Chapter Thirty
The expressions her friends wore were mostly filled with pity as they listened to Phoebe’s tale. Julia already knew most of it, but Sarah and Elizabeth were just learning many of the details. Phoebe had finally joined them on what had once been their usual walk together, and she felt a pang in her chest when she noted just how surprised they were to see her.
It was difficult juggling so many priorities, but her friends were not one that should have been neglected.
The day was warm as spring was progressing, though Phoebe couldn’t help the chill that had invaded and wouldn’t seem to leave her, ever since Jeffrey’s visit to The Women’s Weekly. The grass was beginning to green, the trees starting to leaf, but despite the beauty emerging all around her, Phoebe was having a difficult time seeing any positivity in the day. Today she had awoken just as she had the day before, wishing everything had simply been one of those terrible, utterly realistic dreams that plagued her when she was stressed by any type of situation.
“Oh, Phoebe, I’m ever so sorry,” said Sarah in a sympathetic tone. “But maybe, just maybe, you can right it all, do you not think?”
“I am not sure,” Elizabeth responded before Phoebe could say anything. She paused for a moment to smile at another group of ladies strolling past before continuing. “We knew from the beginning that a happy ending likely would not be the result of such a complex relationship, particularly with the unconventional role that you have played. I am sorry, Phoebe, that you lost your heart, truly I am, though, as harsh as it is for me to say it, I cannot say I am overly surprised.”
Julia and Sarah turned to look at her incredulously, that she should speak so callously to their friend who was hurting, but Phoebe held up a hand to halt their defense of her, grateful though she was.
“Unfortunately, Elizabeth is right,” she said, finally looking up from the ground to turn to Julia on her left, Elizabeth and Sarah on her right. They flanked her as though they were her guards, here to protect her from anything that may deem to harm her, and she hated that they would see her as such a fragile being at this moment. “When I began to attempt to charm Jeffrey, I never dreamed that it would become anything—why, I hardly believed he would even notice me, let alone lose his heart to me and mine to him. I was as shocked as any. However, as much as my heart aches at having lost him, I also feel a burden relieved from my shoulders at the fact the truth is now known to him.”
They all nodded at that. The truth was always best, was it not?
“Will you speak to him again, do you think?” Julia asked. “What will you do if you see him at an event?”
Phoebe paused for a moment in contemplation, and they all slowed their steps along with her.
“Actually,” she began, “I have decided that I must speak with him anyway.”
“You are? Whatever will you say?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide.
“I must apologize,” said Phoebe decisively. “No matter what feelings may have developed, no matter that I still believe he was misguided in feeling that the paper should be discontinued, it was also wrong and dishonest of me to attempt to become close with him in order to determine his progress. I played with feelings—his own as well as mine, in the end—and I learned my lesson from it, I suppose. Only it was the most difficult lesson that I rather wish I had avoided.”
“So you would prefer you not loved him at all?” Julia asked softly.
“I have no idea!” Phoebe cried. “I suppose it is too much to ask for love as well as the opportunity to have purpose, to do what I want with my life?”
“For a woman?” Elizabeth asked, an eyebrow raised. “Perhaps, yes it is. And for that reason, Phoebe, you are right for doing the work that you do, for attempting to change the world we live in. For if you were a man, the answer to that question would be entirely different.”
They were all silent as they contemplated Elizabeth’s words, and they continued walking along the Serpentine within the park, nodding at acquaintances they passed along the way.
“When are you going to speak to him?” Sarah asked.
“Tomorrow,” Phoebe said morosely as she thought of the conversation to come. It would likely be their last and would be the slamming of the door upon what could have been, what would never be.
“And the paper?” Sarah asked.
Phoebe shrugged. “Nothing has happened as of yet. Perhaps Jeffrey has not said anything. Or mayhap he is biding his time. I am not entirely sure. We are prepared, however. If we must vacate our property quickly, we will. We do not believe there is any legal recourse that can be taken, but with the power of a noble name, anything is possible. We will, however, persist. I will not allow The Women’s Weekly to cease operation simply because cowardly men feel that it might harm the way of their world.”
“That’s the spirit,” Elizabeth said, attempting to smile at Phoebe, but it was a rather pained expression as they all knew the likely outcome of Phoebe’s situation and the fact that, while she could fight, it would be a difficult battle.
Phoebe swallowed hard to avoid the tears that threatened, and her steps were heavy as she continued on in silence.
*
The day after his mother provided him with her wisdom, as well as the stack of papers Viola had stashed away, Jeffrey slept through most of the morning, which was so unlike him that Lady Clarissa sent his valet upstairs to determine if he was well.
