The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(128)
Jasper surveyed it with a frown as he handed it to her. “I can’t think why you insist on subscribing to it. Bilgewater’s never had a kind word about any romantic novels, mine least of all.”
“Aren’t you at all curious?” she asked.
“I’m more interested in what Bloxham has to say.” Jasper tore open the letter from his publisher. “It’s this I’ve been waiting for, not the opinion of some reviewer.”
“I daresay you’re right.” Julia flipped through the journal, scanning for Mr. Bilgewater’s column. “As for myself, I own to an insatiable curiosity. After everything he said about The Garden of Valor—”
“He’s a fool,” Jasper remarked as he read his letter. “An anonymous fool. Had he the power of his literary convictions, he’d use his real name.”
“Perhaps Bilgewater is his real name.”
“I doubt it. Water-related pseudonyms are popular at the moment. There’s one in every . . .” he trailed off. “Good Lord.”
Julia glanced up sharply. Her husband’s countenance, formerly taut with apprehension, had transformed into an expression of amazement. “What is it?” she asked anxiously. “What does he say?”
A smile spread over Jasper’s face—first touching his scarred mouth and then reaching all the way to his eyes. He looked at Julia with a lopsided grin. “You’ll never credit it. Reunion at Waterloo has sold out its first printing.”
“What?” Julia surged toward him.
“Here. See for yourself.” He gave her Bloxham’s letter.
She read it swiftly, her heart racing with excitement.
“It’s a success,” Jasper said. “If sales continue as they have been, Bloxham predicts they may eventually surpass those of The Fire Opal.”
“The reading public is clamoring for more stories in this vein,” Julia read aloud. “I trust you haven’t exhausted your supply of them.” Her own smile grew to mirror Jasper’s. “Oh, my love. You did it.” She flung her arms around his neck, Bloxham’s letter crumpling in her hand. “I knew you would.”
Jasper held her tightly. “We did it.” He pressed a fierce kiss to her temple. “You and I together.”
“Yes, well . . .” Julia drew back to look in his eyes. “I must concede we make an exceptional team.” She smoothed his thick hair from his brow. “All of us. You and I, and the children.” She cast a brief glance out the drawing room windows. The curtains were open, revealing an unimpeded view of the damp gardens below. “I hope they haven’t ventured too far. The rain’s only just stopped.”
“Daisy’s riding Musket. There’s only so far they can go.”
It was true enough. Even when in company with Quintus and Cossack, the old gelding rarely exceeded a lethargic trot.
“She’ll need a pony of her own soon,” Julia said. “Perhaps a little mare to help build her confidence?”
“Her confidence is building,” Jasper replied. “Thanks to you.”
Julia beamed. She was proud of her success with the children. Charlie, Alfred, and Daisy hadn’t only accepted her, they’d come to care for her, too. Almost as much as she cared for them.
She wished they could share in Jasper’s good news, but the children knew nothing of their father’s secret profession. All they knew was that life, of late, had been exceptionally good. The five of them were a family. A happy family.
The addition of a few more servants hadn’t hurt. Thanks to Julia’s inheritance, they’d managed to employ a small household staff. They’d also hired workers to start on the tenants’ cottages and to repair the leaking roof of the Hall.
It was only the beginning.
Releasing her from his embrace, Jasper plucked the copy of the Weekly Heliosphere from her fingers. “No need to read this now.”
She snatched it back from him. “And why not?”
“It’s the sales that matter, not the critical acclaim.”
She moved out of his grasp, taking the journal with her. “I won’t share it with you if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
His mouth quirked. “I survived the fall of Sebastopol. I think I can handle a scathing review.” He paused, adding, “It’s not me I’m concerned about.”
Julia wasn’t listening. She was too busy flipping through the pages. “Tripe and treacle indeed,” she muttered. “The man deserves a firm clout on the head. And if he’s said a single unjust word about Reunion at Waterloo, I’ve a mind to— Ah. Here it is.” A puzzled frown creased her brow. “But . . . it’s not a review at all.”
“No? What is it?”
“It seems to be a farewell.” She read the short passage to him:
To my esteemed readers: I bid you adieu and good fortune on your literary travels. Alas, I can no longer vouchsafe my services as your guide. The siren song of connubial bliss compels me to give up my weekly column and turn my attention to pursuits matrimonial. As Goethe once wrote—
Julia broke off. “The ridiculous man. Quoting Goethe of all people.” She tossed the journal onto a nearby table in disgust.
Jasper picked it up, briefly skimming the page. Laughter shone in his eyes. “The Sorrows of Young Werther? Perhaps Bilgewater was more of a romantic than he let on. Pity he’s retiring.”