Chapter Twenty-Two

W alking into Tattersall's, Mark felt as if every eye in the famous horse club was on him. He didn't want to ride a hack, but his own horse. He was done with hiding from life. He was a one-legged man, but he was still a man. Helen had shown Mark that he wasn't any less a person because of his injuries. Besides, his brother had taught him how to be a fine horseman and a good driver of a team of horses.

‘What can I help you with today, guvnor?' a groom asked.

Mark took off his hat. ‘I should like to buy a horse for my personal use, a phaeton and a matched pair.'

The man smiled. ‘You've come to the right place. Lord Brunswick is selling his phaeton and pair. There will be an auction in a couple of hours, but you could look the chestnuts over now and see if you're interested.'

‘I am interested.'

Mark followed the young man through a maze of stalls until he reached where two fine, thoroughbred chestnuts were housed. They had deep chests and fine shoulders. Mark took a comb from the groom and gently brushed each horse's fur.

‘Do you know why Lord Brunswick is selling his horses?'

The groom shrugged. ‘Rumour is that he lost a race with 'em. But I think it weren't the horses' fault. His lordship is ham-handed with the reins, he is.'

‘I haven't driven a curricle in pair in over two years,' Mark admitted. ‘I might be ham-handed now too.'

‘I doubt that, guvnor. I can tell by how youse touch them, that you'd be soft with their mouths.'

Mark nodded, moving to stand in front of the horses. He touched the first's jaw and it was perfectly fine, but the second horse's mouth was full of sores. The groom had been right. Lord Brunswick had ruined one of the horses' mouths. The matched pair was not worth what they might have been.

‘You've seen it then, guvnor.'

‘Is Lord Brunswick hoping to gull some fool into paying more than they should?'

‘His lordship dropped nearly sixteen hundred pounds purchasing them last year.'

Mark let out a low whistle and petted the injured horse's mane, before limping out of the stall.

‘I suppose you ain't interested now.'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘For the right price, I am. I don't believe that an injury should stop a glorious animal from running.'

‘You're a poet, guvnor.'

‘Or a fool.'

The groom shook his head, laughing. ‘You're a downy one. I didn't spot it up front, but you are, guvnor.'

‘Then show me the best horseflesh for my new mount.'

Helen did not have a subscription to the lending library, but Frederica did. Fortunately, it was Frederica's day to play nursemaid. She pulled her sister by the hand into the library. The familiar and lovely smell of leather and paper met her nose—with a hint of dust. Tugging her sister to the desk, she found an older man standing behind it. His glasses were small and round and enlarged his brown eyes. His face was round, too, and he had a friendly smile.

The clerk bowed to Frederica. ‘Your Grace.'

Helen huffed. It didn't matter that Frederica was a duchess now. She was still just her sister and often behaved insufferably.

‘Mr Stafford, always a pleasure to visit your library. My sister, Lady Helen, was hoping to speak to you about the most popular books that you lend out.'

His hand covered his log book, as if to protect it from roving eyes. ‘What people check out is their own business, Your Grace.'

‘Oh, no,' Helen said, stepping forward. ‘I don't care who selects the books. I am simply wondering what titles and sorts of books ladies typically choose. I don't need any names.'

‘Let's start with me,' Frederica said, smiling at the smaller man. ‘I borrow and return at least a dozen novels every fortnight. I love adventure and romance.'

The clerk nodded. ‘Fiction is very popular, especially among younger ladies. Elderly ladies typically borrow books on household hints and medicinal herbs. Chaperons and governesses always take the decorum books and the peerages. Gentlemen often borrow the classics and scientific books.'

Helen sniffed. Ladies could also be interested in science and very good at it. ‘Do you lend any books on fashion?'

He shook his head. ‘Nay. It changes too frequently, my lady, to be printed in a book.'

The clerk did have a point.

Any lady of the ton had a new wardrobe for every Season. No matron or miss would be caught dead in last year's fashions. If Helen wanted to publish something on fashion, a monthly magazine or a quarterly journal would be a better choice. Something smaller and cheaper that she could create quickly and change often.

She thought of Mrs Campbell's fascination with cookbooks. ‘Do you lend out many cookbooks?'

Mr Stafford shook his head again, his round glasses slipping to the end of his nose. ‘My clientele is a select group... The sort that doesn't do their own cooking. They have servants for such things.'

‘Of course. Thank you, Mr Stafford,' Helen said. ‘Shall we go, Frederica?'

Her sister shook her head. ‘Not before I find some new books to read. I didn't take you here merely to help. I am all out of reading material.'

Helen scanned the shelves and noticed that there were rarely two copies of any title. The lending library had gone for diversity more than quantity.

Frederica huffed. ‘It is as I feared. Not one of Mrs Radcliffe's books are in. They seem to always be out when I come.'

‘And she writes...?'

‘Gothic romances. Innocent young maidens kept in dark, isolated castles by evil counts and a few ghosts and spectres.'

Helen rolled her eyes. What nonsense! But if her books were never on the lending library's shelves, then they must be very popular. She would have to develop a taste for such books.

‘Why do you borrow books, instead of buying them?'

Frederica smiled. ‘I'm not much of a re-reader. I am one and done, as I tell Samuel. Once I know how a story ends, I don't care to read it again. I should infinitely prefer a great variety of books by borrowing them from the lending library for a specific fee instead of purchasing only a couple of books bound in leather for the same price.'

‘So, cost is a deterrent for you?'

Her sister blushed, a rare sign of embarrassment. ‘Money is still tight from Samuel's father's debts. We try to be as money conscious as we can be. That's why we decided to stay with Mama for the Season. It was much cheaper than letting a furnished house.'

