When I return to New York in September, I’ll rent a post office box.”
Time would tell whether or not that would work well. Yet it was the only plan she could conjure up as her world began to slowly squeeze in on her.
LILLY AVOIDED JACK for the rest of the journey by remaining in her room. On the carriage ride from the depot to Summerhill, Miranda generously kept up a constant chatter with Jack while Lilly gazed at the scenery. Once home she vanished to her bedroom and spent the rest of the day and evening working on her newest novel, A Garland of Love .
The following afternoon she wandered into the deserted library ready for a respite after a morning walking along Bailey’s, Newport’s most exclusive beach, picking her way among the heavy seaweed, arm in arm with Miranda.
She picked up a copy of the local newspaper from a marble table and settled into a cushioned chair.
The newspaper headline jolted her like an electric shock. Elna Price to Autograph Books . Mrs. Price in Newport? She reread the boldly printed caption and then skimmed the article. The ever popular author of dozens of dime novels will autograph her latest title at Aquidneck Books and Stationery, Thames Street, this afternoon between the hours of two and four o’clock .
Lilly dropped the newspaper onto her lap. She’d love to glimpse what a famous novelist endured, dealing with her public. Did Mrs. Price enjoy chatting with her readers while she inscribed her name in books until her hand grew numb? Or did she grit her teeth and pretend to thrive on the jostling along with the admiration?
She’d wager Jack would like to organize a similar event for Fannie Cole and capitalize on her popularity for his own profit. No doubt he’d try to force her into the limelight just to sell more books. But in case she was wrong about the horrors of publicity, she really ought to go and see for herself—not that anything would change her opinion.
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed one-thirty, time for Mama to send a maid to fetch her for a luncheon engagement at Beechwood, the summer home of Caroline Astor, the widely acknowledged queen of society. Lilly rose. She either escaped now to Elna’s signing or not at all.
Quick footsteps in the hallway signaled Mama was nearby, no doubt in search of her daughter or daughter-in-law. Without a second thought, Lilly peered out the library door and spotted Mama entering the conservatory. Lilly flew up the staircase to her bedroom, grabbed her hat and reticule and hurried back down. She rushed out the front door into the sunshine, her heart beating double-time. As she strode across the lawn to the stable, she pinned the nondescript straw boater to her head with shaking hands. She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder in case someone waved her back home. If only Miranda hadn’t gone to the Redwood Library for a lecture on the effects of poverty, they could’ve ventured to the book shop together.
Once the carriage rolled out onto Ocean Avenue, Lilly’s nervousness abated. She ’d successfully escaped from Mama and all her questions and social rules. Lilly grinned, satisfied at her accomplishment. It would do her good, professionally speaking, to understand how other authors coped with public exposure. Of course she ’d faint if any of her friends or acquaintances spotted her pushing through the crush of dedicated fans, especially after denying any interest in sensationalist fiction. But she didn’t expect to see anyone she knew at the book signing. Society ladies claimed romantic dime novels were written for servant girls, not for refined women who appreciated literary works.
She’d heard Mrs. Price included no moral precepts in her stories which reduced them to titillating trash. That was hearsay, however. She ’d never read any herself. Fortunately Fannie Cole provided an alternative to Mrs. Price ’s type of dime novel, although many people lumped all the books together into one
Time would tell whether or not that would work well. Yet it was the only plan she could conjure up as her world began to slowly squeeze in on her.
LILLY AVOIDED JACK for the rest of the journey by remaining in her room. On the carriage ride from the depot to Summerhill, Miranda generously kept up a constant chatter with Jack while Lilly gazed at the scenery. Once home she vanished to her bedroom and spent the rest of the day and evening working on her newest novel, A Garland of Love .
The following afternoon she wandered into the deserted library ready for a respite after a morning walking along Bailey’s, Newport’s most exclusive beach, picking her way among the heavy seaweed, arm in arm with Miranda.
She picked up a copy of the local newspaper from a marble table and settled into a cushioned chair.
The newspaper headline jolted her like an electric shock. Elna Price to Autograph Books . Mrs. Price in Newport? She reread the boldly printed caption and then skimmed the article. The ever popular author of dozens of dime novels will autograph her latest title at Aquidneck Books and Stationery, Thames Street, this afternoon between the hours of two and four o’clock .
Lilly dropped the newspaper onto her lap. She’d love to glimpse what a famous novelist endured, dealing with her public. Did Mrs. Price enjoy chatting with her readers while she inscribed her name in books until her hand grew numb? Or did she grit her teeth and pretend to thrive on the jostling along with the admiration?
She’d wager Jack would like to organize a similar event for Fannie Cole and capitalize on her popularity for his own profit. No doubt he’d try to force her into the limelight just to sell more books. But in case she was wrong about the horrors of publicity, she really ought to go and see for herself—not that anything would change her opinion.
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed one-thirty, time for Mama to send a maid to fetch her for a luncheon engagement at Beechwood, the summer home of Caroline Astor, the widely acknowledged queen of society. Lilly rose. She either escaped now to Elna’s signing or not at all.
Quick footsteps in the hallway signaled Mama was nearby, no doubt in search of her daughter or daughter-in-law. Without a second thought, Lilly peered out the library door and spotted Mama entering the conservatory. Lilly flew up the staircase to her bedroom, grabbed her hat and reticule and hurried back down. She rushed out the front door into the sunshine, her heart beating double-time. As she strode across the lawn to the stable, she pinned the nondescript straw boater to her head with shaking hands. She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder in case someone waved her back home. If only Miranda hadn’t gone to the Redwood Library for a lecture on the effects of poverty, they could’ve ventured to the book shop together.
Once the carriage rolled out onto Ocean Avenue, Lilly’s nervousness abated. She ’d successfully escaped from Mama and all her questions and social rules. Lilly grinned, satisfied at her accomplishment. It would do her good, professionally speaking, to understand how other authors coped with public exposure. Of course she ’d faint if any of her friends or acquaintances spotted her pushing through the crush of dedicated fans, especially after denying any interest in sensationalist fiction. But she didn’t expect to see anyone she knew at the book signing. Society ladies claimed romantic dime novels were written for servant girls, not for refined women who appreciated literary works.
She’d heard Mrs. Price included no moral precepts in her stories which reduced them to titillating trash. That was hearsay, however. She ’d never read any herself. Fortunately Fannie Cole provided an alternative to Mrs. Price ’s type of dime novel, although many people lumped all the books together into one
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