk. His smile and friendliness seemed a little forced as he said, “What can I do for you?”
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Catalina responded.
“I’ll be happy to help you if I can. What is it you need?”
“I’ve come to ask you not to publish the last two installments of A Tale of Three Gentlemen.”
His eyebrows scrunched together. “What? Surely you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. I want you to return them to me.”
Mr. Frederick leaned back in his chair and laughed. “I don’t know what kind of trick you and your father are trying to come up with, Miss Crisp, but I really don’t have time for this. My schedule is hectic, but because I thought you might be bringing me more of your father’s work to consider, I agreed to see you. That is all that interests me. So unless you have something else he has written, I’m very busy.” He started to rise.
“Wait,” she said, tamping down the panic that wanted to control her. “Mr. Frederick. This is not a trick of any sort. Let me explain. It’s come to my attention, and my father’s, of course, that some persons have found the story to be in poor taste and insensitive because it so closely resembles a very well-respected family in Town.”
“That is precisely the thing that makes the story so appealing, Miss Crisp. It’s humor. It is always in poor taste. That is why it is a parody. Now, tell me who thinks A Tale of Three Gentlemen isn’t humorous. I should like to have a word with them myself.”
“It wouldn’t be polite or proper for me to use names.”
He smiled again. “I thought so.”
“But please know that the story needs to be suspended indefinitely.”
“Nonsense. I don’t know of anyone who hasn’t been absolutely delighted with the story. That’s what we’ve heard from our vendors. It was the talk of the Town yesterday.”
“And that, sir, is most of the problem.”
His eyes widened. “Certainly not for me or The Daily Herald. I don’t know whom your father is talking to, Miss Crisp. Everyone I’ve heard from considers the story a masterpiece of humor and can’t wait to read the rest of it. Your father should be eager for the next installment to come out, not trying to stop it. It adds to his distinction as a renowned poet and writer.”
Catalina’s back stiffened, and her shoulders tightened, but she managed to smile pleasantly and say, “I agree with all you said about my father, and we don’t want to seem unfair about any of this, but for reasons I am not at liberty to confide in you, we need the rest of the story back in our possession. Now, I’m sorry to say we can’t, today, return the money you paid us, but you can trust we will in due time. My father is currently writing another story, and he’s working on some poetry, as well, that should be ready soon.”
“Miss Crisp, our newsprint had record sales at all our vendors yesterday. There were no heinous murders reported in the city, the Lord Mayor is not in any kind of scandal, the Prince is in good health, and the King’s is still questionable. Nothing but the story of A Tale of Three Gentlemen could account for the rapid rise in yesterday’s sales.” He shook his head fast to emphasize his point. “No, Miss Crisp, we must finish printing the rest of the story, or our readers will never forgive us. Giving them back to your father is not an option.”
“You must,” she said desperately. “My father insists,” she added, unable to avoid the prevarication.
Mr. Frederick pushed his chair away from his desk and glowered at her. “Let me make something refreshingly clear to you and your father, Miss Crisp. I don’t want the money back. Even if you laid it right here in front of me, it would not change the fact that I am not going to return the story. First and foremost, the story no longer belongs to your father. The Daily Herald bought it, owns it, and is not willing to sell or give it back to Sir Phillip.”
Aunt Elle moved to the edge of her seat and said, “But you must, sir. You must understand that Catalina has asked for it, and as a gentleman, you should comply with a lady’s request.”
Mr. Frederick’s wide-eyed gaze jumped from Catalina to Aunt Elle. “I don’t have to understand, Mrs. Gottfried. We paid for the entire story. I told your brother if the first part of the story was a success we would consider printing the rest. And by all accounts, so far, it has been. We’ll do a final assessment in the next day or two, and if all goes as I think it will, I will give the order to start copying it so printing can begin sometime in the next few days.” He stopped and gave her a victory smile. “We don’t want people to lose interest in it.”
Mr. Frederick rose, marched from behind his desk over to the door, and opened it. “The next time you talk to your father, Miss Crisp, tell him for me I’ll look forward to more stories from him in the future. And while you are at it, please tell him I’d rather he come in next time. I prefer dealing him.” An insincere smile formed on his thin lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Crisp, Mrs. Gottfried, I have others waiting for my time.”
Catalina’s hands curled into fists of disappointing frustration, but she held her head high as she walked toward Mr. Frederick, nodding to him as she passed. She hated admitting defeat, but she didn’t know what more she could say to change the man’s mind. Her father would be home soon, and she had no doubt that with his smooth charm, he would be able to talk Mr. Frederick into returning the final two installments.
