Chapter Fifteen
“If we write this in next week’s issue, we are sure to attract many additional readers!” Collette, her gossip columnist argued, but Phoebe adamantly shook her head.
“We will not sully the girl’s reputation.”
“But it is done all the time!” Collette’s voice rang around the open space where all of the writers worked. Eventually Phoebe hoped to have some separation, but for now, the building’s original layout remained. Only she and Rhoda had their own private offices down the corridor, though to call them offices was, perhaps, rather generous.
“It’s an exclusive! I am the only one who saw their embrace. Why, people will be lining up to buy our paper. How could I not run it, Miss Winters?”
Phoebe sighed, placing a hand on her hip. This was the trouble with a gossip column. She understood the draw, and she appreciated Collette’s efforts, but at the same time, her purpose was not to go around ruining the lives of young girls.
“We do not know enough details, Collette. Perhaps she simply fell and the Duke caught her to prevent her from injuring herself.”
Collette scoffed, knowing as well as Phoebe that was certainly not the case.
“Fine,” Phoebe finally compromised. “How about this? Run the piece, but ensure none will know the identities of those you write about. And not just the Duke of M. and Lady F.N. or any of that nonsense. Understand?”
The girl finally nodded and returned to her desk, though she continued to look up at Phoebe moodily. This was one aspect of running the newspaper that Phoebe didn’t particularly enjoy. Typically she would have Rhoda deal with such matters, but when she was in the building and it was so close to the publishing deadline, she liked to have the final word.
She heard the door open behind her, smelled the air of the London street—a strange mix of smoke, spice, and, oddly, freshness—fill the room, and she turned.
“Julia!” she greeted her friend with delight. Julia smiled widely as she was followed in by a maid, who sat dutifully by the door. “I was hoping you would come yourself today.”
Depending on her prior engagements, Julia sometimes sent in her column through a messenger, though at times she came herself.
“I love seeing everyone at work,” she said wistfully, looking around at all of the writers. “How lovely it would be to actually do my writing here amongst the other women.”
“You are more than welcome to,” Phoebe offered, but Julia shook her head, her curls dancing.
“I would never be able to make my excuses to my parents for such a time. And as much as I love them, somehow I think this would be a bit much for them.”
Phoebe nodded in understanding.
“But I am so grateful for the opportunity,” Julia continued, placing a gloved hand on Phoebe’s arm. “I have always enjoyed watching the races, but never with such purpose as I do now!”
After ensuring Rhoda received Julia’s piece, Phoebe led the way to her office. She hadn’t changed much in the small room since they had begun publishing—there simply hadn’t been time. It was rather horrid, she knew, with its nearly broken chair and scarred desk, but it filled her purpose for now. Julia took one look at the chair and instead perched on the corner of the desk, a cat-like smile on her lips as she contemplated Phoebe, who took a breath, as she knew very well what was coming next.
“So,” Julia said, swinging a leg back and forth, her skirts sailing around her as she did. “You looked awfully chummy with the marquess this morning.”
Phoebe picked up her quill pen and twirled it between her fingers.
“He called upon me while I was about to leave to come here,” she said with a wave of the pen. “Unfortunately I could not think of an excuse in time, and then my resolve was weakened by that dog of his. I did have a lovely time with Maxwell.”
“The way he looked at you … the marquess, not the dog,” Julia said, raising her eyebrows. “Well, I would give anything for a man to contemplate me like that. The question is, how do you feel about him?”
“I feel that he is a nuisance,” Phoebe said brusquely, dipping her pen in the ink. She loved Julia, and any other time would welcome conversation, but she didn’t particularly feel like speaking of this, and she hoped Julia would pick up on her signal of just how busy she was.
She was to be disappointed.
Julia hopped off the desk but now leaned into it with her hip, lowering her voice so no one else could hear.
“Phoebe,” she murmured. “I know why you initially began this … fling with him, or whatever you would like to call it. By now you must have made progress, have you not? Should you not be ending things soon?”
“I have determined that he knows nothing, that is true,” she said with a nod, her stomach oddly sinking when she considered her time with Jeffrey coming to an end. “Yet. I cannot be certain it will remain that way.”
“So what will you do?” Julia asked, spreading her hands wide, “Are you going to simply continue courting the man? Will you marry him eventually?”
“Of course not,” Phoebe said, looking up at Julia sharply.
“Where else do you think this will lead?” she asked, now looking at Phoebe with an expression akin to pity.
“The marquess would never marry a woman like me,” Phoebe said matter-of-factly. “He enjoys my company, true, but to make me his wife? Surely not. I am far too outspoken, and even if he is not aware of my current occupation, he does know my opinion on such matters. And I will never give this up for a man. It is far too important.”
“You never completely answered my question,” Julia persisted. “You say he is a nuisance, true, but you can still feel something for a nuisance. Do you truly have no emotions toward him, no attraction?”
