How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,75
him, but since that currently wasn’t possible, he had settled with enjoying recounting the evening to her in the parlour. Now she seemed to retire to bed as soon as Betsy was put down. He had scarcely seen her at all.
He wondered if perhaps she was just tired from a long day. After all, she had spent almost all day of the last year taking care of the child’s physical and educational needs. It certainly could wear down a person. He didn’t fault her for turning in early. He simply missed her.
Now, however, he had his plan worked out, and instead of leaving for the day, he would wait until they were alone so that he could lay it out thoroughly before her.
The day seemed to drag on much longer than the average. Finally, Betsy was put to bed, and Bridget and he were sitting before the low-burning fire.
“There is something I need your help with,” Lord John started.
He knew no other way to ask a favour than to just get it over with outright.
“Of course, anything,” Miss Thatcher responded, setting aside the book she had picked up to read.
“I told you that it was my brother who seemed to be encouraging these publishing establishments to turn me away.”
She nodded in understanding.
“I’ve spent the last few days digging into the matter more. It seems the duke has gone above and beyond. He has bribed all publishing agencies within the city and some without to not even read my manuscript should I come to them.”
“That is such a terrible thing to do. Do you have plans to confront him on the matter?” Miss Thatcher asked.
“It would do little good. My brother would argue that he is well within his right, and the burden is on me to complete the task despite his obstacles or give up. No, I don’t want him to know that I am on to his plot.”
“What will you do then?”
“This is the favour I must ask of you. I would like to give another my novel and have them stand as the author before the publicists. None of them have taken the time to read my work, I am sure of it, so they will have no idea that I am, in fact, the author.
All I need is the written agreement that the publishing agent will take up my commission. Once I have that, I will have won the bet and full access to my inheritance.”
“Who will you have be your proxy? Mr. Higgins?” Miss Thatcher asked with interest.
“I don’t think it would be wise to ask someone who is so publicly attached to me. In fact, I feel it would be best if I avoid asking a man at all. I would like to ask a lady instead. You see I don’t think the agent would have any reason to assume that she was working for me.”
“Why is that?”
“Women must work doubly hard to get their works published and often at a very unfair share of the earnings. It is a sad truth of our world today, but not much room is made in it for a woman to be successful.”
“So you surmise that no publishing house would assure that you would be willing to agree to these lower standards. It’s ingenious. Will Mrs. Smith be your proxy then? It is clearly an important job and can’t be trusted to just anyone.”
Miss Thatcher watched him with an innocent stare. He was beginning to see how little Bridget Thatcher considered her own self-worth.
“Mrs. Smith is a capable enough woman and would probably do the task justice, but I had another in mind. I was hoping you would be my proxy, Miss Thatcher. I wouldn’t wish to trust the task to anyone else with such an important job.”
Miss Thatcher opened her mouth to protest.
“Now before you tell me that you don’t find yourself capable of the task, I want you to know that I have complete trust in you. It may be challenging to convince a publicist to give you his time, but I have no doubt that you can accomplish the task.
I will not force this upon you if you don’t wish it, though. I know you already have so much to do, and perhaps it is wrong of me to ask more of you…”
“I would be happy to help you. It’s true that I am a little wary of my ability. But if you believe I can do it, I will trust in your faith.”