Chapter Twenty-Six

W ick was complaining before they even reached the door of Hampford House. ‘Couldn't you wait until it's Matthew's turn again to keep an eye on you? He's the businessman after all.'

‘Come on,' Helen said as he grumbled all the way to the carriage. ‘Matthew is busy in Parliament this week.'

Her eldest brother helped her inside and then climbed in after her. ‘Wouldn't you rather go to my house and play with the boys? We could take them to the park? Or Astley's Amphitheatre?'

Shifting in her seat, Helen said, ‘I think that is a great idea. You take the boys and I will go to my publisher's house.'

‘You need an escort.'

‘But that doesn't have to be you,' she said persuasively. ‘Perhaps Lord Inverness could accompany me to the publisher.'

‘Mama wouldn't like it.'

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mama wouldn't have to know.'

He gave her a stern look. ‘All right. But you must promise not to get into any trouble and not to tell my wife that I was derelict in my duties.'

‘I won't say a word to Louisa.'

‘It's a bargain, Snake,' Wick said, then he leaned his head out of the carriage window and gave his driver directions to Mark's house.

She gave her brother a playful push on the arm. Touching Wick was like touching Jason. It felt loving and familiar, but not a whit of excitement. ‘Wick, can I ask you an awkward question?'

‘No.'

Helen ignored him as always. ‘When you kissed Louisa for the first time, and I suppose every time after, was it different from kissing other women?'

Wick chuckled, pulling at his high collar. ‘What a question! Only you would ask such a thing.'

‘I need to know.'

Her brother smiled reminiscently. ‘No. It was not the same. The other kisses were nice, very nice. But Louisa's kiss set my body aflame and brightened my heart... I suppose the difference is that I wasn't in love with the other women I kissed.'

‘So, being in love with the person makes all the difference?'

‘Being in love changes everything.'

Helen nodded, processing his words. But a man didn't have to leave his home and everything that he loved when he married. It was the woman who lost her roots. Helen thought that she might be in love with Mark, but she still didn't want to leave Hampford Castle. And Scotland was so very far away that she would not see her family very often. Nor the publishing house that she was working so hard to purchase and make successful.

Wick made her wait inside the carriage for him, but after five minutes both Wick and Mark came out. Her eldest brother had a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Mark limped behind him more slowly, a small grimace on his lips as if every step caused him pain. Helen almost wished that she had not asked for his company, but then she realised that Mark had chosen to come. Just as he had chosen to go to parties, dance and even garden with her. She hated when people assumed that, because she was a woman, she had limitations. She thought perhaps that Mark felt the same way. He was a capable man, who just happened to have a wooden leg. He was able to do almost anything another man could, even if it was twice as hard.

Wick must have realised that Mark didn't want help either, for he jumped into the carriage and let Mark pull himself up by his muscular arms.

‘You might as well sit by her side,' Wick said, pointing to Helen. ‘Once I leave the carriage, I am sure my sister will move.'

Mark carefully sat down beside her and Helen placed her hand on her knee, the palm upturned. She was always touching him and leaning against him. She wanted him to initiate the contact this time and she didn't have to wait long before Mark's gloved hand encompassed hers in his warmth. He moved their joined hands to his knee and Helen's whole body felt flushed with happiness.

But marrying Mark would mean that she lost everything. Her home, her family and even her name.

‘I told my driver to pick me back up before Helen goes and speaks to our grandfather,' Wick said. ‘And not that I don't trust you, Inverness. Frankly, it's Helen that I don't trust. But I told my footman to keep an eye on you. So be on your best behaviour.'

Helen stuck her tongue out at Wick. For some reason, her brother brought out her most childish responses. ‘I'm always on my best behaviour.'

‘We both know that's not true,' Wick said with a chuckle.

Mark's hand shook a little in hers, but he managed to keep his mirth inside. And if the corners of his lips did tend to tilt upwards, she couldn't entirely blame him, for he of all people knew just how naughty she could be. Especially with him.

When the carriage stopped in front of Wick's fashionable brick town house, he tapped his hat and climbed out. She heard him call the directions to his driver and the vehicle lurched forward. Mark swayed against her as if finding his balance. She wondered if it was too soon to ask him if he would kiss her again.

