Chapter 2

The note that arrived for Brody the following afternoon did not improve his mood.

Dear Duke of Corwin,

My meetings with Egerton and Murray were unproductive. Neither publisher claimed an interest in the novel. I’ve met with a third – Rowe Sons – but they said I’d have to wait a month to get an answer, and I refused to leave the manuscript with them that long. I’ll set up other appointments in the coming days and shall keep you informed on my progress.

Sincerely,

Ada Westcliffe

Blast!

Brody poured himself a glass of brandy and tossed back the contents. If the book didn’t sell, they’d all have wasted precious time that might have been better spent on other pursuits. What those pursuits might have been, he’d no idea, but he was sure he’d have come up with something if he hadn’t been focused on writing a novel.

Disheartened by his situation as a whole, he expelled a deep breath and sank against his chair. If only his father were still alive, then none of this would have happened. But losing him had been much like having a limb cut off. His life had been forever changed from one day to the next.

God, how he missed him. Even now, three years later, he still expected to see him walk through the door.

Brody swept one hand across his brow. It was hard to grasp the unfairness of it. Papa and his friends had all been perfectly healthy. They’d been having a brilliant time, visiting a farm to buy some livestock. Who could have predicted the explosion that would take place in that cow pen? To this day, Brody had no idea how it had happened. What he did know was that his father had been struck in the head by a beam when the roof had collapsed. It wasn’t even the explosion itself that had killed him.

He snatched up his glass and prepared to refill it, only to stop himself at the last second. What was he doing? Getting foxed wasn’t the answer.

Setting the glass aside, he left his study and went to collect his hat and gloves. A brisk walk to clear his head was what he required. Leaving the house, he took a deep lungful of warm London air and set his course for Oxford Street. An overcast sky suggested a light rain later, but for now, it was comfortably dry.

He tipped his hat to a couple of ladies coming the opposite way. They smiled in return and wished him a pleasant day. He echoed their greeting and kept walking to avoid getting caught up in meaningless conversation. What he needed was to figure out how to deal with Finn. Their dinner together last night had been unproductive, and although Finn had sworn he wouldn’t make matters worse, Brody worried his brother might not be able to stop himself.

Gambling could be a terrible addiction. Brody had heard of men resorting to drastic measures because of the hold it had upon them. Some had stolen the money they owed while other poor souls had taken their lives to escape debtor’s prison. Brody shuddered at the idea of such a fate befalling the brother he’d always loved so dearly. Somehow, they had to get through this. Preferably without Mama finding out.

He groaned. How many times had she warned him to be more careful with his spending? Not only had he refused to listen, he’d also failed to keep his brother in check. If she found out how bad things had gotten, he’d never hear the end of it.

The only option right now—make sure the townhouse where Florence had lived sold, even if it went for less than what it was worth.

His feet kept moving, taking him through the hustle and bustle of increased traffic until he reached the spot where Bond Street began. This was where he did most of his shopping. He’d soon reach his favorite tailor, the cobbler where his father had taken him for his sixteenth birthday, and the milliner where he purchased his hats.

These were not the low-end shops one might find in the East End, but exclusive boutiques with custom made goods fashioned according to the highest standard. Expensive was another way of putting it.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he continued past the shops to where Bond Street spilled onto Piccadilly. An intersection forced him to slow his pace briefly to allow for a draught horse and cart to pass. A newspaper boy on the corner ahead called out the news of the day – a scandalous kiss at a soiree, another debutante ruined.

Brody snorted and kept walking. Crates were being unloaded and carried into a nearby winery while the tea shop next door was beginning to bustle with afternoon guests. A few drops of water landed on him as he walked past the tobacconist on the next corner. He stopped and considered returning home before the rain began in earnest.

But as he turned and his gaze swept along the length of the side street, he spotted a sign. Hudson Co. Publishing. Intrigued, he approached the business which was constructed from red brick and had tall glass windows framed in dark green. He stopped for a closer look and noted the five men crammed inside the small office. Bundles of paper tied with twine littered the floor while additional ones were placed on each desk.

