Page 51 of A Winter By the Sea
“I noticed that.”
“We know it sells well, as they are printing a new edition. So I would like you to write a guidebook to be printed for me and my establishment.” He raised an eloquent hand as if writing the words in the air. “The New Sidmouth Guide, with an accurate description of the situation, scenery, and climature of that much-admired watering place. Printedfor John Marsh at his library and public rooms.”
Emily stared at him, stomach churning.Shewas to write a book to compete with the popular guide written by an esteemed clergyman, a man who had written and published other books besides?
“I am not qualified.”
He wagged a finger. “I believe you are uniquely qualified. You admitted you have already read everything there is about Sidmouth. Books like Mr. Butcher’s and anything else you could find about your new home?”
“Well, yes, but I—”
“And are you not acquainted with many people of the town—nobility, gentry, and tradespeople alike? Have you not hosted visitors in your own home, and learned what local information they most need and value?”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“You would not receive the credit. It would be work for hire, as many writers before you have started out. And I could not pay you much. But if you complete the project in a timely manner and I am satisfied with it, then I will read your friend’s manuscript and consider yours besides. Andthatyou could publish under your own name—unless you prefer to shield your identity under a pen name, as many women do.”
Emily’s pulse quickened and she began to perspire once more. “How soon would you need it?”
He screwed up his mouth, then said, “A few weeks? A month?It need not be very long. Seventy or eighty pages and many of those filled with lists of tradespeople, available services, and coach times. Rather like Butcher’s slim volume.”
“A month?” she asked incredulously.
“Or sooner, if you can manage it.”
Again she was on her feet, pacing once more. “Goodness. I could not work here round the clock. I have responsibilities at Sea View: advertising, corresponding with guests, helping in the office....”
He rose as well, then came around the desk and leaned against its edge. “You may work on it at home, as best suits your schedule. I have no need to supervise your progress day-to-day.”
He handed her an embossed leather portfolio containing an outline for the envisaged guidebook along with the scrawled notes he had made so far.
She paused to glance over it, but her thoughts were of Sea View. Being able to work on this at home would make things easier. She often fit in some writing during her shifts in the office or when her other tasks were finished.
He extended a hand as though to lay it on her shoulder, then crossed his arms over his chest instead. “Work hard and demonstrate your talent. Help me succeed, and I will do the same for you.”
When she still hesitated, he leaned nearer, eyes intense.
“Come, Miss Summers. This is a rare opportunity. What are you waiting for? What have you got to lose?”
“I don’t know. The prospect frightens me.”
“My dear young lady, do you not think I face down fear every time I sink money into a new building or publishing venture? All men of business...” He corrected himself. “Allpeopleof business take risks every day. No risk, no reward.”
Emily studied the man’s animated expression. He was undeniably persuasive, with passion sparking in his eyes. Yetbeyond her own doubts about her abilities, Emily was still plagued by a sense of loyalty to Mr. Wallis, who had been so kind to her over the last year.
Then again, he had not been willing to consider Mr. Gwilt’s manuscript, nor hers. And her name would not appear in this guidebook, so perhaps Mr. Wallis need never know.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Very well, I shall do it.”
He beamed and extended his hand to her. She had rarely shaken a man’s hand before, and certainly not to seal a business arrangement.
But she reminded herself that Mr. Marsh was neither stranger nor suitor. He was a colleague. And with that thought, she shook his hand.
That afternoon when Sarah stepped into the dining room to spread a fresh cloth for dinner, she drew up short, taken aback to find Mr. During inching open one of the drawers in the sideboard, peering in at the family silver.
Noticing her, he snapped upright like a soldier, heels together, arms at his sides. “Selwyn During, table-decker to the Duke of Kent, entrusted with the royal plate.”
Sarah blinked. “Yes, Mr. During, I remember. Might I help you with something in here?”