She knew that delicately brought up young ladies were not supposed to ask eligible men for kisses, but having grown up around animals she knew that creatures did exactly what they wanted, when they wanted. There were very few rules in courtship there. A peacock would dance and show off his feathers, letting the peahens know that he was ready for mating. Some animals put off a certain scent when they wanted an intimate companion.

But what did young ladies do?

Helen opened her mouth to ask that very question, but before words could come out, Mark's hand cupped her cheek and his lips covered hers. First with gentle pressure and then growing harder by degrees. She knocked off his hat as she gasped with need as their mouths opened, her hands stealing to his hands and then slowly up the muscles of his arms. He was a slender man, but that did not mean that he wasn't a muscular one. The feel of his muscles and the taste of his tongue caused a burning deep in her belly.

Mark pressed a gentle kiss to her nose. More sweet kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin in a worshipful embrace. Helen had never felt more loved in all of her life and in that very moment she knew that she was in love with him. She'd cared for him from the start, her handsome unkept friend who looked like a pirate and made her feel as if she belonged. As if being other was not a bad thing after all.

Their carriage came to a halt and Helen couldn't help but murmur a protest when Mark's lips left hers.

Smiling, he caressed the side of her face with his gloved hand. ‘Don't forget, we are on our very best behaviour.'

‘I already was,' she said saucily and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Mark laughed and slowly made his way out of the carriage before offering her a hand down. Helen didn't need the help, but she accepted it anyway. She didn't need to hold his arm either, but she quickly took it when he offered it to her. Smiling bemusedly, Helen decided that it was quite nice when Mark touched her first.

Wick's footman opened the door and she and Mark walked into the shop. The clerk who had helped her the first day she'd come was there.

He took off his hat and bowed to her. ‘Lady Helen.'

She realised that she didn't know his name. ‘Hello, and your name is, sir?'

‘Mr Leech, my lady.'

Bowing her head, Helen said, ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr Leech. May I introduce my friend, Lord Inverness?'

Mr Leech doffed his hat to him. Mark bowed his head in return.

‘Is Mr Gibbs or Mr Thomas in today?' she asked.

The clerk shook his head. ‘Nay, my lady. But I have the signed contract here to give to you. All that is left to complete the sale is the transfer of funds.'

Helen nodded, unable to keep a smile off her swollen lips. ‘Excellent, we will take it with us when we leave. I am here to learn every position involved in a publishing house.'

‘I've worked in one for twenty years, my lady. It can hardly be done in a couple of hours.'

She smiled. ‘I don't need to be proficient at each position. I simply need to understand the general workings.'

‘And I am only here to help,' Mark said. ‘Lady Helen is in charge.'

Mr Leech bobbed his head. ‘Very good, my lord and lady. If you'll come with me this way.'

The man took them first to the lowest position, the typesetter. It amazed her how there were so many little pieces of type and together they made beautiful words on well-ordered pages. She saw the carved wooden blocks where Mark's illustrations were duplicated. Helen loved watching the printer make copy after copy of the same wooden block, inking it every time. She saw where they hung the pages to dry, like one would hang a wet blanket.

Helen pointed at the beautiful snake drawing. ‘Lord Inverness is the illustrator, Mr Leech.'

‘You almost make me like snakes, my lord,' Mr Leech said, grinning. ‘Almost.'

‘Don't they look incredible, Mark?'

He picked one up off the line and held it in his hands, a slow smile forming on his face. Helen had experienced something similar when she'd first held her words in printed form. There was something truly magical about publishing.

‘I shouldn't wish to boast of my own talents,' he said, hanging up one sheet of paper and picking up another identical one, ‘but I do think they turned out rather well.'

The next place Mr Leech took them to was the cutter. He sliced the large, dry sheets into their individual pages and was careful to keep them in the correct order.

The last person they visited was the man who bound the books together, sewing stitches on the pages as neatly as Wick's wife, Louisa, did on cloth. The bound pages were then attached with glue and stitches to the leather covers. Helen picked up one of the finished books and saw that even the leather cover had an intricately pressed design on it. On the spine of the book, she saw the title in gold filigree surrounded by decorative swirls and leaves, made with the same gold.

