Epilogue

Paris, April 1902

Charlotte lifted onto her tiptoes and pressed her face awkwardly against the glass to see as far down the alley as she possibly could see. Still no delivery truck.

"Darling, I don't think watching will make it come any faster. I've been looking all over for you."

Charlotte turned and Antoine was standing there bemused. The only reachable window with a view of the back of the building was in the dry stock pantry off the kitchen. She had flour on her sleeve where she'd bumped into the sack.

"I thought I might be able to see further from here than I could standing on the ground in the alley."

He laughed and reached for her hand. "Come with me. I have something that will make you forget all about that delivery."

He led her back out through the kitchen. They'd been in the apartment since the wedding in January. It was in the Gros Caillou neighborhood, not far from Antoine's parents' house. They had a concierge who lived on the first floor of the building, and the view out the front windows included a sliver of the Eiffel Tower. And although Charlotte insisted it wasn't necessary, Antoine had floor-to-ceiling shelves built along two sides of her office so she'd have room for all the books she'd write. It was a stunning backdrop for her typewriter and the workspace of her dreams.

When they came out of the kitchen into the hall, Monsieur Patenaude, publisher of her forthcoming collection of short stories, was standing with a blue clothbound book in his hand. When he saw them coming, Monsieur Patenaude held the book aloft and smiled.

"Oh, you've got a copy already!" Charlotte rushed forward, clapping with glee.

"They brought them to the shop first thing this morning. I came right away because I wanted to see your face when I put it in your hands."

"I've been hanging around our back alley waiting for my box of them." He passed her the book. The bright blue fabric was embossed with a medallion design and the words: Little Portraiture; Stories by Charlotte Deveraux. Charlotte ran her fingers over the letters, hardly believing that a book of her work was truly there in her hand. Tears welled in her eyes. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"It's lovely." Antoine put an arm around her and squeezed. "My brilliant wife is an author!"

"She is indeed," Monsieur Patenaude agreed. "But I must be on my way. I want to drop a few copies at the papers to see if we can get some more early reviews."

As Antoine closed the door behind the publisher, Charlotte examined her book again. "I can't even think about reviews yet. It's all so exciting and scary at the same time."

"Everyone will love it. And anything the papers say, good or bad, will increase sales."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The truth was, she'd gotten used to ignoring the press. After news of Antoine and Louise's broken engagement and the reasons behind it spread, Charlotte lost track of her growing list of critics. She had a lot of fans too, which helped. She'd heard from nearly a hundred working-class women who loved and identified with Charlotte's work. It bolstered her against the critics, including the de Larminets.

Charlotte and Antoine married at the Mairie de Farschviller in the Tuileries Garden. For weeks ahead of time, his parents refused to attend. In the end, though, they were there because his mother couldn't stand to miss her last living son's wedding after all. They shook hands with Charlotte's parents and paid for dinner at Buffet de la Gare de Lyon afterward. During the meal, everyone was polite and pleasant, even Vicomtesse de Larminet. The two families expressed interest in each other's lifestyles and experiences, and at least for the duration of the meal, class barriers ceased to limit understanding and human connection. Since then, the de Larminets had gotten to know Charlotte a little better and were perhaps getting over the sting of Antoine not doing what he was told.

They weren't as mad about the lawsuit as they were about him calling off the wedding to Louise. As soon as the papers were served, Antoine's father agreed to put the proceeds from the sale of the property into a trust for the tenant families. Not only because Antoine was right, that the people deserved it, but also because Adeline de Larminet couldn't handle one more scandalous headline. Antoine's lawyer was overseeing the distribution of the funds and helping the people use it to establish themselves in new places and positions.

With that taken care of, Antoine, who poked around Monsieur Deveraux's old printing press in the back of the shop every time he came to Vernon, was helping make repairs and a few upgrades to the machine. He was determined to have Central Vernon Bookshop and Press publish Charlotte's first novella before the end of the year.

Charlotte was in her office a little while later when Antoine brought in the box of books she'd been waiting for. Seeing the one had been a treat, and the whole box was even better. Antoine began unloading the books a handful at a time, lining them up on one of the many empty shelves of the spacious library.

"They look so small on that towering shelf," she said, looking up toward the ceiling. He'd installed a rolling ladder so she could reach the highest shelves. Right now, her collection barely filled three shelves.

"But look how beautiful, Charlotte." He smiled at her and then turned back to gaze at the neat row of pretty blue books on the shelf. "And this is only the beginning."