Chapter Thirty-One
Phoebe stared at the note in her hand. She had dressed so carefully that morning, prepared to go speak with Jeffrey, perhaps for the last time. And then the note had arrived. The paper was crinkled, as she had read it multiple times already, far too many to be acceptable. It was rather sad, was she being honest. What he could want with her now, she had no idea, but she had a feeling it couldn’t be anything good, now could it? She allowed no hope to enter her heart, for she could no longer take the disappointment that would crash down on her when she would, no doubt, be utterly wrong.
She placed the note on the desktop before her, smoothing down the crinkled edges. She looked up and around at the office that she thought of as partly still her father’s, partly now her own, and sighed deeply. She was an independent woman, true, and she prided herself on that fact, but there were times, such as in this very moment, she longed to speak with her parents, to know what they would advise her to do.
She looked back down in front of her.
Phoebe,
I would ask you to meet with me in two days’ time. I will collect you at two o’clock in the afternoon.
Jeffrey
That was it. Short, to the point, yet written in his hand, so it was not as though he had dictated it. There were no words of undying love. Not even a “Yours, Jeffrey.”
What could he possibly want? Was he taking her into the authorities, to turn her in as the publisher? But of course not. For she had done nothing illegal, nothing wrong, despite how many would likely feel otherwise. Phoebe took a breath to calm her trembling hands. Should she go ahead and do his bidding?
Well, she supposed she had wanted to see him anyway, to apologize. But she had been looking forward to doing it today, to be done with it so she could move on with her life, if she could. She would try her utmost, anyway.
She reached for a piece of paper and her pen, to return his note before she could talk herself out of it. She was a strong woman, she told herself, and she was not going to allow heartbreak to change that, to make her weak or indecisive. And, despite the fact that they both knew she was capable of writing much more eloquently, she allowed herself a slight moment of pettiness as she responded to him in much the same vein as his original note. She thought about addressing it to The Marquess of Berkley, but perhaps that was going a bit too far.
Jeffrey,
I will see you at two o’clock on Wednesday.
Phoebe
*
The next two days were both the longest and the shortest of Jeffrey’s life. He spent them concerned about whether or not he could succeed in both winning Phoebe’s hand as well as keeping her from the persecution of his brother, the Earl of Totnes, and the many others in the nobility to wish to her downfall—a group that he himself had been a part of not long ago. If only he could convince them of some of what he had come to realize himself—that just as two parties coexisted among Parliament, so, perhaps, could the differing ideas of those who agreed with Phoebe’s beliefs and those who opposed them.
It had also been some time since had spent so long without seeing her, and the time stretched interminably. He considered what his life would be like should she choose a path without him, and it seemed infinitely bleak and desolate without her in it. Even now when he considered his life before she had entered it, it seemed devoid of the vitality he had come to know, created by her smile and her wit, which had invaded his soul and captured his heart.
It had, however, been a busy few days. He had much to accomplish in order to ensure that all was in order, but, with a little help from his faithful and efficient secretary, he had completed all by his self-imposed deadline.
Now his carriage drew up to Phoebe’s home, and he twisted his hands together in his lap, determined not to show any bit of nerves once he was in her company. He disembarked and was halfway up the walk toward the door when she stepped outside, her maid following. Ah, so she had decided this would be a formal visit, with a proper chaperone today.
He wasn’t sure how to greet her, but she solved the problem for him.
“Jeffrey,” she said with a nod as she drew close, and his heart ached with the need to reach out and take her in his arms. For her face was drawn, her cheeks pinched, and that full bottom lip that constantly beckoned to him was currently being nibbled on by her own teeth.
But instead, he simply returned her nod and extended his arm.
“You look lovely,” he said as they walked to the carriage, and it was true that her gown, peeking out beneath her billowing navy cloak, was a scarlet red that perfectly suited her complexion, and nothing could hide the sultry green of her eyes, nor how striking her face was. He would bring vibrancy back into it very soon, he promised himself, and as much as he wished to tell her what awaited her, to do so would ruin everything.
“Thank you,” she said, and as she stepped into the carriage, she finally showed some emotion when she noticed Maxwell was waiting for her, his tail wagging excitedly. She took his face in her hands and gave him a quick kiss on the nose as she took a seat in the carriage, her maid settling in up top with the driver. When they were finally alone—save the dog—she looked at Jeffrey pointedly, slightly unnerving him. Jeffrey sat across from her, his legs outstretched, though she quite clearly moved as far from him as possible so that there was no risk of them accidentally touching. Phoebe sat with her hands fisted together in her lap, her posture so straight that even the most strict mother of the ton would approve. Her face was stoic, no emotion playing over it, and he desperately wished to know of what she was thinking. “Where are we going?” she asked bluntly.
He smiled. She always did get to her point as quickly as possible.
“You will find out soon,” he promised, and she narrowed her eyes.
“I would like to know if I should be concerned about our destination.”
But of course. She was worried that he had collected her in order to bring about the demise of The Women’s Weekly. It rankled at him that she would suspect such actions of him, that she did not understand that his feelings for her were strong enough to overcome whatever else may have once been a concern.