He had, however, been awake until the early hours of the morning reading through The Women’s Weekly. Only a few issues had been printed at this point in time, but he read each article carefully, then re-read it, then sat there, contemplating the words, his thoughts on the subject, and how the article may affect the women who read it, as his mother had suggested.
He could hear Phoebe’s voice in many of the articles. Oh, not the ones on fashion or gossip, which of course would not interest her, but the editorials, the ones advocating for change, or describing society life—the words came as though she herself were speaking. Her intelligence shone through, her wit brought a smile to his face, and her propensity for determining the exact truth in every situation or opinion astonished him.
Now, he sat in his study, the papers lined up on the desk in front of him once more, as he tried to ascertain his own feelings toward them. Maxwell slept on the dog bed near his feet, completely oblivious to Jeffrey’s melancholy, snoring as he lay on his back with all four legs up in the air.
“Jeffrey?”
A head poked in the doorway, and at his nod, Viola entered the room, sitting in front of his expansive mahogany desk. Maxwell merely snorted.
“I see you’ve been reading,” she began, and he crooked a smile at her.
“How much did Mother tell you?”
“Not much,” she said, then at his raised eyebrow, she reddened slightly. Viola could never tell a lie. “All right, she told me a bit of it when I couldn’t find my recent paper. That you were reading them to determine if there is any truth to them besides what you read on the surface. And that you were now aware that Phoebe is the publisher of The Women’s Weekly.”
“You knew as well?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.
“Stop that, your hair is now standing straight up,” she said with an admonishing frown, and he couldn’t help but smile as she sounded like a nursemaid. Or a mother. “But yes, I had my suspicions. How could you not?”
“It seems I did not want to believe such a thing,” he said wearily. “Though apparently everyone else who knew her was aware.”
“We were not entirely sure,” said Viola reassuringly. “However it seemed somewhat likely.” She tilted her head and studied him. “It looks as though you have been reading.”
“I have,” he nodded, though said nothing more.
“And?” she asked.
“And what?”
“And what do you think now, Jeffrey?” she finished, rolling her eyes at him.
He smiled at how easy it was to rankle her, as it was with all his sisters. They were rather predictable that way. Unlike his brother, who was completely the opposite.
He leaned back in his chair now, contemplating his answer, for he knew how much importance it held—not only for Viola but for his own understanding, as it could determine the course of his very future.
“I believe,” he began slowly, “That I possibly made some assumptions about The Women’s Weekly and about Phoebe’s own opinions that were, perhaps, not altogether true.”
Viola’s eyes brightened behind her spectacles, but all she said was, “How so?”
“I had thought that Phoebe wanted to create great change, to upend our current society, to cause chaos,” he continued reflectively. “But her articles seem to state that, in fact, what she believes is that women should have a voice, should be able to express themselves and have a forum where they can feel comfortable, in both finding items to read that intrigue them, while also opening their minds to other possibilities. That does make sense to me. There was also something Mother said—about imagining what it might be like to have both your opinions and your potential stifled. It is a difficult thing to conjecture, having been raised with every door open to you, but I suppose I would feel completely closed in.”
“She does propose changes to some of the acts, to providing women more freedoms, more choice,” Viola pointed out, and Jeffrey was aware that his sister was ensuring he was completely aware of the full implications of the potential choice he might make.
“Yes, I am aware of that,” he nodded. “I cannot lie and say I agree with every one of her articles or opinions, ’tis true. And yet, there are some which I do understand. If women had more power to look over their own marriage contracts, for example, that could make quite a difference, would it not? And I agree with her that there should be a law in place to protect a woman from a man who would put her in harm’s way, though how one would ever determine the guilty party in such a matter, I have no idea.”
Viola tilted her head, a slow smile beginning to spread on her face. “So tell me, Jeffrey, what will you do? Will you go to her? Make amends?”
He frowned.
“Despite the fact that I better understand many of her principles, that does not change the fact that she was completely dishonest with me, that she used me for her own purposes, made me into a fool.”
He drummed his fingertips absently on the top of the desk, and Viola leaned forward and placed her own hand atop them to still his movements.
“Do you not understand why she had to do such a thing when you were of a completely different opinion but hours ago?”
He stared down at the desk, at Viola’s gentle hand, and closed his eyes and sighed. He did not want to give in, did not want to admit any errors in his own ways, but perhaps Viola did have a point.
“What is pride worth?” she persisted. “More than losing the love of your life?”
He passed his hand over his eyes as he couldn’t help but chuckle ruefully at Viola’s words, that she displayed such maturity and grace, and she smiled back at him with pleasure as she patted his hand.
“That’s the spirit. Now, what are you going to do about reporting on this wicked publisher you so determinedly tracked down? For you have some men who will be waiting to hear what you have to say, and you must be prepared.”
“I suppose I shall just say that I could not find her.”
