The Witch Of Clan Sinclair
every night.
    Now he frowned at her, the area above his nose folding into three vertical lines.
    “No, it cannot wait,” he said, blocking her way to the stairs. “You need to explain these new expenses. Why are you spending so much on paper?”
    She sighed inwardly. He’d seen the invoice for the newsprint. She knew, from previous harangues, that nothing she said would stop Robert’s fussing. She simply needed to wait him out.
    “I should take over ordering your supplies.”
    She pushed back her irritation. “That’s not necessary, Robert,” she said.
    “It is if you’re determined to put the Sinclair Printing Company in debt.”
    She circled him and nearly raced up the stairs and to her room before he could manage another word. But his glare followed her, making her wish he knew her better. She’d never put the paper in jeopardy. But she had no choice. Their paper supplies were running low. Did he think it was possible to print a newspaper on air?
    Once in her room, she pulled off her cloak, settling down to work. If she had her way, she would have replaced her secretary with a long, broad table so she could spread a layout on it. But the minute she arranged for it, Fenella would have just had it removed.
    “You work too much,” Fenella would have said. A comment Mairi heard often. “You need to have a place of peace to rest.”
    Fenella was the one who gifted their home with personal touches. She acted as their housekeeper, conferring with Cook over menus and recipes. Soft sheets and towels graced their rooms, and dishes of potpourri were everywhere, the scent dependent on the room.
    Here in Mairi’s bedroom it was something spicy with cloves and cinnamon, reminding her of apples and autumn. In the spring the scent would change, and she’d smell roses. Because of her cousin there were porcelain figurines on the fireplace mantel, and upholstered chairs with tassels. Mairi would have been just as comfortable with a bare room and a bed, but she appreciated Fenella’s efforts to make their home both beautiful and comfortable.
    Fenella also trained the four maids on their tasks, managed the laundry, and oversaw the purchases for the house, presenting the bills to Robert.
    Her cousin was very careful with money, and whenever Mairi presented the monthly expenditures for the paper to Robert, he held Fenella up as a paragon of thrifty virtue.
    She doubted her cousin had ever been lectured on frugality.
    Pushing back the embarrassment she’d suffered at the Edinburgh Press Club, as well as her irritation over Robert’s lecture, she undressed, washed, and donned her nightgown, pulled from a drawer smelling of oranges.
    Sleep, however, would have to wait until after she worked. Grabbing the sheaf of submissions, she sat and began to read.
    Early on, she’d realized that the Edinburgh Gazette would have to change from what it had been in her father’s day. Once, they printed six pages of legal notices, bankrupts declared or adjudicated, debt announcements, and official proceedings at Parliament. If the paper was going to attract subscribers, she knew it had to offer more content for people, ranging from information about citizens of Edinburgh to housekeeping tips.
    The only thing she didn’t write about was politics, reasoning that the numerous larger papers handled that topic better than she could.
    She wrote three columns herself, each signed with a male pseudonym. But she also accepted submissions from other writers. Her newest idea, to begin in the new year, was to serialize a novel, something that had been done successfully in England for decades. She could only afford a fraction of what a London paper might pay a writer, but could offer something the other papers didn’t: opportunity. She was more than willing to hire a woman writer.
    If she had the money, she’d employ a few full-time reporters and take on the job of being solely the editor of the Gazette. That was for the future. For now, she’d

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