Chapter Thirty-Four
Jeffrey sighed, wishing he could forget all else and simply take this woman back to bed, where he would continue to ravish her, showing her how much he loved her. Or even take her home and share the news with his family that the two of them were to be wed. How happy his mother would be, and he could already imagine his sisters’ glee at the thought of a wedding. But first, there more serious matters to which they must attend.
“You are aware that I set out to learn more about The Women’s Weekly not completely on my own terms, but due to the urging of other noblemen,” he began, leaning back against the settee. He had to sit across from her, or else he would be tempted to forget all that he wanted to speak to her about once more.
She nodded, and he continued.
“I am, obviously, not going to tell them of your identity, nor have I had any thoughts to do so in some time. It was going to be easy enough to tell them that you could not be found, though it would require you moving out of your current building.”
“Hence the building you bought?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Partially, yes,” he said. “Though matters have become somewhat … complicated by the fact that my brother, Ambrose, is aware that you are the publisher of said publication. Ambrose holds a vendetta against me for not supporting him in his rather nefarious, questionable schemes, and now he feels he can find justice by not only making me out to be a liar but by discrediting the woman I love.”
“I see,” she said, looking off into the distance, and he could practically see her mind working as she chewed her bottom lip.
“He means to follow me to the club, and feels he has proof that can establish that I am not all that I seem,” he said. “But I will demonstrate that this is not at all the case.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” she asked.
“First,” he said, leaning forward, “It will now require quite a bit of work on your part. It is partially why I purchased the printing press. For there can be no ties back to you. I found your printer, Phoebe, and unfortunately it did not take much to follow up on that lead. As it was, I was rather … preoccupied in courting you and therefore was no longer hunting you, or I would have found you even sooner. If someone else much more determined takes on the crusade, then you must be unfindable.”
She held up a hand, and he stopped for a moment.
“Yes?”
“While I was aware that you were no longer persecuting us, as it were, are you telling me that you have no issue with me—as your wife—continuing on publishing such a paper?”
He reached across the table and took her hands in his.
“Phoebe, I have come to learn that part of what makes you the person you are, the woman I fell in love with, is the purpose and the passion that you hold. If I were to take that away from you, you would only grow to resent me, would you not?”
She looked down at the ground and then back up at him.
“While I would like to deny it, I suppose this is somewhat true. Of course I would still love you, but I would resent the fact that it was all taken away from me, yes. There is another issue, however. We are making money now, yes, but much of the paper is still dependent upon my inheritance, the money that I bring into it. And I am the sole owner. If—when—we marry, that will all become yours.”
He nodded slowly, warm at the thought she would trust him with all that was hers, and yet at the same time aware of what it would mean for her to give it all over to him.
“When we marry, Phoebe, what’s mine is yours and yours is mine. If it would make you feel better, however, we can make a small adjustment to the marriage contract so that you may retain some of the funds in your own name—and the publication.”
She smiled at him then, one of great thanks, and it warmed his heart.
“I suppose there will be much of these negotiations to come,” she said, chewing that bottom lip again, and he nodded. “But if we do so with only the thought of one another, then I’m sure all will work out fine.”
He leaned forward, kissing her ever so gently on the lips, before settling back on the settee.
“Now, for discrediting my brother,” he continued. “I know just how to do so.”
*
Jeffrey strode into White’s the next day, confident in his plan, though a slight bit of nerves coursed through him. For if he should fail—but he would not. That was not an option, not now that he had finally accomplished nearly all for which he had been searching for so long.
“Berkley!”
A table full of gentlemen greeted him as he strode in. He could read the speculation in their gazes, with the exception of one—Clarence. Instead he leaned back with a smirk on his face as he watched Jeffrey, as though he were eager to learn what Jeffrey would have to say to the lot of them.
Jeffrey nodded to them his greetings before ordering himself his usual brandy and settling into a chair at the corner of the table.
“Well?” the Earl of Totnes asked, his face already ruddy from too much drink, despite the fact that it was still early in the afternoon. “Have you finally anything to report, Berkley, or are you still finding other matters much more important?”
Ignoring Totnes for a moment, out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey was not at all surprised to see Ambrose slip through the door, and it was concerning when his surprise at seeing Jeffrey was completely convincing.
“Ah, brother!” he said, taking a seat next to him. “I did not expect to see you here, for you so scarcely visit these days, now that you have found yourself a woman.”
