Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance) (16 page)

“Fine, thank you,” Marian answered shyly.

“The parrot’s tongue seems to have lost its razor’s edge, I see. But as long as she has not lost her powers of the pen, all will be well. Sit, sit!
Williams!”
Pemberly yelled over his shoulder. “Set out a table for myself and my guests! Only the best! Well – only the best for myself and the lady, third-best for Blake here!”

The butler appeared briefly at the door. “As you wish, sir,” he said, then was gone.

“So,” Pemberly said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them greedily, “have you brought the rest of your works?”

Marian opened the small valise Evan had carried in and set out the manuscripts, each bound with ribbon, one by one on the table in front of her.

“I feel like Ali Baba in the cave of the thieves, looking at riches untold!” Pemberly exclaimed as he picked up the first packet.

“Perhaps it would be best not to use the word ‘thieves’ in connection with our dealings here,” Evan joked.

“It was an allusion, you Philistine,” Pemberly sniffed. “You have the literary soul of a turnip, did you know that, Blake?”

“And the turnip thinks that perhaps now would be a good time to discuss terms.”

“Oh ho! So you’re earning your fee now, are you?” Pemberly said mischievously.

“I am acting only in Marian’s best interests, that is all.”

“And what say you, my literary
liebling
?” Pemberly asked.

She blushed. “I am quite new at this, so… I will trust you and Blake to hash things out.”

“Oooooooh!” Pemberly said, sounding like a child who has caught someone kissing. “Such familiarity between the former servant and her master! You should really make your current ‘research’ the subject of your next novel, my dear.”

Marian blushed even more.

“Terms,” Evan said forcefully.

“Said the turnip,” Pemberly muttered. “All right, I am prepared to offer you an advance of ten pounds against royalties of eight percent, after sales of a thousand copies. That’s eight percent for all future works, as well.”

Marian’s eyes lit up. For her, the amount was large; ten pounds was more than she would make as a servant for an entire year.

But for Evan, the amount was appalling.

“Ten pounds?!” he exclaimed. “She can’t live off that!”

“It’s an advance,” Pemberly snapped. “If her works sell, then she’ll make considerably more than that.”

“You spend ten pounds a week just on wine and whores!”  

“What do you take me for, man?” Pemberly growled. “I’ll have you know, my wine and whores cost
far
more than that!”

“And you offer only ten pounds?!”

“What do wine and whores have to do with her advance?!” Pemberly railed. “We are making a writer of her, not a member of the peerage!”

“You are taking advantage of her!”

“As a publisher, that is my job! What, are you now the protector of the downtrodden and the masses? Will you be offering advances of a hundred pounds apiece when you inherit your father’s fortune?”

“Your offer is a pittance!”

“Actually, it’s extremely generous. Most publishers don’t even offer advances for first-time writers, you ignorant fool!”

“How can she write if she’s living in penury?”

“Hmmm… she can live here.” Pemberly turned to Marian. “You can stay here and write for as long as we continue our arrangement. That way, I can keep the whip on you.” He turned back to Evan. “
There.
Is that suitable? Room and board in one of the finest estates in London, plus a ten pound advance?”

The idea that she would live in Pemberly’s house – and the realization that she would no longer be at Blakewood – hit Evan full-force. He stumbled momentarily, then regained his footing.

“Better – but she will require a twenty-percent royalty.”

Pemberly half-sputtered, half-laughed. “Are you MAD? The best-selling writers in all of Europe only command sixteen percent!”

“Sixteen, then.”

“Did you not hear me?! Best-selling! Sixteen percent!” Then Pemberly pointed at Marian. “Not even published! Eight percent!”

“Fine – fourteen percent. And what did you mean about the thousand copies? That smells rotten as well.”

The two men shouted back and forth for another ten minutes, until it was settled that in addition to the option of living at Pemberly’s estate in London, Marian would get an advance of fifteen pounds against ten percent royalties, payable after the first five hundred copies of her novel sold. The amount would increase for future works if those were published.

Pemberly already had a pre-printed contract ready to sign. He merely scratched out the old terms and wrote in new ones, and attached a handwritten page addressing the possibility of future negotiations.