Each book is truly a work of art!

‘How many copies do you typically print on a first edition of the book?'

Mr Leech scratched his bearded chin. ‘It depends, my lady. Typically, no more than a hundred copies. If the book is a success, the second printing is much larger.'

Helen blinked. ‘How much does it cost us to produce each book?'

‘Close to a pound for a book as fancy as this one with as many pages.'

It was no wonder that Mark and Frederica preferred to borrow their books from a lending library instead of buying them. The price of her book was more than most maids earned in a quarter. The cost was certainly too great for the average worker.

Mark picked up another volume and flipped through the crisp cream pages. ‘It is certainly a beautifully made book, sir.'

Setting the book down, Helen did a little working out in her mind. ‘So, when Mr Gibbs asked me to give him one hundred pounds to assist in paying for the printing of the book, in reality, I was paying all the fees for its printing?'

Mr Leech swallowed and tugged at his collar around his thick neck. ‘Aye, my lady. In that case, you took all the risk and Mr Gibbs made all the profit. You paid the costs of printing and only receive ten per cent in royalties. You would never have made your money back, but the publishing house would turn a decent profit.'

‘Books on snakes don't sell?' Mark asked.

‘Not well, my lord.'

Helen harrumphed. ‘What does sell well, Mr Leech?'

‘Gothic romances and memoirs. Anything scandalous to do with the monarchy or aristocracy. You toffs love to read books that rip each other apart.'

Helen wrote this down. ‘What of cookbooks, Mr Leech? Has this house published one recently?'

He shook his head.

‘Household Hints?'

Mr Leech scoffed. ‘Nay, my lady.'

‘What of fashion?'

The clerk did not even bother to speak, just shook his head vehemently.

‘How about the Napoleonic wars?'

She felt Mark stiffen beside her. The Battle of Waterloo had made General Lord Wellington the most famous man in Europe, but the glory had come at the cost of many lives. Of Mark's friends.

‘Aye, my lady. We published a book of the Duke of Wellington's correspondence. Several other publishers have immortalised his story as well.'

Helen took in a deep breath. ‘But what of the average soldiers? Or captains? Has anyone told their story? Or the stories of the men who died?'

Mr Leech's eyes fell to his fidgeting hands. ‘Folks like to read stories about heroes, my lady, not about failures or death. It was a great victory.'

‘At a great cost,' she countered. ‘I do believe that I am not the only person who would be interested to hear an additional account of the famous battle, nor see illustrations that help me to understand what happened there.'

Mark shifted his weight to his good leg. She hoped that he would be willing to write his experience and to draw what he saw there. The brave Highlanders that he fought with deserved to be remembered. They had more than earned their place in the pages of history.

‘You are in charge, my lady,' Mr Leech said and Helen liked hearing it rather too well.

‘I am, aren't I,' she said with a little smile. ‘But you do have a great deal more experience than I and I am eager to learn from you. How do we find authors?'

‘Folks send their manuscripts to us and they end up in a pile. I go through them and, if they have any merit, I pass them on to Mr Gibbs. He's the one that gives the ultimate approval and contacts the author. Then he passes the project back to me for the editorial work.'

Helen scribbled everything down as fast as her pen could write. ‘And what does Mr Thomas do?'

‘Nuffink, my lady. He hasn't been in the office in a couple of years.'

Mark snorted and Helen was similarly unimpressed with the former publishing partner.

‘What is your official title, Mr Leech?'

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I'm a man of many trades, my lady. I have no official title. I started off as a typesetter who couldn't read and worked my way up in the house.'

‘Would you consider accepting the position of foreman, sir?'

Mr Leech swallowed and blinked several times. ‘You're not having me on, my lady? I'm not formally educated.'

Helen shook her head. ‘I am not having you on. It appears that nothing happens in this publishing house without you. I should like for you to continue your work, but with the title and authority of a foreman. I mean to be involved in the business, but I spend a great deal of time in the country. I need to know that the publishing house is being run effectively day by day. There will be a pay raise and your own office, as well.'

‘There's nothing I should like more, my lady.'