Jeffrey turned to him with eyebrows raised.
“I do not recall you being a frequent visitor to White’s.”
Their father, who had always had a soft spot for Ambrose while foisting all of the duty and responsibility on Jeffrey, had, before he passed, secured a membership for his younger son, though Ambrose far preferred less reputable establishments.
“Well, one cannot argue with the quality of their whiskey,” Ambrose said with a wide grin.
“’Tis true,” Jeffrey replied, though he wondered at how Ambrose could afford such spirits when he was constantly practically begging Jeffrey for money.
“Berkley!” Totnes barked again, determined not to be ignored, and Jeffrey finally turned to him with an exaggerated sigh so that the man was aware of exactly what he thought of his summons.
“Did you have a question for me, Totnes?” He asked sardonically as he took a sip of his drink.
“You know very well I do, Berkley,” he said, leaning forward across the table and pointing a finger at him.
“If you think you can simply point a finger at me like that, Totnes, and I will obey your commands, then I will tell you just what, exactly, you can do with that finger.”
Totnes turned even redder, were it possible, but he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling to himself as he did so.
“What Totnes was so rudely attempting to ask,” the Earl of Torrington said, “is whether or not you have made any progress in determining the publisher of this women’s magazine that you so disdain, so as to bring about its demise.”
Jeffrey heard Ambrose snort slightly behind him, and he paused a moment to glare at his brother.
“As a matter of fact,” he began, knowing that he needed to play the role required of him if he was going to sell this properly. He took a sip of his drink nonchalantly, as though what he had to say was of not much consequence, “I did find the building where the publication was located.”
“That would not be altogether difficult,” said Totnes. “I imagine you just had to ask around. It can hardly be a secret.”
“It was fairly simple,” Jeffrey agreed. “I visited the building—on Fleet Street, as it were—and was met by the editor. She advised me that the publisher was not in the building, and I should come back in two days’ time.”
“Very well,” Torrington said, “And then?”
“And then I returned, and they had all vanished.”
“What?” came the chorus of voices from around the table, all shocked at his words.
“All had vanished,” Totnes repeated. “You cannot be serious. Do mean the people?”
“The writers, the editors, their files, hell, even their pencils—it was all gone. Cleared out.”
“Just like that?” thundered Totnes. “Did you continue the search?”
“Of course I did,” Jeffrey said, holding his nose high in the air with all of the noble status he could muster. “But they have completely disappeared.”
“So you have failed,” Totnes said with a sniff, looking as though he wanted say more but, at the last moment, he refrained from doing so. “Very well. If that is your response, we will assign someone else to the task.”
“An excellent idea, Lord Totnes,” Ambrose finally chimed in, and Jeffrey smiled. He had been waiting for his brother to speak. Ambrose continued. “I am afraid my dear brother here has become slightly … prejudiced.”
“Prejudiced?” Torrington cut in. “In what way?”
“Well,” Ambrose said, relishing this moment, and he sat up, breathed in, and puffed his chest out as far as he was able. He looked around the room to ensure he had the full attention of all. “The publisher of The Women’s Weekly is none other than … the woman Jeffrey is courting.”
There was a pause for a moment as the heads of each man at the table swiveled around to him, unsure of how to react. Jeffrey waited for a beat before he burst out into laughter. The moment his guffaw began to echo around the room, Clarence joined in, and soon the remainder of the men added in their chuckles, though none were quite as exuberant as Jeffrey, for Ambrose was still looking particularly determined for them to believe his words.
“It’s true! Lady Phoebe Winters. She is the publisher, and she is running The Women’s Weekly. Jeffrey has fallen in love with her, and she has softened him to the extent that he thinks nothing of allowing such a wretched publication to continue.”
“Are you serious, Ambrose?” Jeffrey finally asked, his merriment now containing itself, as he noticed Totnes still looked somewhat skeptical. “You think that Phoebe—a lady, interested in a fine marriage to a marquess—would risk her entire future by taking up such an endeavor? And besides that, do you believe that I would make such a woman my marchioness?”
“Now I do,” said Ambrose accusingly, “For that is exactly the path you have chosen.”
“Oh, Ambrose, I really wish we wouldn’t do this here, in front of everyone.”