Viola snorted. “That is a terrible lie and they will never believe it. No, you must say that you tracked her down, but she evaded your grasp. That you found their place of work, but she got away.”
“That is certainly not believable either—that I let a woman and an entire building escape me?”
“It will if you are convincing, and if you concoct a story that is believable—and you must help ensure that no one will ever find her. How did you determine the address of the publication?”
“I visited the print shop, asked the proprietor to deliver a message to the publisher, and then followed the messenger.”
“You see?” Viola said with a pointed look. “You must work backward to help Phoebe hide her tracks from any other.”
He nodded absently and was about to reach for pen and paper in order to contact Phoebe, but the door flew open and Rebecca burst in, her long blonde hair billowing behind her in her rush to find him. She slammed the door dramatically, ensuring it was closed before continuing her breakneck pace, then came to a halt at Jeffrey’s desk, splaying her hands over its top. Her eyes were wide as she looked at first Jeffrey and then Viola. She hardly noticed Maxwell as he attempted to jump up into her arms.
“Jeffrey,” she said, her breaths coming in quick gasps, as though she had run through the entire house to find him—and it was very well likely she had. “I’ve just overheard something completely wicked.”
“Oh?”
“Ambrose was speaking with his valet, and, oh Jeffrey, he is going to bring down Phoebe’s entire publication! Not only will it be destroyed, but she will be completely ruined as he is going to expose her secret to the world!”
“Calm down,” he said, rising and bringing his hands to his sister’s shoulders, as he looked her in the eyes with as measured a gaze as he could manage. “Start at the beginning and tell me what you heard, when and where you heard it, and then we will determine our next steps from there.”
She nodded, beginning to catch her breath, and Viola tugged at her hands to encourage her to take a seat next to her.
“Very well,” Rebecca said, her words still coming quickly, though she finally sat, though her hands continued to wring together worriedly.
“I was passing by Ambrose’s chambers, for as you know, his rooms are next to mine. I heard voices, and a few words caught my ear.”
Viola gave her a look out of the corner of her eye, and Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Fine, I eavesdropped on purpose. Are you happy now, Vi? Ambrose is always up to some adventure or another, and I wanted to hear the latest. So anyway, my ear was to the keyhole of the door, and I heard Ambrose saying he was going to do something that would prove to you, Jeffrey, the fallacy of attempting to control him, of not supporting him in his own endeavors. He told his valet that Phoebe was the publisher of The Women’s Weekly—as we all guessed, Vi—but that you, Jeffrey, were not going to do a thing about it as … well, perhaps I shouldn’t repeat exactly what he said, but something to do with you being fairly besotted by Phoebe. Anyway, he said he had a plan to take her down himself. That he was going to gather Totnes and all the rest of them who wish to see the paper destroyed, and go down to the office and take everything they had, destroy the building, and then report the names of every woman they found working there.”
“He would do all of that—ruin the lives of all of these women—in order to make me angry?” was the question Jeffrey first asked, ire simmering within his belly. He knew his brother was completely self-centered, but why take this action against the woman he loved, to women who would have no effect upon him?
And that was the very ‘why,’ he realized. Ambrose had no care for others—just look at the scheme he became a part of, which preyed upon those with little to their name. He had determined, rightly so, that it would hurt Jeffrey far more to see someone he cared for ruined than to take revenge on him directly. Rebecca affirmed his suspicions.
“He said that this is what you deserve, for supporting a woman more than you would one of your own family members. He said that now you will see what happens when you cross him.”
Jeffrey lowered his forehead into his hand, rubbing at his temples.
“My God,” he muttered. “Did he say when he proposed to take action?”
“He will put everything in motion the next time you speak to the gentlemen, when you compose a lie. He said he would then out you, providing his proof. He said it will cause you to look a fool to all—as you always make him out to be. His words, not mine.”
“So we at the very least have the ability to set the time ourselves,” he mused.
Jeffrey rose from the desk, paced back and forth behind it, and then finally rounded its corner, and picked his sister up in a huge hug, one she seemed completely unaccustomed to as she let out a yelp of surprise. Maxwell jumped up from his slumber and began barking excitedly as he seemed to think they were beginning to play some kind of fun game.
“Thank you, Rebecca,” he said, placing her feet back on the floor and then lifting Viola and doing the same to her. “And you as well, Viola. Not only for your words today, but for your presence in my life to keep me from the stuffy, boring marquess that I could have been, who would never have known how to see past his own prejudices and learn that, perhaps, there are other opinions out there worth listening to. Now,” he left the two of them where they were standing as he grabbed his cloak and began walking out of the study, “I have much to do within a few hours. And please, ladies, do not allow Ambrose to know you’ve spoken to me of this. Thank you again.”