Page 26 of The Finest Print

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The question I pose, then, to your Esteemed Publication: what is to be done about this letter-press offal? Hundreds of boys line up each week to put their penny in the pockets of monstrous purveyors of this street literature—if it can even be called such. Corruption at the corner stand, day after day. And all the while, the presses run.

—Excerpt, Letter to the Editor, Illustrated Metropolitan News

Yesterday was the first of June, which meant the days she’d been dreading were finally upon them. All week, Belle felt time slipping between her fingers, even as she sat at home, idle and afraid. Ethan had written that he was working on things and would call when he was able, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the twin hazards looming ahead—a fortnight until his debts were due, a week until his New York colleagues expected him on a steamship. She felt like Odysseus, bearing down between Scylla and Charybdis.

She tried to remember how the Greek hero managed it, but she was fairly certain it involved a number of sailors meeting their untimely end.

When a knock sounded at the front door, Belle was curled in the parlor, ignoring a dinner tray in lieu of catastrophizing. She lifted her head as Mrs. Bowers answered the door; she didn’t think they were expecting anyone tonight. At the sound of a deep American voice floating over the threshold, her listless, heartsick limbs jolted to life.

“Ethan.”

She skidded down the corridor, her loose hair tumbling down her back. At the sight of Belle’s disheveled state, Mrs. Bowers pursed her lips and swept off to fetch Papa.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Belle exclaimed when they were alone. “My God, I missed you. Are you well? Is…is everything…well?”

She reached for him, but Ethan imperceptibly shook his head, raising a hand to stop her from drawing any closer.

“It’s all right,” she reassured him. “Only my father is here, and he’s upstairs?—”

“He’s here to see me, Belle.”

Papa’s voice sounded from behind her, and Belle hastily took a step back.

“He is? You are?”

She turned to Ethan. She now realized his expression was tense; if she didn’t know better, she would say he looked nervous. Her pulse ticked faster as she worked through it.

He was here to see her father .

“Oh. You are .”

She understood why he’d canceled his appointment Monday; of course he had, his life was in an abject chaos of Belle’s making. But he was here now, which meant he must have worked out a solution. He’d fixed the problem. They were back on course, just as they’d been that night in her dressing room, when he told her the best story she’d ever heard.

“I’ll…leave you to your business.” She looked significantly at her father, hoping he would remember to take things easy with Ethan. He was going to loathe going through a marriage settlement.

Oh, her darling man, so grouchy and stubborn?—

“No,” Ethan said abruptly. “Belle, you should come too.”

“Mr. Fletcher.” Papa glanced at Belle. “I would counsel against that. These conversations can be rather awkward for all parties. It might be best if Belle?—”

“I only want to say this one time, and I need both of you to hear it,” Ethan said firmly.

Perplexed, she followed Papa and Ethan to the study. It was strange to be here again, with the shadow of their first passionate embrace still haunting the threshold.

Papa sat at his desk, Ethan and Belle in the two chairs across from him.

“Well then, Mr. Fletcher.” Papa steepled his fingers; he looked exactly as he had when he’d practiced law out of this room. “What can I help you with this evening?”

“I need to apologize on two counts, Your Honor.”

Belle looked at him quizzically, but Papa’s face remained inscrutable.

“First, for not meeting with you Monday,” Ethan said. “There was an urgent matter with my business, and it has required my attention all this week.”

“These things happen,” Papa said. “I hope all is well now.”

Ethan’s jaw moved beneath his beard.

“My second apology is that I have misled you about my intention for meeting with you tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Justice Sinclair, I am not asking for your daughter’s hand at this time.”

What ?

Belle’s smile slid sideways as she pivoted to face him, suddenly worried for his wellbeing. He’d been alone in that shop all week, likely drinking and bruising his fists on something; who knew what he’d done to himself. Something must be wrong with him, for he wasn’t making sense.

He’d already asked her to marry him.

“Ethan?”

He glanced at her, a swift yearning moving over his face before he forced his attention back to her father.

“I’m here to give you—both of you—my word. I will ask for it one day.” His jaw clenched again, this time so hard she could hear it pop. “I wish, very much, to make Belle my wife, but I have to make something of myself first.”

“Ethan.” She shook her head. “We’ve discussed this.”