‘Like Mr Gibbs, I do wish to help select the manuscripts that we publish,' she said, looking to Mark for reassurance. He smiled at her. ‘And I would like to actively seek out female authors to publish books specifically for women. Half of the reading world is relatively neglected by publishers.'

‘Very good, my lady.'

‘How many books do you publish per year?'

‘Between ten to twelve, my lady.'

She wrote the numbers down on her paper. ‘And how many have you already selected for this year?'

‘We have the entire year already mapped out, my lady. You and I would be selecting books for the next year's publishing season.'

Her eyebrow quirked up. ‘Did the other authors all put up their own publishing costs?'

‘Yes, my lady. All but Mr Mayhew. We've published three of his books before and every one goes through multiple printings. Typically, we make most of our profits off two or three titles. The other twelve books are to fill in our time and make only a small contribution to profits.'

‘I have read Mr Mayhew's books,' Mark said. ‘He spins a very good tale.'

Helen touched the tip of her pen to her lips. ‘Let me guess. He writes ghost stories.'

‘Gothic adventures, my lady,' Mr Leech added.

‘Dreadful. But I am going to need his address. I am going to ask him to write a story in instalments. Each serial no more than eight to sixteen pages, front and back. Only one printing sheet. With an illustration on the cover page, which will also be made of paper. The cheapest we can find.'

Mr Leech bowed his head and stared at her blankly. ‘You wish to use the cheapest paper, my lady?'

‘Yes. Our cost on these small books needs to be less than a farthing. Ideally, a tenth of a penny. Can it be done?'

The new foreman squashed his hat between his hands. ‘Aye. We could buy wood pulp paper and one sheet printings would be fast. We could have a hundred copies done in less than a day.'

‘But we are going to need closer to a thousand on our first printing. I mean to be the first publisher of penny stories.'

‘Penny Dreadfuls,' Mark quipped, making her laugh.

Poor Mr Leech's eyes nearly popped out of his stern face. ‘Penny stories, my lady?'

‘Stories that are available to everyone. Publishing at the moment only caters to the wealthy. Our penny stories will bring in readers of all ages and incomes with their ghostlike, dreadful stories. Working men in particular, I believe, will be interested in them and take them home to their wives and sisters.'

Mr Leech gave her a half a smile. ‘It's never been tried before, but plenty of common folk likes myself enjoy reading sensational stories from the newspapers. I think you may be on to something, my lady.'

Helen clapped her hands. ‘I hope so, for my business plan, Mr Leech, is to continue to publish twelve titles a year, as you have previously done. I will actively search out female authors to write and produce two or three books per year, specifically on subjects that interest women. We will also begin a women's fashion magazine that will be published monthly, starting January 1818. Also next year we will try selling a weekly Penny Dreadful in the spring and see if it is a viable business idea. If it is, we will continue the story indefinitely every week with a new segment.'

She liked Mark's name for the penny stories. It was catchy.

‘I think it will be, my lady. I have never owned my own book before, aside from the Bible. I would be pleased as punch to be able to bring a penny story home to my wife and children.'

‘I would be inclined to spend such a small sum as well,' Mark said. ‘For so little, I would not wish to have to wait my turn for the novel at the lending library.'

She couldn't help but smile at this. ‘Now, for our last piece of business today. Mr Gibbs did not want me to publish under my own name, but he was missing a key opportunity for advertising. Many people are interested in what a daughter of a duke writes. I want the title page reprinted and rethreaded to include my full name: Lady Helen Stringham . And I would like you to start printing at once. But three hundred copies instead of one hundred and I should like to see finished books by next week. Ready for sale.'

The clerk's face looked doubtful, but he did not argue with her.

Helen held out her hand to Mr Leech. He hesitated a moment before taking it and squeezing it tightly.

‘Thank you for all your help today, Mr Leech. As of this moment, you have the use of Mr Gibbs's old office. Now, if you'll give me the signed contract, I will see that your former employers receive payment in full.'

Helen held out her hand and Mr Leech hesitated for only a moment before taking it and shaking it firmly. Mark offered the man his hand to shake as well and thanked him for his time and explanations. Mr Leech walked them to the door of the publishing office and Mark signalled to the carriage driver who had been walking the horses up and down the street. Again, he assisted her inside the vehicle, but this time Helen possessed the contract of ownership for the publishing house. She moved it to her opposite hand so that Mark could hold her hand again.

