Page 31 of A Winter By the Sea
“Perhaps, but parents buy the books, and they want cautionary tales to scare the naughtiness out of their children.”
Emily had thought some of the tales horrid yet refrained from saying so. It would better serve her—and Mr. Gwilt—to remain in the publisher’s good graces.
Instead she said, “There are lessons to be learned in Mr. Gwilt’s tale too. Lessons of kindness and loyalty and friendship. I read it to the children at the Sidmouth School, and they seemed to truly enjoy it.”
He straightened the pages and pushed them back across the desk to her. “I am afraid I cannot help you. This is not something I am interested in publishing. It is nothing personal, you understand.”
He twisted his mouth to one side, then added, “While we are on the subject, your sister mentioned that you are writing a novel....”
Heat rushed to Emily’s face. She was not prepared to tell anyone about that, and certainly not this esteemed professional. It was not ready.Shewas not ready.
“Which sister?” she blurted. Had it been Viola, her biggest supporter? Or it might have been Georgiana, who could not keep a secret for love or money.
He studied her face, fair eyebrows rising. “Is it such a secret? I have no wish to cause a quarrel.” He went on before she could reply. “A Gothic novel, is it? A romance? Never mind. At all events, I thought it prudent to mention that I am not looking to publish novels for young ladies at this time.” He gestured toward the shelves. “You know my publications better than I do: games, prints, maps, scenic guides, and the occasional sermon.”
Glancing in the direction he pointed, Emily saw Mr. Wallis’s clerk emerge from the back room and begin dusting those shelves.
Mr. Wallis cleared his throat. “Well. I decided I should tell you now to avoid misunderstandings or injured feelings later. I value our literary conversations and of course your patronage, but if you are hoping to curry favor—publishing favor, that is—I thought it kindest to disabuse you of that notion without delay.”
The clerk sent her a sympathetic look. Having an audience to her humiliation only made the situation worse.
Embarrassment seared through Emily. She wanted to shout at Mr. Wallis that she’d never had any idea of asking him to publish her novel, that he was the last man on earth she would think of asking! She longed to turn and flounce from the establishment, slamming the library door in her wake. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.
Again he studied her countenance. “Oh dear. I am afraid I have offended you.”
Emily clasped her hands together until the fingernails cut into her palms, and schooled her features.
“Not at all, Mr. Wallis. I thank you for making your position plain.”
———
In a haze of mortification, Emily walked blindly along the promenade, past Hodge’s Medical Baths and the York Hotel.
She glanced up and found herself standing outside Marsh’s Library and Public Rooms.
This competing library had been in operation for some time, yet Emily had never ventured inside. Not only was the Marine Library closer to Sea View, but she liked Mr. Wallis and enjoyed their discussions about books and authors. She’d been too loyal to him to patronize his competitor—impressive building notwithstanding.
Now she felt a crack spreading through that solid wall of loyalty until the invisible barrier crumbled and seemed to fall away.
With a deep breath, she pushed open the door and crossed the threshold.
The interior was well-appointed with reading chairs and inviting displays. The large windows offered a lovely view of the beach and sea.
She looked around and quickly cataloged an extensive range of reading materials as well as shelves filled with beautiful seashells and ornamental Devonshire marble.
“May I help you, Miss Summers?”
With a start, Emily turned. She had not noticed anyone nearby.
Here he was, the same man she had encountered twice on the esplanade, and now for the first time in his private domain.
He was again dressed in gentlemen’s attire, yet his coat of red-and-black plaid contrasted vividly with his striped waistcoat and gold cravat. Most gentlemen wore coats in solid colors over simple waistcoats and plain white cravats. He was definitely a showy dresser. Or perhaps color blind.
His dark wavy hair flopped over his brow in unruly abandon, and she was not sure if he looked more like a rogue or a little boy in need of a haircut.
Emily still wondered how he knew her name when they had not been introduced. She said, “Pardon me, but have we met?”
“No, and I am the poorer for it, I assure you.”