Helen was glad that Frederica and Samuel and Arthur were staying with them. The London house would have been quite lonely with only her and Mama. But her mind had swivelled from the original topic—Frederica loved Gothic novels, but she couldn't afford to purchase them.

‘A penny for your thoughts?' a voice said behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know that it was Mark.

‘My thoughts are worth at least a shilling,' she said, spinning around, and without thinking, she threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly. ‘I didn't expect to see you today. At a lending library of all places.'

Mark stumbled back a few steps as if her embrace had thrown off his balance. Helen clung to him tightly, unable and unwilling to let go. He smelled wonderful. Of leather and starch and musk. She wanted to rub her face into his jacket and burrow into his shirt. His heartbeat was loud and strong. His arms tight around her. The feeling of belonging there was stronger than ever before.

‘Release Lord Inverness, Helen,' Frederica said from behind her. ‘England does not wish for another war with Scotland.'

Recalling herself, Helen let go of Mark. She felt the blood rush to her face. Frederica shook her head, frowning. How could Helen have let her surprise at seeing him allow her to behave in so unseemly a manner? She knew very well that she shouldn't be embracing unmarried earls in the middle of a London lending library. It was not only scandalous, but ruinous. And she had promised Mark that she would no longer behave rashly. Yet despite Helen nearly knocking him over, he had not pushed her away. He had returned her embrace and even now his eyes were smiling at her.

Touching the back of her neck, Helen said, ‘England formally apologises to Scotland for its exuberant welcome. Are you still interested in my thoughts? I am now willing to sell them for only a penny.'

Frederica harrumphed. ‘You'd have to pay me more than a penny to listen to them. I shall go and look for new books, but please remember to behave yourself. I'll have one eye on you and both ears.'

Helen waited for her sister to walk down to a shelf on the other side of the aisle before she spoke to him. ‘I came with Frederica to get ideas for my publishing company. My grandfather won't give me the money for it until I have a business plan.'

His lips upturned. ‘And that is why you were asking my aunt about her reading preferences. You are hoping to create a business plan that markets books specifically to women.'

She shifted her feet from one foot to the other. ‘Yes, I would like to give more women the opportunity to write and read books. But I am not sure that is a feasible business plan. Many women don't have sufficient means to purchase books. Frederica prefers to borrow them like yourself. I'm not sure it would be profitable enough.'

Mark nodded. ‘It would be hard to predict.'

‘May I ask why you go to a lending library?'

‘I rarely read the same book twice,' he admitted, leaning towards her. ‘I like the variety it offers for only a monthly fee.'

She felt herself moving closer to him, until she was close enough again to smell the starch on his collar. ‘So you don't wish to own a book because you won't read it more than once.'

He swallowed. ‘Except for your book on snakes. I have every intention of purchasing a copy and reading it multiple times.'

She gave him a playful swat on the shoulder. ‘You're just saying that because I am the author of the book.'

Mark grinned at her and a warmth spread inside her from her chest outwards. Her belly fluttered and the need to be near him overwhelmed her. Why did he have this effect upon her? Yes, he was handsome, tall, melancholy and absolutely wonderful. But Jason was tall and handsome, too, even wonderful in his own way. Yet she did not feel the need to touch him whenever they met, or the desire to press herself against his body.

Helen contented herself by merely intertwining her arm with his. Not even Frederica could object to that. ‘I am to understand that you don't want to spend a great deal of money on the purchase of a book that you will only read once.'

‘Particularly Gothic stories,' he said, placing his opposite hand over hers, his thumb caressing her fingers through the glove. ‘Once you know the ending the rest of the story is less exciting.'

She pondered this. ‘If, perchance, you could purchase a ghost story that isn't leatherbound, would you buy one that is made of only paper and much shorter than a three-volume novel? A penny for your thoughts.'

‘If the book were only a penny, I think that anyone could afford it.'

Helen knew that wasn't strictly true. But she couldn't help but realise that inexpensive paper and printing would make books available to the general masses. Few could spend the cost of a leatherbound book. Only the gentry and the aristocracy could afford to have private libraries. The price of publishing made reading truly a privilege granted primarily to the wealthy. Particularly, wealthy men. The publishing sector of London only served a fraction of the entire population.

If she could produce a less expensive product and increase its circulation dramatically, she would reach an entirely new audience. The middle classes. The lower classes. Women.

‘Are you all right, Helen?' he asked. ‘Your eyes glazed over.'

Helen met Mark's gaze as she whispered, ‘Penny press.'

His head leaned closer to hers. ‘What did you say?'

‘A penny press,' she repeated. ‘I could publish short stories and magazines that cost only one penny. Then women could afford them. Working-class men or even the middle classes would be able to purchase them.'

Mark eyes widened as he thought over her idea.

‘You're brilliant, Helen. I am sure your grandfather will approve of your idea. You are going to change the publishing world.'

His words made her heart soar, but she felt as if she'd been bitten by a poisonous adder. She couldn't move. She couldn't think. She didn't want to leave his side. They stood together without speaking a word, his eyes holding hers as if she were hypnotised. She didn't even hear Frederica's steps towards them.

Her sister took Helen's free arm and pulled her away from Mark. ‘We can go now. I have a whole stack of new books to read. Good day, Lord Inverness.'

‘I must go home,' Helen said, her gaze falling to her fumbling hands.

One of Mark's gloved hands caressed her cheek. ‘You must, for you have a business proposal to write for your grandfather.'

Frederica dragged her out of the lending library. Her cheek burned from where he had touched her. Helen realised that she, too, liked him too much. But she couldn't be a countess or a society hostess. She couldn't be the wife he needed.