When they arrived at Wick's house, he came out to meet them and clambered inside. He took the contract from Helen and glanced over it. ‘One of Matthew's, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' she said with a little laugh.

Her brother flipped through the multiple pages. ‘I could tell. He never uses one word when he can write ten. Inverness, should my driver return you home, or would you like to meet our grandparents?'

Mark's eyes met Helen's and he shook his head. ‘I look forward to meeting them, but I believe that Helen would like to conduct her business on her own. I should hate for my presence to overshadow her hard work.'

She squeezed his hand tighter. He understood her. Mark saw her like no one else before had and he didn't expect her to change. If only he had a house near Hampford!

He kissed her hand before getting out of the carriage at his house and waving them away.

‘I like him better than the curate,' Wick said, waving back. ‘He doesn't preach to me and he seems to enjoy rain and snakes. You really ought to keep him around. I doubt you could find another fellow like him.'

It was a good thing that her brother was on the opposite seat of the carriage, or she would have given him a push. ‘How do you know he likes rain?'

‘Because you came back wet in his carriage,' he retorted. ‘Not even Mama swallowed Pelford's story of your returning alone from your forbidden jaunt to the Serpentine. You hadn't brought your coin purse so you couldn't have hired a hackney. You can't pull the wool over a Stringham.'

She huffed, dropping her shoulders. She'd learned that particular lesson all too many times before. ‘Why didn't she say anything then?'

Wick leaned back against the squabs, a teasing smile on his annoying lips. ‘Because Mama favours the Earl's suit. Matchmaking is an art and you'll soon find that our mother is a master. I am sure she knows more of what goes on then you have any idea of.'

‘Then it's a miracle you married without her assistance.'

He laughed. ‘True. But all four of my sisters were determined to help, including you.'

Helen couldn't even manage a smile. ‘I think I love him, Wick. No, I know that I do. But I don't want to leave Hampford and everything I hold dear to be with him. To be a stranger in a strange place.'

Her eldest brother shook his head. ‘Oh, Helen, let me put this in the sort of words that you will understand: a bird cannot fly until it leaves the nest.'

She touched the column of her throat and felt her flurried pulse. ‘Snakes don't fly.'

‘And neither do baby birds who stay in their parents' nests eating regurgitated worms.'

Wick held the contract until they reached Grandfather Stubbs's house and Helen didn't mind. His words made her mind spin. Was she preventing herself from living and having new experiences by wishing to stay close to her childhood home? Staying in London hadn't been as terrible as she'd thought it would be. Helen had met Mark and she'd purchased a publishing house. Both life-changing experiences that would not have happened in Hampford.

The carriage stopped. Wick followed Helen into their grandfather's office and pretended as though he'd helped her the whole time at the publishing office.

The rogue.

He even listened as Helen explained her new business plan and gave her grandfather specific numbers and costs—thanks to Mr Leech—and a general outline of her publishing plans for 1818. Including the penny stories and a monthly fashion magazine.

Grandfather read through her hastily scribbled notes, before smiling at her. ‘Now, this is a successful business plan. I will authorise Matthew to send Mr Gibbs and Mr Thomas a bank draft at once. Helen, you now own a publishing company.'

She squealed, jumping from her seat. She hugged her grandfather roughly and then squeezed Wick until he yelped.

‘But you said I didn't help at all.'

Helen laughed, hugging him tighter. ‘You didn't, but you're here and you give rather good personal advice.'

The door to the office opened and her grandmother stood there as if she'd been listening to every word of their meeting.

Helen ran and hugged her, too. ‘Thank you for the wonderful suggestions, Grandmama.'

Grandfather raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘You gave business advice, my love?'

Grandmother released Helen and held her head up with dignity. ‘I have run a household efficiently for more than four decades. How difficult could a business be?'

Helen and Wick laughed, but Grandfather smiled. His eyes were on his wife and there was a sweetness in his expression. After all these years of marriage, they not only loved each other, but they were still in love . Perhaps love gave a person—or a snake—wings to fly.

It was a heady thought.