A Rogue No More - Lana Williams Page 0,1

synonymous with the very books that are the talk of the ton. Think of how proud Father would be that you’re continuing in his footsteps.”

The last bit had Thomas setting down the coffee and clearing his throat to level his brother a glare that would’ve given other men pause. Graham merely raised a brow.

“I have spent the better part of a month in that office.” Thomas couldn’t call it his own for it didn’t feel anything of the sort. “The literary works to which you refer have barely made a shilling. The same can be said for the poetry volumes and the others Father deemed worthy of publishing. Only one story has turned a significant profit, a rather gritty mystery you should read.”

Thomas chose not to admit that it had been such an engaging tale he’d stayed home two nights in a row to read it the previous week, devouring all three volumes, known as a three-decker in the publishing world.

“No.” Graham shook his head adamantly. “We cannot publish that sort of rubbish. Nor any of those sentimental romances that women seem to enjoy. We have our reputation to consider.”

“You mean your reputation. I have none to worry over.” Thomas took another fortifying sip of coffee, hoping it would clear his thoughts. It was far too early in the day for this sort of discussion—or any, for that matter. “Perhaps you or Hugh would be better suited to run the publishing house.”

Graham waved his hand in dismissal as he faced Thomas with a look of expectation. “We’re depending on you. Surely you can find the sort of manuscripts we are proud to publish. A study of philosophy or a historic tome perhaps.”

“You can either publish great literary works or you can pay the bills. Which would you prefer?” He’d reviewed the financial details thoroughly and been surprised at what he’d found. Their father had not fared any better with the publishing house than he had with his other endeavors.

They could only hope the author of the mystery, A. Golden, wanted to publish another book. Then they needed to find others like him. Thus far, Thomas hadn’t found anything decent in the stack of manuscripts submitted for publication but many more awaited his perusal.

“If you found ways to reduce expenses, surely—” Graham began.

“I’ve already released two editors from our employ.” It had only taken a week or two of working with them to realize they had a significant difference of opinion from him on which books were worthy of publication. He wondered if they were part of the reason for the lack of profit. From this point forward, he’d have no one to blame but himself if things didn’t improve.

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Then who will do the editing? You?” The disbelief in his voice caused Thomas to shift in his chair as annoyance stirred within him.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I read more frequently than you might realize.”

“Reading hardly makes one a good editor.”

“Hmm.” Thomas refused to bother defending himself. He’d learned long ago it did little good. “Now then, you’ll have to either trust my judgment on the task you’ve thrust upon me or find someone else to do the job. Which is it to be?”

“I trust you.” Graham looked him in the eye as he spoke. The vote of confidence not only surprised but thoroughly unsettled him. His brother must be more worn down from trying to untangle his new duties and save the earldom than Thomas had realized. “I look forward to hearing an update soon.”

Which meant Thomas had dragged himself to the office to sit in the uncomfortable chair at his father’s desk and attempt another day of work. He didn’t care for his new routine full of responsibility.

A stack of correspondence awaited his response, but it paled in comparison to the manuscripts piled even higher on the corner of his desk. The sight of them only worsened his aching head.

“Bing?”

“Yes, sir?” Owen Bing, the young man who served as his assistant, appeared in the door so quickly that Thomas wondered if he stood outside it, waiting for such a request.

“Move those manuscripts to a chair,” Thomas directed, unable to bear the pressure they represented.

“Of course, sir.” The thin man, with an impressive beak of a nose and an ill-fitting suit, lifted the pile of papers only to hesitate.

“What is it?”

“Perhaps the floor would be a better choice. Your eleven o’clock appointment will need a place to sit.”

Thomas blinked at the reminder. “With whom am I