“And the advance?” Evan asked as Marian signed the papers.

“I must say, Blake, I far prefer you as a drinking companion than an adversarial negotiator,” Pemberly snarled as he counted out fifteen pounds from an ornamental box on his desk.

“And you are a far more genial drunk than you are a publisher, Pemberly.”

Pemberly turned to Marian and placed the fifteen coins in her hand. “If you had brought a feral wolf to be your chief representative, I do not think you could have done better. Do the terms suit you?”

Marian’s eyes looked almost as big as saucers, and her smile was twice as large. “They are… wonderful. Extraordinary.”

“Well, at least your
client
is happy!” Pemberly spat as he glared at Evan. He turned back to Marian. “I say, your coin to pay his fee must be
extraordinary
.”

“Pemberly,” Evan warned.

“Fine! Fine, fine, fine!” Pemberly said, throwing up his hands. Then he yelled, “WILLIAMS! Is lunch ready yet?”

The butler immediately stepped into the room. “Yes, m’lord.”

“Good. I am going to get roaring
drunk
now,” Pemberly declared. “You two are not exactly
welcome
to join me, but I shan’t turn you away.”

“You’re too kind,” Evan said drily.

“And far, far too generous,” Pemberly said as he took Marian’s hand and led her out to the stone terrace.

Lunch proceeded far more amicably.

At first, anyway.

As promised, Pemberly imbibed heavily – and the more he drank, the more optimistic he was about the future of Marian’s career. He quoted at length from her manuscript, which delighted her. Before, she had thought he was largely a narcissistic twit with mercenary intentions – but now he seemed genuinely enthusiastic about her writing.

In addition to being a narcissistic twit with mercenary intentions.

“We shall have to use a pseudonym,” he said at one point.

“Why?” she asked, shocked.

“You did write your novel, didn’t you? You
do
know what you put in it, correct?”

“What are you talking about?” Evan asked.

“They’re going to give us a hell of a time. The censors, the self-appointed guardians of decency, the sanctimonious church-folk,” Pemberly laughed. “And the fact that you’re a woman? Oh my my my my my. You’ll be tarred and feathered as the Whore of Babylon if you use your actual name.”

Evan looked over at Marian. There was something in his expression she didn’t like.

“I was thinking of
‘La Française.’
We’ll make you a Frenchwoman. The average Englishman thinks the French are all degenerates anyway, so the
nom de plume
alone will help sell the book.”

“What about
‘La Parisienne?’
I always wanted to live in Paris.”

“Well, here’s your chance. Fictionally, at least.”

“You don’t think it could be banned, do you?” Evan asked in alarm.

“I’m counting on it, dear boy! But don’t worry – banned books usually outsell their counterparts two to one. And you can charge a premium for them. More royalties for
you
,” he said to Marian.

Evan looked uncomfortable.

“Oh,
please,
” Pemberly sneered. “You forget, Blake, I’ve known you for twelve years. You’ve done far worse than anything in the book. Well, equally as bad, anyway. Eh… let’s say
almost
as bad. But put it in print, and suddenly you’re more prudish than an eighty-year-old spinster.”

“It’s a matter of propriety,” Evan said, “and public appearances.”

“Hence the pen name, you dolt,” Pemberly snapped. He turned to Marian. “Really, you should have him read your work. He could use a bit of loosening up.”

She looked over at Evan and smiled. “When the subject is not in print, he’s just fine.”

Evan blushed.

Pemberly was so deep in his cups – and so far along his rant – that he did not hear her comment, or undoubtedly he would have jumped on it with unsurpassed glee.

“Go talk to your brother!” he continued drunkenly. “Now
there’s
a man who doesn’t give a fig for propriety or public appearances!”

Evan had forgotten entirely about Andrew. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Carousing, most likely.”

“It’s two in the afternoon!”

“He’s industrious, that one. Likes to get an early start on the day’s work.”

Evan closed his eyes as though he had a headache. “I knew he would run wild, but this –”

“Oh please, you’ll have him back on the farm soon enough. Let him enjoy himself while he’s here.”

“Where is he staying?”

“‘Where is he staying’? Why, here, of course!”

Evan frowned. “Why did he not come to lunch with us?”

