Scandal Meets Its Match (The May Flowers #7) - Merry Farmer Page 0,6
sensuality of her character might even help the shy lady to find a suitor in real life. He’d thought he was doing the woman a service.
“I have a bad feeling about where this could be headed. You know that Lady Hamilton, dear Agnes’s mother, is a harridan. And that she’s not particularly bright. It’s a dangerous combination in the best of times. You are asking for trouble by publishing this.”
“Hazel and the girls need the money,” he muttered, referring to their younger sisters. The needs of their sisters was his last resort of justification whenever his conscience pricked him.
“Hazel is resourceful, and you can write another story,” Lionel countered.
Phin trusted his brother’s judgement—and it was true that his conscience had pricked him a bit as he’d penned the erotic story based on what he’d observed at the theater—but he held onto his belief that the story might do Lady Agnes some good, and they’d reached the office of his publisher, which meant it was already too late.
“As you pointed out,” he said in a quiet voice as they entered the building, trying to be as discreet as possible, “I am no catch, no matter how desperate the ladies of society have become. It’s all well and good that you’ve finally taken gainful employment, but our loved ones back home need food on the table and warmer clothes for the coming winter. Gladys and Amaryllis are growing like weeds.”
Lionel only had a chance to hum dubiously in response as Phin headed to the unmarked door at the far end of the hall they’d entered. He knocked once, then let himself and Lionel in.
“Mr. Mercer,” the short, balding man behind the office’s one desk said in greeting. He stood and edged his way around the desk to shake Phin’s hand.
“This is my brother, Lionel,” Phin introduced him. “Lionel, this is Mr. Jameson, my publisher.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Jameson nodded to Lionel, but was noticeably slow to shake his hand.
For his part, Lionel didn’t seem to notice, though Phin was certain he had. Unlike other men of Lionel’s persuasion, he couldn’t have hidden who he was if his life depended on it.
“I’ve brought you a new story,” Phin said, handing Jameson the roll of papers and clearing his throat. “Do you think it can go to press by this evening?”
“I’ll do my best,” Jameson said with a sigh, taking the story to the other side of the desk and unrolling the pages. “I’ve got a few fliers for that political chappy from Chiswick to print before three this afternoon. The boys are just finishing that up, but Davy has gotten good at setting type lickety-split.” He scanned over the papers Phin had given him, his brow shooting up.
“It’s all right if it doesn’t go to press until tomorrow,” Phin said. “Although I am rather anxious for the income this issue will provide.”
“I bet you are, Mr. Mercer,” Jameson said, sending him a knowing look. He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a thick envelope. “Here’s the profits from the last issue. That one did quite well, it did.”
“That was the one where you implicated a member of the royal family, was it not?” Lionel asked with an amused snort.
“Any resemblance my characters have to real, living persons is purely coincidental,” Phin said, one eyebrow raised. He took the envelope of cash that Jameson offered him and glanced at its contents briefly.
“I had a scare with that issue,” Jameson said, growing serious. “Nearly got found out, I did. A gent came around asking questions. Said he was asking all of the printers in London for information about Nocturne. I told him I’d never heard of the publication before, that I only print fliers.” He paused, wringing his hands for a moment. “I’m not sure he believed me.”
“Your discretion is the reason I patronize your services, Mr. Jameson,” Phin said with a reassuring smile, thumping the man’s shoulder. “It’s also why I let you keep forty percent of the profits.”
“For which my wife and children thank you,” Jameson said with a wary look. “But perhaps no more stories about the royal family.”
“That sounds like a wise and sensible plan, sir.” Phin tipped his hat to the man, then turned to go. “Thank you, Mr. Jameson,” he said before he and Lionel stepped back into the hall. “You have no idea how grateful I am for everything you do for me, and for your absolute silence on the matter.”