Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“All right, if you’re worried about Prudence’s idea of a curse—”
He threw both hands out to his sides. “There is no curse. Prue has always had an overactive imagination.”
I got the sense Chastity didn’t dismiss the whole curse thing.
But this wasn’t about the curse.
I sought patience and clarified my position.
“As has been explained to you through your solicitors, my goal is to write a novel, loosely based on the Burleigh Duchy and The Downs, but mostly a fictionalized account of how the generations that experienced staggering advancement in a very short period of time adjusted to that advancement, correlating it to the times we’re in now, where we’re experiencing the same thing. With the central story being about Harmony and Charlie, albeit mostly fictionalized since, so far, we only have his letters from her, and that doesn’t explain much of anything. However, even if I uncovered more, as this was clearly mostly a clandestine relationship, until Harmony asked her father’s permission to marry Charlie, I doubt there’s very much to find. Unless Harmony’s letters from Charlie are discovered, and even then, the bulk of the love affair will have to come from my imagination. This is hardly going to paint the Talyns in an unflattering light. Even your great-great grandfather was acting in the manner of a man of his time, that being for the protection of his daughter.”
“Be that as it may—”
I interrupted him this time, and I could tell immediately by the flash in his eyes (the glasses were gone, by the way) and the thinning of his full lips, he not only didn’t like it, he wasn’t used to it.
“Be that as it is, my Lord Duke,” I stated. “That is the book. That’s the outline I sent to my publishers. That’s the contract I signed for a manuscript I received an advance to write for them. And the advance was received. I have a deadline about six months from now I’m obligated to meet. And they, too, aren’t overly thrilled with your demand to have approval of the copy.”
“Then perhaps you should have finalized arrangements with me before you entered into those obligations with your publisher.”
Was he for real?
“Are you truly not going to allow me access to your records if you don’t have final approval of the book?” I asked.
“As my solicitors have asserted in my stead the last two months of negotiations, Ms. Dupree, allow me to communicate it directly to you. No. I am not going to allow you access to our records unless I have final approval of your manuscript.”
Well.
Shit.
I stood, and I did it angrier than I ever thought I’d been in all my life.
One could say I had a temper, but if that one knew me, they’d also say it was rare it reared its unpleasant head because I was usually pretty chill.
Now, I was not.
I was also freaked, because no way could I grant approval, and I had to write this book.
But who knew what his approval could mean.
He could scrap the whole manuscript I spent six months writing. He could decide he’s suddenly a content editor and redline the hell out of it with suggestions of what he’d like to see that had nothing to do with the story that burst forth from me, or nothing to do with bona fide content editing. Or he could see I was telling no lies and have no notes at all.
This could be a minor inconvenience.
Or it could be a nightmare.
What I knew for certain was that I was in a different kind of nightmare.
I’d sold a book I couldn’t write. Of course, I could, but it wouldn’t be as thoroughly researched as it needed to be.
I was (mostly) living off my advance.
So yeah, oh yeah, I was definitely living a nightmare, because this man was being a stubborn ass.
And it ticked me off.
He stood when I did.
And as I tipped my head back to catch his gaze, I declared, “Well, I guess that’s that.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry?”
“I guess I’m not writing the book.”
He righted his head but said nothing.
“I’ll have dinner tonight with you all so I can spend more time with Prudence,” I went on. “Then I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow.”
Though I had no idea where I’d go, but it seemed I had no choice but to go.
I was about to walk out of the room when he spoke.
“You threatening to leave, take yourself from Prudence, truncate this visit she’s been looking forward to for months, is not going to get me to agree to your terms.”
Of all the…
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I denied hotly. “As my grandmother always said, fish and guests stink after three days, Your Grace. If I had my nose stuck in journals and letters for two weeks, and you all rarely saw me, that’s one thing. But now I have to figure my shit out, and I have no reason to be here, so I’ll be doing that elsewhere.”