She had his twine ring on a chain hanging from her throat. They were going to wait a long time, then live in the worst house on the nicest street. He was going to fix her desk, and she was going to pour him whisky while he complained about London.

“I’m departing for New York,” he said quietly, still looking at her father. “My ship leaves in five days. I have an offer there—an offer I cannot lose. I didn’t want to take it.” His voice cracked as he turned his gaze to her. “Belle. You know I tried very hard to not take it, but it’s our last chance.”

He was saying more things, explaining the terms of the offer, answering Papa’s questions. A newspaper, an editor, something steady, something reliable, something about settling and coming for her later. Numbly, Belle swung between Papa’s frank concern and the misery on Ethan’s face, but her ears had stopped working—they couldn’t take in any more words.

All the words hurt her.

“No. This isn’t happening.”

Her voice, when it came, dropped between them like a stone in a pond. She watched the ripple, her words stoppering all the horrid discussion of enterprising men and what they could build and where.

“You aren’t leaving me.” She turned to Ethan, then to Papa. “He’s not leaving me.”

She felt around her neck, her fingers grappling with the thin chain.

“Belle.” Ethan looked physically pained.

“Mr. Fletcher, if it’s a matter of funds…” Papa frowned, looking at Belle. She couldn’t begin to imagine what her face looked like. “I feel obliged to make clear, there would be a marriage settlement. Belle’s portion?—”

She shook her head as Ethan’s hand closed around hers. His fingers were warm where hers had gone very cold. She knew, of course, this was the very last thing he wanted.

“Justice Sinclair…” Ethan was speaking to her father, but he was looking at her. “That’s not what this is about. I don’t need to own a printshop. I need to own my prospects .” He exhaled tightly. “I need to rest secure in the knowledge I finally have something that can’t be taken away. Not because it was given to me, but because I made it.”

“Belle?” Papa was still looking at her. “Is that what you want?”

“I…” She blinked away from her father to find Ethan’s beseeching gaze. Her eyes burned with tears. Since he was a boy, he’d been chasing what was finally in front of him. How could she deny him?

She’d promised him—she promised him—she would wait for his circumstances.

“I…yes. I want him to have choices,” she said haltingly. “I want Ethan to have a chance to make his way. It’s the very least I would hope for any man, let alone the man I love.”

Ethan’s hand spasmed around hers.

“Well.” Papa nodded slowly. “I take this to mean?—”

“I’m going with him,” Belle said.

“No.” Papa and Ethan spoke together.

Belle was already pulling her hand away and pushing up from her chair.

“Yes.” She looked between them. “Yes, I am.”

“You are not .” Ethan was standing too, his face blazing. “Are you mad ?”

“Yes.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m mad. I’m furious?—”

“Belle.” Her father’s placid temperament evaporated. He was looking at her with blatant alarm. “Surely, you understand I cannot permit you to go with him.”

“Why shouldn’t you permit it?”

“Because you aren’t married .” Papa braced his hands on the desk. “And because he doesn’t want it. Belle, weren’t you listening? He wants to go, he wants to get settled. He wants to make something of himself. He wants you to let him.”

Drawing breath was painful. She felt more out of control than ever in the face of her father’s grim rationality. He made it sound so simple. He had no idea Ethan was doing this because of her error. She’d driven him to take the only chance he had left.

And now he would be alone .

“May we have a moment?” She grasped her father’s arm. “Please, Papa.”

Papa’s face was tight, but he seemed to sense that of all the things he was denying her, a private conversation was perhaps the least damaging. He took his leave and closed the door behind him.

“This is because of what happened this week,” she whispered fiercely the moment they were alone. “This is because of my mistake.”

“Yes,” Ethan said. He stepped forward, coming to stand before her. “I will admit number nine was the catalyst.”

“Then why?—”

“ And it’s because I need to sell my Columbian to pay my men’s wages. It’s because I’ve been pushing you all past the limits of what is reasonable.”

“I’ll do better. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t happen again.” He sighed, looking unbearably fatigued. “Because that’s the other problem, Belle. The serial can’t be published anymore.”

She startled, her blood pounding hard in her temples. “I don’t…I don’t understand. We only missed one issue.”

“ The Illustrated Metropolitan News is about to print an article listing us among the penny bloods causing moral panic—unless I have Howe broker a sale of the shop. It’s the final nail in the coffin. There’s no business left to build, even if we somehow clear the debt.”

