“As I said earlier, we would be able to pay a fee.” Mrs. Croly quoted a figure that took Margaret aback. “It is high for a new writer, but your name will sell.”

“And I can pay the same rate. That is per article,” Miss Booth said.

“My name? Do you mean my real name would be printed?”

“Is that a problem?”

Her father would be furious. But her father was on the other side of the Atlantic. “Are your magazines published in England?” Two decisive shakes of the head were her answer. “Are these serious offers?”

“Very.” Miss Booth took a card from her purse and handed it to her. “We’ve ambushed you somewhat. Why don’t you think about it? Draft something and then we can talk more. There’s no rush.”

“And the same goes for me, though the sooner—ah no, you must take your time.” Mrs. Croly also gave her a card. “We will say no more on the subject for now; you must make your own mind up.”

I have already decided, Margaret wanted to say. But exciting and tempting as it was, she was determined not to rush into anything, and so she tucked the cards away in her purse, handing over two of her own before getting to her feet. “Thank you. I will be in touch.”

“I do hope so.” Miss Booth extended her hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“A real pleasure,” Mrs. Croly said. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

“You will, one way or another. But for now,” Margaret said mischievously, “Jenny June may tell her readers that Lady Margaret Montagu Douglas Scott and Mrs. Scrymgeour have signed the lease on a small town house on Washington Square. And that, I promise you, is what you call an exclusive.”

“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Margaret said. “Should I accept their offers?”

Marion, who had never seen her so animated, resisted the urge to tell her to grab the unexpected opportunity with both hands. Margaret had pounced on Marion the moment she returned from the auction. Margaret’s eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed, barely giving Marion a chance to ease her aching feet from her boots. “I can see you’re all fired up. I take it that you want to write for them—both of them?”

“Yes, though I still can’t quite believe they asked me. Do you think that people will be interested in reading what I have to say? Both ladies wish to publish me under my real name. Perhaps they fear if I write anonymously, no-one will read it.”

“It’s certainly true that fewer people will read it.”

Margaret’s face fell. “So it’s only my name that interests them—is that what you mean?”

“Your name will gain you readers, but it is your writing that will keep them wanting more.”

“There was talk only of one article for each.”