An older portly fellow reclined in his chair while flipping through pages, licking his fingers between each one. He grabbed a pencil from behind his ear and made a quick note before looking toward the window. His gaze caught Brody’s and held for a second before he gestured toward a spot located to Brody’s left. Brody’s attention shifted toward the notice stuck on the door.

Assistant Editor Required. All interested parties may apply.

He almost laughed. Was the man suggesting he seek employment? Him? A duke?

Additional raindrops warned him of an impending drizzle. He shook his head and prepared to head for home when several thoughts struck all at once. He and his friends needed a publisher. He also needed money. Was working truly beneath him if it helped acquire a publishing deal and provided him with some extra coin?

Perhaps one day in the future, when he’d dug himself out of the mess he and Finn had created, he could be pickier. But right now, securing this position before someone else did made sense. It would provide him with access. Hell, he could pitch his own book and approve it.

With a quick backward glance, just to be sure no one of his acquaintance saw him, Brody pulled the door open and hurried inside. His elbow connected with something or someone blocking his path. A soft grunt followed and Brody lowered his gaze to the young man who’d been coming the opposite way. With the notice on the door window and the lad’s inferior height, Brody hadn’t seen him until it was too late.

A bewildered expression was accompanied by a frown as the lad stared up at him from beneath the brim of a brown woolen cap.

“You,” he said, then sucked in a breath, swallowed hard, and pushed past Brody with a muttered, “excuse me.”

Brody blinked in rapid succession and turned just in time to glimpse the lad’s back as he left the building. The door swung shut behind him. Brody knit his brow, certain he’d seen that face somewhere before, though he could not think of where.

“May I help you?” asked the fellow who’d made him aware of the job opening.

Brody gave up trying to place the lad and turned to the man. “I’d like to inquire about the position.”

“Excellent.” The man wiped his hand on his trousers and extended it to Brody. “I’m Mr. Hudson, owner of this here enterprise.”

Inhaling deeply, Brody accepted the handshake. “Mr. Evans, aspiring editor.”

Mr. Hudson grinned and rocked back on his heels. “Come on. Let’s have a chat in the office.”

Brody was led toward Mr. Hudson’s desk, which stood amid four others. An extra chair was acquired so Brody could sit. He did so at the same time as Mr. Hudson, making sure to keep his face averted from the widow, lest he be discovered by someone he knew.

“Tell me about your schooling,” said Mr. Hudson.

“Um…” Brody wasn’t sure he ought to mention his private tutor, Eton, or Oxford. He finally settled on, “It was thorough.”

“So you can read and write?”

Brody gaped at him. Surely his attire spoke for itself. “Of course.”

“Just making sure since the job does require such skill.”

Brody sent him a tight smile. “How much does it pay?”

“Six shillings a week.”

It was hard to hide the extent of his disappointment. Six shillings was barely more than what his downstairs maid received. He’d hoped this job would earn him a lot more and had to remind himself of its added benefit.

“And what precisely does the position entail?”

“You’ll be reading. Pick a pile, start at the top, and work your way through it. If an opening sentence grabs you, read the paragraph. If you’re still hooked, keep reading until you lose interest. If you don’t by the time you’ve reached the third chapter, recommend the story to me. That’s it.”

“Will you provide me with an indication of what you might be looking for?”

“The next bestselling author. Plain and simple.” Mr. Hudson drummed his fingers on his armrest. “Well?”

Brody glanced around and decided there were worse things in life than having to sit in a room with five other men and read. Especially since he had nothing better to do with his time. And if the job led to a publishing contract, it would be worth every second.

If not, he could always quit.

“I accept,” he told Mr. Hudson. “When do I start?”

“At once,” Mr. Hudson informed him. He showed Brody to a small desk in the far corner of the room and gestured toward the manuscripts stacked in various piles. “Start reading and let me know if you think you’ve struck gold.”