“Do you truly think so little of me?” he asked, looking up at her from across the carriage, leaning forward toward her with his elbows on his thighs.
“Why would I think otherwise?” she asked, one fine eyebrow arched high. “It was your intention from when we first met, was it not? And all else aside, you have been nothing but honest with me.”
She paused for a moment, her gaze on the floor as though she were deep in contemplation. “Jeffrey—”
But he held out a hand. He didn’t want her to say anymore to him, not until they reached their destination and he unveiled what was within.
“Bear with me for another moment,” he said. “Then we can have a candid discussion. All right?”
She nodded and then lapsed into silence, and for the next few minutes, the only sound to be heard was the clopping of the horse’s hooves and the rattle of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones beneath them.
*
She was behaving like a lackwit. Why could she not demand that he tell her where he was taking her, and why could she not force out the words of apology? It should be an easy conversation. Then he could simply turn around and take her home, and all would be forgotten. Or so she hoped.
It was torture sitting here across from him. She only had to move ever so slightly and their legs would rest against one another. Or if she leaned forward toward him, she could reach out a hand and touch him. She closed her eyes for a moment as even the thought of twining her fingers within his sent warmth running through her. Oh, how she missed him. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, not even to herself. But if she couldn’t go two days without him, how was she to survive the rest of her life?
Perhaps she shouldn’t have come to this meeting after all. For then she wouldn’t have to go through this pain again of being so close and yet so far. She tried to calm herself by petting the dog, who was content to lie on the seat next to her, his head upon her lap. Thank goodness he was here to somewhat quiet her nerves.
She was jolted out of her reveries as the carriage began to cross a bridge, and she peered out the window at the Thames below, surprised to find that they were in Lambeth—what were they doing in this neighborhood of London? It wasn’t far from her own offices, true, but what purpose would Jeffrey have to bring her here? When she looked at him, her eyes wide in question, he simply smiled and motioned her out of the carriage.
She stepped out, finding nothing in front of her but a nondescript building. It looked as though it would be fairly large inside, and Jeffrey held out an arm to her, a gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips as she reluctantly took it, still silent. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask where they were and what they were doing here, but she knew he wouldn’t answer her question and she would find out soon enough. At the very least, she doubted he would be looking at her with such satisfaction if he were going to do something nefarious, would he?
Phoebe looked back and told Nancy she could remain with the carriage if she’d like—the day was warm, and Nancy looked as though she was enjoying herself with Jeffrey’s driver, as they were currently in the midst of an animated conversation. It was not as though Jeffrey was going to seduce her in the middle of what looked to be an abandoned warehouse, and besides, it was certainly too late for him to ruin her, was it not? Nancy smiled and nodded, and Phoebe turned to follow Jeffrey with some trepidation.
Jeffrey called to Maxwell to stay, but the dog had other ideas and was soon happily trotting along behind them.
The buildings to the right and left were warehouses of various sorts. Once looked to be a furniture manufacturer, and her suspicions were solidified by the sounds of men constructing within. The other side looked to be some kind of clothing manufacturer, and the building they were walking into was completely devoid of any clues as to what it might hold within. It was built of red brick, with a simple arched window in the front, offering nothing but darkness beyond.
Jeffrey procured a key from his pocket to open the door, and Phoebe looked up at him questioningly.
“Do you own this building?” she asked, to which he simply smiled but said nothing in confirmation. “Oh, you are maddening,” she muttered, and he chuckled slightly under his breath as he pulled open the door and ushered her in.
The front foyer was open but sparse, with exposed brick walls and a plain hearth in one corner, with nothing else of which to speak occupying the room. There was a small corridor at the end, and Jeffrey ushered her down toward it and through, then bypassed the doors to the left and right and opened the door at the end of the hallway.
“You are not meaning to kidnap me and keep me in this building as your captive, are you?” she asked, becoming more curious by the minute.
“That was not my plan, but now you have given me an idea,” he said with a wicked grin, and she couldn’t help the reluctant smile that played on her lips at that. He pushed open the door, and she stepped in, squinting in the dim light, trying to determine what lay before her. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness when she heard the scratching of Maxwell’s nails and the echo of Jeffrey’s boots on the floorboards behind her, and soon he was pulling back curtains to allow light into the room. She gasped when the sun flooded in, dust particles swirling in the air in front of her, but not distracting her from what lay before her.
“A press,” she whispered almost reverently, and she turned to Jeffrey, who was grinning broadly now, his hands behind his back as he watched her reaction.
“Your Mrs. Ellis told me upon my first visit to The Women’s Weekly that you had everything you needed for your paper but a printing press,” he said. “Well, now you have one.”
She could only gape at him in astonishment as she walked forward, running her hand along the machine. It was by no means new and had obviously done some work in its time, but it would do an admirable job, and it was hers—if she chose to accept it.
It was the most thoughtful gift he could have ever chosen for her. While most women would enjoy jewels or ballgowns in the latest style, for Phoebe, this meant more than any finery ever could.
“But …” she turned to him, confusion coursing through her, “Why?”
“That’s something of a long story,” he said, taking a hesitant step toward. “But first I must know—would you accept it? And in doing so, would you accept me?”