Her stomach felt as if it was sinking to her feet as she and her aunt made their way out of the building. She paused and glanced up the street to see if she could spot their carriage but didn’t, so she looked down the street and suddenly inhaled a sharp breath. Her heartbeat surged.
Not far away, Mr. Brentwood was leaning against a lamppost, watching her intently. He wore a black, single-caped greatcoat and held his hat in his hand. He looked the devilishly handsome rogue, and for the first time in her
life, she knew what it felt like to want to run and throw herself into the strong arms of a man.
Four
One may have good eyes and yet see nothing.
—Italian Proverb
What was he doing here?
Catalina tried to restrain the unexpected pleasure that filled her at seeing Mr. Brentwood. Of all the gentlemen she had met, why was this man the one who made her breath quicken, her chest tighten, and her knees go weak at the sight of him?
“It’s not fair,” she whispered.
“Of course it isn’t, dearest,” her aunt said, patting her back affectionately. “It’s your father’s work, and you would think if he wants it back, then Mr. Frederick should give it to him. Mr. Frederick is simply a horrid man with no manners, and he hasn’t a thimbleful of knowledge about being a gentleman. Perhaps we should ask your father to take his writings elsewhere. I should think that nice man at The Examiner would be happy to publish his work and probably pay him more money, too. They’ve always said wonderful things about his poetry and writings.”
“I wasn’t talking about Mr. Frederick, Aunt Elle. Look who is standing by that lamppost.”
Her aunt gasped with delight. “Why, it’s that strong and handsome Mr. Brentwood. What do you suppose he is doing in front of The Daily Herald?”
Catalina had a feeling she knew, but turned to her aunt and said, “I don’t know why he is here, but I have a feeling we are about to find out. He’s walking toward us.”
“Good morning, Miss Crisp, Mrs. Gottfried,” Mr. Brentwood said as he stopped in front of them.
“So nice to see you again so soon, Mr. Brentwood,” her aunt greeted with a smile. “This is a pleasant surprise, isn’t it, Catalina?”
Catalina pinned Mr. Brentwood with a questioning gaze and in a low voice murmured, “For now, I’m willing to admit only to it being a surprise.” It simply was too much of a coincidence for her to believe they ended up in front of The Daily Herald at the same time. But why would the man be following her?
Her aunt gave her a disapproving look, while Mr. Brentwood gave her a chuckle so attractive it felt as if all her senses started dancing.
“If you’re looking for your carriage, it should be coming along any moment now. Your driver is making the block.”
“Thank you for letting us know, Mr. Brentwood,” Aunt Elle said.
Catalina wasn’t as easily taken in by the handsome man as was her aunt, so she said, “I’m curious as to how you knew which carriage belonged to us.”
“I talked to your driver,” he answered.
“Really? That surprises me. Briggs doesn’t hear or speak very well.”
“I didn’t notice,” he said charmingly.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t matter to me that he’s not sitting here on the spot, waiting for us,” Aunt Elle said. “It’s such a fine day to be standing outside, don’t you think, Mr. Brentwood?”
“The best we’ve had in a long time.”
“I hear you’ve spent several years in Baltimore,” Aunt Elle said. “Mr. Gottfried and I wanted to go to America, but there was always so much fighting going on and such ill will between here and there, that we never made it. I know things have settled now between the two countries, but I’ve never been brave enough to set sail. Tell me, sir, is it very different from England?”
“So some say. The winters there are only a little milder than here, but summers are much warmer than London. I found little difference in the landscape or the people. To me, most all seaport towns look alike.”
“Nevertheless, I’m sure it’s fascinating to be so well traveled. I would love to hear about that new land sometime.”
“It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Gottfried.”
“Good. Perhaps you can join Catalina and me for tea again soon.”
He glanced at Catalina. Amusement glittered in his eyes. She had the feeling he was letting her know if he couldn’t win her over, he would settle for her aunt.
“I’ll look forward to an invitation.”
Briggs pulled the landau to a stop and set the brake. He started to jump down from the driver’s box, but Catalina shook her head to let him know they were not ready to board and leave.
“Splendid,” Aunt Elle said, turning back to Catalina with a huge, satisfied smile. “Now, would you mind helping me into the carriage? We had a long wait at Mr. Frederick’s office, and I feel in need of a sip of tonic.”
“Auntie, I didn’t know you brought your tonic with you.”
“Of course I did.” She smiled and patted Catalina’s cheek affectionately. “I always have a dram or two with me. Unfortunately, not the kind you need for the neck pain you’re experiencing. You know, I’m not as young as I used to be, and I never know when I’m going to need a sip of something to invigorate me.” She took hold of Mr. Brentwood’s hand, and he helped her into the carriage. “Oh, and Mr. Brentwood…”
“Yes, madam?”