“What?” She covered her mouth. “It can’t be published anymore?”

“Not unless we want to be dragged through the mud.” Ethan pushed back his hair. “I told you I didn’t make this decision lightly, but it’s too many things , Belle. We’ve been on a tightrope, and we looked down…and now it seems damn near impossible we ever balanced in the first place.”

She stared at him, desperately trying to absorb this information in a way that didn’t feel like she was being pummeled from within.

“We won’t be apart forever,” he murmured, touching her cheek. “But for now, I need to take this opportunity. It’s a good one. Editing a paper, it’s a solid start for us, Belle. I could never do that as things stand in London. And you…you can keep writing—anything you wish, no more penny bloods, no more hiding?—”

“I can’t.” She clutched his wrists, certain that until right now, she’d never felt truly frantic in her life. “I cannot do this without you.”

“You can write without me,” he argued. “You can?—”

“I cannot do life without you.” She could hardly speak over the force of her rising sobs. “Don’t ask this of me. You can’t just offer me all these big, messy dreams, then leave me alone with them. We can be happy together…”

He gripped her arms, his handsome face etched in an agony she felt had been carved by her own hand.

“Do you understand what it means to start a life from the ground up? Do you understand that the money we’ve made is nothing, it’s nowhere ? It was only ever going to get me to the very bottom rung. I haven’t earned a single red cent. I’m hemorrhaging my savings to stay.”

“Then go. Go, and I will go with you . I don’t need all this.” She waved around the study. “Over and over, I’ve told you, I don’t need this house, this life—my father’s study or my mother’s draperies or whatever you’ve fixated on?—”

“What about your mother?” The splinter in his voice was brutal. “Do you need her ? Belle, I know you would go with me, but I’ll never, ever repeat my father’s mistake. My God, I don’t even have a residence in New York. I want to give you everything , sweetheart, but I can’t yet put a roof over your head. I need to ensure the new paper is viable, I need to make things stable, I need to make things safe . And until I do, I will not allow you to leave the people who love you.”

Oh God— her family. Her parents. Lena. She couldn’t…she couldn’t …

She was spiraling with sorrow. How had this happened? How had it come to this? Somehow along the way, she must have asked for too much. She hadn’t thought she had. Only to take up a small space.

Only to do it alongside him.

“It’s going to be all right.” He drew her close, putting his lips against her hair. “I’ll send for you. I’ll come back. I swear to God—I swear to God , Belle—I will make it so we can be together.”

She couldn’t breathe. She’d lived in the half light until she met him—her person, made for her, meant for her—and now an entire ocean and how many months or years between them. So long, so far . She might never see him again. She might never touch him or hold him or hear the voice she loved best in all the world?—

“Belle.” His thumb stroked her tears away. “I’ve never lied to you. I never will.”

“What if I’ve lied to you?” She didn’t recognize her voice; she wasn’t even sure he could understand her. “I must have. Because I’m not as brave as you think I am.”

Her fracturing seemed to pull him into focus. Ethan’s anguish cleared; he thrummed with resolve. He found her fingers, linking them. She stared at their hands, remembering the first time they made love, how she couldn’t let go.

“ No, sweetheart. You’ve been my beautiful puzzle since the day I met you. And while you keep me guessing nearly all the time, this much I know for certain—you can abide this.” He stroked back her hair. “I know you can. Somehow, all this time, you’ve acted as though love is a given.”

He pressed his face to her shoulder, and her arms came around him. He crushed her against his chest, and she knew he was burying his composure in the curve of her neck.

In that moment, she understood that if she let him, Ethan would break himself for her.

She had a duty not to let him.

For a long time, she held him, considering what he was asking of her.

Abide .

To bear patiently.

To endure without yielding.

To await with anticipation.

“I act as if love is a given because it is ,” she finally whispered. “I gave it to you, and now it’s yours to keep.”

She drew a shuddering breath and held his face to hers.

“So when you dock in New York Harbor, you can rest easy, for you have something that cannot be taken away.”

The sob started deep in her chest. He must have felt it coming, because he was already kissing her, and it was agony and bliss, it was determination and devotion.

It was Ethan .

And yes.

Yes , she could abide it.