Page 81 of A Winter By the Sea
Plus, asking for help would mean confiding what she was doing.
Emily was not completely certain why she had not told her family she’d agreed to write a new guidebook for Mr. Marsh. She supposed she was afraid they might not approve, either of the work itself or due to loyalty to Mr. Wallis. Or perhaps because Emily reasoned that the fewer people who knew, the less likely it was to get back to Mr. Wallis that she had been the one to write the book, which would compete directly with his. Or perhaps because she feared she would fail. That the guidebook would be criticized as far inferior to the work of Wallis and Butcher, and she would not want her name to be associated with it. With a veil of anonymity, she could fail in her first publishing endeavor and still show her face around town.
A veil of anonymity...The phrase brought to mind Viola, who used to wear a physical veil whenever she went out in public. Emily felt belated compassion for her twin, although their reasons for wanting to shield themselves were far different. Thankfully, Viola no longer felt the need to hide her scar. Love and marriage had given her new confidence.
Emily had never, ever dreamed she would be jealous of her sister, scarred and reclusive as she had been for most of their lives, but now she almost was. Emily too longed for love.
She thought of Charles gallantly assisting her after the fall. Escorting her to the physician’s office and then home, taking care not to let her slip once more. Charles calling her “Emily” in his surprise at coming upon her on the walkway, when he had been calling her a formalMissbefore. And then there was his charming presence at dinner....
She became aware of another person’s presence and glanced up, half expecting to see the man of her thoughts appear before her.
Instead Mr. Thomson stood at the desk, staring down at her hand, his handsome face lined with worry.
“What’s happened?”
“Oh, I fell on the ice. It’s only sprained, thankfully.”
“Does it hurt? I heard you groan from the next room.”
“It throbs a bit, but that’s not why I was groaning. I can’t write with my hand like this.”
He stepped closer. “I could write for you. It’s something I am good at, after all.”
“Really? No. I could not ask it of you.”
“Why not? I dislike being idle, and I would like to be of help to you. It will be far more pleasant to listen to your voice than His Royal Highness’s. Especially when he has a cold.” He grinned, adding, “Although I did enjoy hearing him agree to become patron of the Poor’s Friend Society today.”
“Did he? Wonderful! The ladies will be so pleased. And how was dinner at Fortfield Terrace?”
“Pleasant enough. I have eaten my fill and have plenty of energy for dictation.”
Even so, Emily hesitated. “It is kind of you to offer. But I would be far too self-conscious. Besides, most of the time, I don’t know what I want to say until I have a quill in my hand.”
“We could at least try.” He tilted his head to the side. “Whatis it you want to write? Correspondence? Nothing too personal, I trust. And please tell me it’s not a love letter.”
She laughed. “No, it’s not. It’s something of a ... private project. May I trust you to keep it between us?”
His eyes glimmered. “Need you ask? I am entrusted with government secrets, after all.”
“In that case, I am writing a new guidebook for a local publisher and bookseller.”
“And why is that a secret?”
“My name won’t be on it.”
“He is paying you, I hope.”
“Yes. Well, a little. Regardless, I would like to do a good job.”
“Of course.” He brought a second chair close and took from her the quill and paper. “Shall we begin?”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“Again, I have never tried dictating to someone else. I shall likely hum and haw.”
“You shan’t be the first. Remember, we can always revise it later.”