“In case Catalina forgets to tell you, we will be at Lady Windham’s party. Catalina’s dance schedule fills rapidly. Perhaps you should ask her to save a dance for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gottfried.”
Aunt Elle smiled. “You two stand where I can see you. I’ll chaperone you from here. We can’t have any of the nosy mamas passing by and starting gossip about courting, now can we?”
Mr. Brentwood turned back to Catalina as her aunt opened the satchel she’d brought with her and began digging through its contents.
“You had neck pain?” he asked with a playful grin lifting one corner of his mouth.
His teasing attitude was infectious, and even though she didn’t want to, she had to smile at him. “Yes, and I’m sure you won’t find it surprising to hear the pain started late yesterday, shortly after I met you.”
He laughed softly, causing a teasing prickle of something wonderful to tighten her breasts. It was maddening that she found him so attractive.
“You’re right. I don’t find that surprising. I felt a little roughed up myself after I left your house.”
Her smile turned into a comfortable grin. It annoyed her that he could be so delightful. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, can you tell me what you are doing here?”
“I was waiting for you to come out.”
“Mr. Brentwood, does that mean you are following me?”
His deep blue eyes watched her carefully as he shrugged. “I suppose I am.”
Her heartbeat quickened at his bold admission. “That’s not the sort of thing a gentleman is supposed to do.”
An expression of devilment flashed across his face. “After our meeting yesterday, I’m amazed I left you with the opinion that I’m a gentleman.”
Winning a battle of words against him was almost impossible. “Actually, you didn’t,” she said, keeping her humorous tone. “And obviously it was for a good reason, because you are not.”
“So most say.”
“And that causes you no anguish?”
For the briefest of moments, Catalina thought she saw a flash of regret in his eyes, reminding her that this man was not as tough as he wanted to appear. And suddenly she realized she had wanted to get the rest of A Tale of Three Gentlemen back as much for Mr. Brentwood as for her father. She didn’t want to cause this man any more anguish concerning his family.
He glanced down at his hat in his hands before meeting her gaze and saying, “None whatsoever. I freely admit to following you here. I arrived at your house in time to see you and Mrs. Gottfried getting into your landau. I told my driver to stay behind your carriage.”
Catalina didn’t know if she should be worried or flattered. A chilly breeze whistled past her ears. She welcomed the wind to cool her heating cheeks. She felt flushed and a little disconcerted. “That is how you followed me here, but why were you coming to my house today?”
Mr. Brentwood bowed and smiled at two young ladies and a chaperone who walked past them, and then gave his attention back to her. “I wanted to see if your father had returned
after I left last night. I’ve not hidden from you the fact that I want to speak with him as soon as possible. When I saw you leaving today, I knew if there was any chance you were on your way to meet him, I wanted to be there.”
“When we stopped in front of this building, it should have been your first clue that we were not meeting my father, yet you chose to stay out here and wait. Why?”
“To see you. I wanted to talk to you again.”
His gentle gaze fluttered softly down her face, lingered on her lips before tipping over her chin and sailing down her neck to the hollow of her throat. Catalina’s heart drummed. His gaze took a lazy path up to her eyes again, and she felt a quickening of awareness curl, tighten, and then open and blossom inside her. At that moment, she wondered again if Mr. Brentwood was not only a danger to her father but also to her. She had danced, laughed, and flirted with gentleman after gentleman all last Season, waiting, hoping, and wanting to meet a man who could make her feel all the sensations this man stirred inside her, but none had come close.
Trying to counter her betraying body, she said, “We don’t have anything more to say to each other, Mr. Brentwood. I think it would be best if you stayed away from me and from my house.”
“That’s going to be hard to do, Miss Crisp. You can lead me to something I want.”
“My father.”
He nodded. “I won’t rest until I’ve spoken with him and had my say.”
Catalina took a step toward him, intent on demanding he stay away from her father, when on the other side of the street she saw Mrs. Hildegard Whipple staring at her as she strolled down the boardwalk. Catalina cringed. That woman was the biggest gossip bag in London. The last thing Catalina wanted was to have her name linked with Mr. Brentwood’s.
Knowing she needed to get away from him before more people saw them talking, she took a deep breath and simply said, “Good day, Mr. Brentwood.”
“Allow me to help you into your carriage?” He held out his hand for her.
Catalina looked at his strong hand and was tempted to reach for it. She remembered how gentle his touch had felt on her cheek and lips, and how inviting the scent of shaving soap was to her senses. She would love to know just how much strength that hand held, but she didn’t need any more disturbing memories of him to keep her awake at night. He had already left her with quite enough.