Pemberly shrugged. “You appear to have done something to severely antagonize the boy.”

“We patched things up! I already talked with him about it!”

“Talked
with
him, or talked
to
him?”

“
With
him,” Evan said angrily.

“Well, at least you didn’t
negotiate
with him,” Pemberly jeered. “I know firsthand how delightfully
that
can go.”

“Pemberly – ” Evan began, until Marian put her hand on his.

She looked at him with imploring eyes. “Let’s just wait for Andrew.”

“But – ”

“It’s been such a wonderful day… let’s not spoil it. Please?”

Evan grimaced. “Fine.”

“The music of your voice, m’dear, has charmed the savage breast!” Pemberly sighed mockingly. “I think it even more likely that later tonight, your breasts will charm the savage.”

“Pemberly!” Evan snarled.

“I was only paraphrasing from her book, Blake,” Pemberly proclaimed with
faux
innocence.

Evan looked at Marian in shock. “Is that true?”

She smiled uncomfortably in return.

“You should read her novel, Blake,” Pemberly said as he poured himself more wine. “Reading is
quite
educational.”

Lunch turned into an afternoon of laughter and wine, which gradually gave way to a sumptuous dinner. When Andrew did not appear, Evan finally begged off. “We need to be going.”

“You should stay for supper!” Pemberly protested. “Surely he’ll be along by then.”

“Give my brother my regards,” Evan said grimly. “If he’s conscious when next you see him, that is.”

Pemberly sighed and turned to Marian. “I’ll read your next manuscript tonight, my dear. Actually, no, I’m far too drunk. Tomorrow morning. No, that’s no good, either…”

“We’ll discuss it before we leave London,” Evan said.

“‘We’? What’s this ‘we’ business?” Pemberly asked as he walked them through the front hall. “She’s staying here, isn’t she? To write her next
magnum opus
?”

Evan paused the slightest bit. “We’ll discuss that, too.”

“Tomorrow? Will you come back tomorrow again for lunch? I so seldom get to see you, old man!” Pemberly said, betraying an uncharacteristic sentimentality.

Evan and Marian exchanged a look. She nodded.

“Tomorrow,” Evan agreed.

“Make it two o’clock, though,” Pemberly burped. “…on second thought, make it three.”

The evening air was warm, the sky was violet and blue, and the first stars were out. Out in the street, a group of young men were laughing and shouting – quite disagreeably, for such a well-appointed neighborhood.

“Wait – don’t you need a carriage? Here, I’ll get my man to take you,” Pemberly offered.

“Actually, that would be lovely,” Marian smiled.

Pemberly gave them an affected – and unsteady – little bow, then disappeared back into the house shouting, “WILLIAMS!”

“He’s quite a character, isn’t he?” Marian said as she leaned her head against Evan’s arm.

“That’s not even the
beginning
of an accurate description,” he snorted.

“I think I’ll make him an actual character in my next – ”

“Ho, what’s this?” a new voice interrupted.

The group of rowdy young men stumbled drunkenly up the street, about six in all. Their clothes were expensive and bordered on the foppish, though their finery was in a state of disarray.

At the head of the group was Andrew, his face flushed with wine.

Evan recognized several of the others behind him – the sons of viscounts and barons, none older than twenty. Evan had plucked Andrew from their drunken midst when he had retrieved him from Oxford.

“Andrew,” Evan said guardedly.

“By all the saints in Heaven, ‘tis my brother and his – how exactly would you characterize your relationship with Marian here, dear Brother?” Andrew jeered.

“She is a lady, and you will – ”

“A lady! And just to think, last week she was our servant at Blakewood!” Andrew guffawed to his group of well-dressed thugs, who laughed appreciatively. “Now
there
is upward mobility for you!”

Marian’s face grew pale.

“Is she a lady, or your ladylove? Perhaps my future sister-in-law? Hullo, Sister! Will she wash the dishes at the wedding after the ceremony?”

Though it was an entirely unconscious action, Andrew dropped Marian’s arm from his own.

“Andrew, you disgrace the family name with this wretched display – ”

“
I
disgrace the family name?! I am not the firstborn and the heir apparent tupping the help!”