“Oh, please don’t go.” He shook his head. “Where are my manners?” He bowed from the waist, which seemed extreme, and continued, “I am Anthony Ripley, proprietor of Ripley and Sons Printers.”
Victoria vaguely knew the name. Perhaps she had read one of the books he printed? She cast her eye more closely over him. He was of above average height with a thin build. He was probably ten to fifteen years older than her. His brown eyes were quick and lively, his dark skin spoke of African forebears. Curly hair rested beneath his beaver hat, which was worn but of fine quality. The rest of his clothing—brown wool pantaloons, brown coat, dark red waistcoat—was clean and neat but clearly several years old. He could be a publisher. Or he could be a charlatan. Who was she to say? She seemed to be making a habit of running into strange men.
“I really—”
“Here’s my card.” He held onto her sketches but produced a small card from his coat pocket.
Victoria took the offering, which proclaimed him to be exactly who he said. But unless he wanted to marry her, which yes, was a ridiculous thought since they were strangers, she had no reason to continue this conversation.
“Did you draw these? Where did you see these people?”
“Mr. Ripley, your questions are impertinent.” Oh, thank goodness, her brain had returned to working order.
His eyebrows rose at her sharpness, but the look didn’t last. He grimaced ruefully. “You are undoubtedly right. May I explain myself, Miss...?”
Duke still secured to her chest, Victoria reached her other hand out toward him. “You may return my sketches.”
“And then you will hear me out?”
Goodness, he was persistent. She looked around. As the time neared noon, more people were entering the park. “Yes.”
He handed them over promptly, which earned him a positive mark. He then swept a hand toward the bench. “Would you like to sit again?”
Somewhat warily, Victoria sat down again. Mr. Ripley lowered himself to the far side of the bench, earning another positive mark.
“Those drawings are very good. You’re quite talented.”
The praise warmed her through. Rarely did anyone say nice things about her. “Thank you.”
“Are they accurately recreated or do you render things you never saw?”
He still wasn’t explaining himself. However, Victoria was now curious as to why he asked these specific questions. “They are accurate, to the best of my recollection.”
“So to be clear, you saw Lady Maplethorpe and Mr. Pemberton together recently?”
She nodded. “Yes. Last night at the Wallingfords’ rout. Why are you so interested, sir?”
A spark lit his eyes, whether from her information or her question, she wasn’t certain. “We print a semi-weekly circular of the activities of the beau monde.”
“A gossip rag?”
He smiled broadly. “A semi-weekly circular of the activities of the beau monde.”
Hmph. “Does this circular have a name?”
“Hither and Yon, Tales of the Beau Monde. The former, for most purposes.”
Victoria had not heard of it but then she’d been in Town for only a few weeks.
Mr. Ripley straightened. “I feel your sketches would add a wonderful visual element to Hither and Yon. I have a proposition for you.”
Oh dear.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I will pay you two pounds a week for four such sketches.”
Oh my.
She looked him in the eye. “Two pounds? A week?”