Her mother patted her hand. “Surely we New Yorkers can pull the wool over a Boston Brahmin any day of the week.” She set aside her needlework and picked up the most recent copy of
Godey's
fashion magazine. “Now we must discuss the important business of your debut next month. That's the real reason I wanted to talk to you.”
“Must I still go through with this archaic European folly?”
Charlotte fixed a level stare on her daughter. “It is neither archaic nor European anymore. Judging from its success in finding suitable partners for our young ladies of society since its introduction into American culture five years ago, I must say it's a convention that's here to stay. I let you talk me out of it last year, when you should have had your season, simply because I was exhausted from planning the weddings of your two sisters. But no more dawdling, Rosemary. 1859 has to be your year. You're nineteen and must begin entertaining the idea of getting married. Besides, if the talk of war between the States evolves into actual battle, the cotillion may be cancelled temporarilyâat least until we take care of the Southerners and free all the slaves. You may not have another chance to find a husband for years.”
Charlotte pointed to a gown in the magazine. “Jasmine has already created a lovely white gown for your coming-out ball, but we must think beyond the dance, to the entire season. We'll have a formal dinner in the weeks following the dance. How about a dress such as this?”
Rosemary placed a hand on her stomach, which now knotted with anxiety on top of her excitement. “Mother, I can't think of dinners or ball gowns right now. My entire future is in jeopardy.”
“Quit being so melodramatic, for goodness's sake. I'm quite certain your father or brother can come up with a solution, so indulge me a bit and let's talk dresses. After all, having a wonderful season is part of your future, too.”
”I'm sure whatever you decide will be fine, Mother. I need to get to work on my questions for Papa and Halwyn.”
Rosemary's stomach calmed a bit as she rose and went back to the garret to compose her test. Maybe her mother's idea would work. Perhaps her father or brother could pull it off.
⢠⢠â¢
Boston
Henry Cooper stood defiantly in front of his father. His back was ramrod straight. Instinctively, he lifted the toes of his right foot and straightened his leg at the knee, pushing his heel out in front. He landed on his heel and brought his back foot up to the
en garde
stance. This was indeed a fencing match, even if the weapons were words rather than swords, and he was ready for it.
Prêt
, his mind whispered as he prepared for his father's initial attack.
“I am not pleased, Henry.” His father, Maxwell Cooper, glanced up from his perusal of the latest issue of
The Atlantic Monthly
, tossing it across the desk toward Henry. “Why didn't you think of this magazine-style format? Wasn't the purpose of your fancy education to give you an advantage over our competition? I still don't understand why you couldn't have just gone to my alma mater.”
Allez.
Henry took a deep, steadying breath. The bout had begun. This was nothing more than a
beat
. His father's simple preparatory motion was designed to hit Henry's blade at its weakest point, but Henry refused to give way. Instead, he returned the jab.
“The fact you went to Harvard was enough reason for me to choose to go elsewhere. Besides, you're the one who shipped me off to Uncle Jacques when I was just a boy.”
His father glared at him. “You are well aware of the reason you were sent to your uncle's.”
Henry remained silent, refusing to get drawn into a counter-attack. This match would be played out on his terms.
His father picked up the magazine once again.
“James Lowell took the helm of this magazine, which was founded by Francis Underwood and host of other liberal writers. And he immediately flaunted convention by featuring a female writer on a regular basis. Here's another article written by that Harriet Beecher Stowe woman. If he keeps up with this kind of behavior, his innovation won't last. Then, we can swoop in and take it over.”
Henry paused before he spoke. He followed up his father's attempt at a parry with a
riposte,
an attack of his own.
“I think Lowell's idea is brilliant. Miss Stowe is an excellent writer. What does a person's gender matter if they are the best at their craft? Or at business? I would prefer to work on the expansion of the railroads with Uncle Jacques. Why not let Marguerite take over here? She's much better suited to publishing.”
His father's brows knit together, and his face twisted into a sneer. “I did not name my company Cooper and Daughter Publishing. It is Cooper and Son, and for a very good reason. Marguerite spends her days writing sonnets, and not even good ones. Keats and Shelley have nothing to fear. Her job is to get marriedâand soon, before the eligible pool of bachelors disappears. Your job, however, is to help expand my empire.”
Now they were getting down to it. It was Henry's turn to
parry
. “I have no interest in your âempire' or in working for you.”
“Nonsense. Why else would I have called you home? I'm sending you to New York City tomorrow. I have purchased a company there, a small outfit, but they have been experiencing some success. They specialize in those quickly written, lurid potboilers called dime novels. Your job will be to integrate their stable of authors into our company. We don't need to honor any of their current contracts, but they do have some good authors I want to hold on to.”
Henry glanced at his father, his right hand immediately coming level to the floor and his wrist twisting inward, ready to thrust. He brought his hand down from its fencing position with considerable effort.
“While I readily admit leaving Boston is most appealing, I will only take over the new company if I can have complete control.”
His father took a cheroot out of the top drawer of his desk and made a grand show of lighting it before he spoke again. Henry inhaled the cigar's soothing aroma as he waited for his father to continue.
Maxwell rolled the cigar in his fingers as he glanced up at his son. “Maybe you're right, and the publishing business isn't for you, Henry. Any stiff competitor, such as James Lowell, would ride roughshod all over you. I will need to oversee the business, to make certain you are running it to my satisfaction.”
Henry couldn't stop the threat from leaving his lips. “It's complete control, or I go back to Uncle Jacques and work with him.” He almost wished his father would turn his back on him once more. Then, Henry could be free from his undeniable need to please his father. The need that began when he was only fourteen, with the loss of his mother.
“This is your final test, son. If you can't do my bidding in New York, I'll find another partner to take over that branch of the company. Perhaps Lowell.”
Henry took a small breath to steady himself. His father was asking for a real battle. “You couldn't abide working with Lowell, Father. He sees women as equally competent as men when it comes to penning good works of prose. You've presented an idle threat. I'll give you one month, possibly two. If I am still as disillusioned with the publishing business as I am now, you may give the business to Lowell or whomever else you damn well please.”
“You'll have to prove to me you're worthy of me turning over the business to you first. Meet my first assignment and sort through the authors. I want you to meet each of them face-to-face and test their mettle. Then we'll talk about who has control.”
“It's complete control right now, or I leave for New Orleans today rather than wait.”
His father's eyes narrowed. Then he spread his hands wide. “All right. Let's see if you can make a go of it. Page Books has a small press and a shop set up, as well as a business office. It makes sense to keep the entire operation up and running if there are enough good authors to warrant it. We can produce the dime novels from there, and the better books can continue to be published here.”
“And no interference from you? I run things my own way?”
His father huffed. “I said all right, didn't I? You'll have dinner with me and your sister tonight, and be off on one of your beloved trains in the morning. My friends the Cabots have relatives in New York, so they can assure your entry into the proper New York circles.”
“I have plans for this evening already, but I will stop in and say goodbye to Marguerite before I leave.”
Counter-parry
. They had circled around each other, but no real resolution had been gained to ease their strained relationship. They were back where they started.