“I do not,” Phoebe said with more emphasis than necessary, and Julia started a bit, causing Phoebe to soften and place a hand on her arm. “I am sorry, Julia. The truth is, perhaps—physically—I am attracted to him, but that is no reason for anything to change. Now, if you would like to stay, you are more than welcome to, but I have some work to do if we are going to manage to get this thing to the printing press in time.”
“Very well,” said Julia, though she eyed Phoebe knowingly. “If you ever need to speak of this, however, you know where to find me.”
Phoebe nodded, smiled, and tried to concentrate on the work in front of her.
*
Phoebe mulled over Julia’s words—as well as Jeffrey’s—as she traveled home in the carriage. Some of what he had said to her had been rather concerning. Not only because it expressed a seriousness in his pursuit of her, but, more than that, because it turned something within her, made her feel some sort of hope that shouldn’t be present.
For she and the Marquess of Berkley could never be. She knew that. Perhaps she must discontinue speaking with him at functions. Try to distance herself from him, avoid places he typically liked to frequent. Yes, she thought as she entered the front door of the house, her butler nodding at her in welcome. That’s what she would do.
“Phoebe!” Aurelia called as she entered the door of the drawing room before preparing for dinner. “You will never guess what came.”
“What is it?”
“Guess.”
“But you said I would never … fine. An invitation to dine with the Prince Regent?”
Her aunt swatted her with the paper she held in her hand.
“Of course not, why would you guess that?”
Phoebe chuckled and allowed her aunt to continue.
“We are to attend the theatre tomorrow night with the Marquess of Berkley and his family! Oh Phoebe, how wonderful! You have found love with a marquess. I know you are not interested in a title, but he does seem to be a polite gentleman, and you could find no better family of which to become a part.”
“But I don’t love—you didn’t … accept already, did you, Aunt Aurelia?” Phoebe asked as a mixture of dread and excitement began to flow through her veins.
“Of course I did!” she exclaimed. “Now, what shall we wear?”
*
Aurelia was so excited about the potential match between Phoebe and not only a marquess, but also an old family friend, that Phoebe didn’t even have to worry about what she would wear that evening. The moment she entered her bedchamber, her aunt was right there behind her, bustling about as she opened Phoebe’s wardrobe and began to rapidly review the contents.
“The silver satin?” she mused. “No, no, not appropriate for the theatre. The yellow taffeta?” Phoebe made a sound of disgust. Taffeta was ever so uncomfortable and made her feel like a young girl. She wasn’t even sure why she still owned the dress, and she resolved to be rid of it the moment she had time to go through her things. Aurelia continued to mutter to herself as she browsed the gowns, commenting that perhaps Phoebe should take one morning and visit the modiste’s shop, where she could replace a few of the outdated garments.
The wardrobe itself was tucked away in the corner of the room. Phoebe quite enjoyed the relaxed feel of her bedroom, which had been hers since she was a girl but had certainly grown up with her. The white paneled walls remained bare with the exception of the fleur-de-lis carved into them, and a canopy of crimson poppies on pink and cream stripes flowed from the ceiling down to the head of her bed, the top of which matched the curtains covering the sash windows. A settee of gold, green, and cream sat in front of it, upon which Aurelia was now laying out all manner of gowns. Phoebe’s vanity table, with the small ornate mirror in the center, sat in one corner, her wardrobe in the other. Above it hung a portrait of her parents, the only hanging she wished upon the walls.
A chaise lounge rested near the door, but Phoebe hardly ever set her bottom upon it. Instead, the writing table across from it was where she often found herself in the middle of the night lately, when she was haunted by ideas for the paper that wouldn’t leave her mind or allow her any rest until she had them listed.
“This! This is perfect,” Aurelia exclaimed as she finally decided on a gown, laying out the red silk with its black lace trim on the bed while Phoebe’s maid Nancy waited patiently, a smile on her face. All of the servants loved Aunt Aurelia despite her eccentricities, for she treated them all with kindness. “It gives you such an air of mystery. I’m sure you agree, Nancy, do you not?”
Nancy nodded while Phoebe smiled and she brushed a hand over the gown. She did love this one, it was true, but it was not as though she were trying to trap Jeffrey into anything—rather the opposite, as it were. Though she hadn’t yet shared that with Aunt Aurelia. A small niggling worry had tugged at her, one that told her Aurelia most likely wouldn’t approve of her methods. She had never guessed that they would be invited to socialize with the Worthington family, or that there had been a prior connection between them.
Now, seeing Aurelia’s hopeful gaze, she could hardly say anything to disappoint her at the moment.
“It’s lovely, Aunt Aurelia, and of course I will wear it this evening,” she said, and Aurelia broke into a wide grin. “Now, tell me, what have you selected for yourself?”
Her question brokered the response she had wished for as Aurelia launched into a debate—with herself—over what would be most fitting. Five minutes later, having decided, she nodded her head and sailed out of the room, leaving Phoebe and Nancy to share a smile of both amusement and affection.
Once she had dressed and prepared for the evening, wrapping a black shawl around her shoulders, Phoebe had to admit, however, that Aurelia was right. This dress was appropriate for the occasion—and the circumstances that accompanied it.