The Sign of Death by Callie Hutton (i like reading .TXT) 📕

not thorough. She studied William, realizing that there was no reason he couldn’t have a look at the contract and that to continue to refuse was childish and ridiculous. “Very well, I have the contracts upstairs in my room.” She stood and shook out her skirts. “If you will excuse me.”

Was it possible that her publisher could force her to appear as E. D. Burton? She had insisted several times on anonymity when she sold her books to them. Mr. Gordon, with whom she’d dealt since the beginning, had assured her that her identity would remain anonymous. It had been one of her requirements when she signed—the only way she could get Papa’s permission to sell her manuscript. As an adult, she should have been able to sign her own contracts without getting approval from Papa first.

She yanked opened the drawer of the desk in her small office next to her bedchamber and pulled out the top contract. She made her way back downstairs just in time to hear Lacey announcing lunch.

The three of them made their way to the dining room. Wonderful smells greeted them, reminding Amy again how hungry she was. She handed William the contract as they sat at the table. He took it from her and nodded. “I will look at this once we finish our meal.”

A beautiful whitefish with capers in a creamy sauce, roasted potatoes, and carrots had Amy’s stomach rumbling and immediately drew her attention. Cook had also provided a jellied salad and fresh rolls.

“I thought vegetarians didn’t eat fish,” Aunt Margaret said as she eyed Amy’s plate.

“Actually, I am the type of vegetarian that eats fish.” Amy glowered at William’s smirk. She tried her best to follow the vegetarian lifestyle and had no problem eschewing meat, but she had no intention of giving up fish also.

Apparently they were all hungry, because they dove into their food with very few comments as they ate. A few This is very goods and Please pass the salts were about all that was said. Good manners held that nothing distressing be discussed while dining. Naught was said about Amy’s contract, since, if William found anything that allowed her publisher to force her to appear as E. D. Burton, that would ruin the entire meal.

Once the food had been consumed and they were left with a pot of tea and a tray of cheese, fruit, and biscuits, William sat back, picked up the contract, and began to look it over. He appeared quite engrossed as he read each page, a shake of his head and a frown his only reactions.

Amy and Aunt Margaret attempted some conversation, Amy using the time to tell her aunt about their escapade that morning, but the entire time she kept glancing over to William, who continued to grimace as he read.

“Well?” Amy said as he laid the document down.

He looked over at her and sighed. “I am not a solicitor, but I have read many contracts. From what it says here”—he pointed at the document—“it is possible they can force you to attend.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. “How? They agreed to keep my identity a secret.”

William thumbed a few pages of the contract. “It does say that, but unfortunately, it also says in this clause that the publisher has the right to market the books any way it sees fit.”

“But what does that mean?”

He laid the document back down and folded his hands upon it. “Appearing as E. D. Burton at the book festival could be considered a marketing technique. Again, I remind you that I am not a solicitor and I suggest you have one look at this, but my opinion is they can use this clause to enforce it.”

Amy let out a huge breath and slumped against the back of the chair. “Father will not be pleased.”

A small niggling of joy began in her stomach and slowly spread throughout her body. She had always felt cheated in not receiving public acknowledgment of her work. She had to sit and listen when the book club discussed one of her books and ignore the comments when they praised the writing of E. D. Burton. Frustration was part of the ploy also, because there were times when a member of the book club would swear they knew precisely what E. D. Burton meant when “he” wrote such and such. Oh, how she wanted to correct them.

Now here was her opportunity to have the public know that she was E. D. Burton. And she could receive all the acclaim without going against her papa’s wishes.

But then there was always the possibility he would forbid her to write any more books. Sometimes she hated being a woman.

The next night, William assisted Amy and Lady Margaret from his carriage in front of the Assembly. After their lunch, they had all decided to attend the Assembly, since Lady Margaret had graciously offered to help with their search for Harding’s killer. Actually, she’d announced loud and clear her desire to seek justice for his death, even though she described Harding as an arse.

It was noteworthy that she described him in such a way before William and Amy had even told her the entire story of Harding’s duplicity. When they were through with their account, she shook her head and commented that “once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel.”

They went over the list of names from the files Harding had hidden in his home. William knew Mr. Montrose from his club, and Lady Margaret mentioned that the man occasionally attended the Assembly. William would watch out for him. Lady Margaret also said there was a chance that Mrs. Whitney would be there as well. If not, she added, looking pointedly at Amy, Mrs. Whitney usually attended the rounds of afternoon social calls.

Amy groaned at that one and stated—quite emphatically—that she did not enjoy sitting around drinking tea with women whose only purpose for being present was to share gossip. But she had reluctantly agreed that if it was the only way