“Do what?” Ambrose asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Allowing all to know of our family matters—of your wish to bring about my disgrace, in hopes that you would then no longer be off to see to your own estate. I am aware your greatest dream is to be rid of me so that you yourself could become marquess.”
“Though I would have to kill you in order to do so,” Ambrose answered wryly, giving Jeffrey pause for a moment, until he smiled.
“Well, if anything should happen to me, we now have a roomful of witnesses who can speak to your intentions.”
He chuckled as though it were all a joke, though his body was tense. Is this truly how his brother felt about him? He knew they were not on the best of terms, but this was going rather far, was it not? This was the one part of his plan that truly bothered him—though he would have to deal with his relationship with his brother following this encounter.
Jeffrey noticed Ambrose had begun to perspire slightly as he gave a tight-lipped nod. “Perhaps we best speak in private,” he finally agreed, and Jeffrey now waved him away.
“Ah, no, we’ve started this now, and the men are interested to learn of the ending, are you not?” he asked them all, and the men nodded. Of course they were interested. Even the nearby footman was looking on with rapt attention.
There was a pause for a moment and Jeffrey waited, as everything rested on what happened next.
“To add an opinion from outside of the Worthington family,” Clarence finally said from the corner, as nonchalant as ever. “Lady Phoebe could hardly be running a newspaper with her frequent social engagements.”
“I hardly ever see her at a party,” retorted Totnes, clearly much more inclined to believe Ambrose’s words.
The Duke shrugged. “She’s not much for those events, I’m told. But she spends a great deal of time with her closest friends. They walk daily, take tea together. I have become rather acquainted with their social calendar as I have taken an interest in one of Lady Phoebe’s closest companions, though I shouldn’t like to name her until we have determined the seriousness of our relationship.”
“Oh?”
Jeffrey wasn’t sure who asked the question. This was new gossip, and not only did it have the desired effect of providing credence to Phoebe’s innocence of what they accused her of, but it also distracted the men. Jeffrey would have laughed if had been in private—or with Phoebe. For clearly the men were as interested in the gossip of the day as the readers of The Women’s Weekly.
“Yes,” the Duke said as though his words were of no consequence. “She would have known if such a lady was running something like a newspaper.”
Jeffrey nodded and sighed as though his next piece of news irked him slightly. “And it seems that my mother and sisters have taken a great liking to the paper. At first, of course, this greatly vexed me. However, now I am finding that when the five of them are occupied in reading of the latest fashions and gossip as written about within this publication, they are far less likely to disturb me while I read my morning news at the breakfast table. And that is something which I am not perturbed about in the slightest.”
The Earl of Totnes stood now, though his gait was slightly unsteady as he walked around the table. “So you believe that we should allow this publication to stand because you like to drink your coffee in peace?”
“It’s not just coffee,” said Jeffrey. “Has there not been a time when you wish the women in your life left you alone?”
The Earl stopped for a moment to consider that, and while it took a few moments for Jeffrey’s words to seep into his alcohol-laden brain, after a time his angry countenance changed into one that showed promise of being agreeable.
“So there are a few editorials of women voicing their opinions,” Clarence said, and Jeffrey could have leaned across the table and kissed his friend for not only complying with his wishes, but going far beyond. “What does it matter? It is not as though they can actually do anything about it. As long as men maintain their power within parliament—and they always will—the woman have what they have always had, simply their words. Just this time it’s on paper. I say, gentlemen, that we waste no more of our efforts on this fruitless pursuit and leave the women to do as they please. Do you agree?”
There were some murmurings around the table as the men both argued and conversed amongst themselves until finally a few “ayes” came forward, and Jeffrey had to work to maintain his composure.
Mutterings reached him, primarily from Totnes and Torrington, of course, but this was the power of a duke such as Clarence—his opinion mattered more than most, and when he spoke, people listened.
“This is ridiculous!” Ambrose burst out from his end of the table, and Clarence turned, ever so slowly, to look at him with all of his ducal authority etched into his face. He raised an eyebrow at Ambrose, as though challenging him to continue his line of thought. Ambrose, unfortunately, was not quite as perceptive as he should have been, for words continued to spew forth. “You are all taking the word of a man besotted! Come, should we not, at the very least, pay a visit to this establishment to determine just whether or not my brother is a liar?”
There was a pause, as they all waited for Jeffrey’s response to his brother’s challenge.
“Go ahead,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand. “I’m done with this business. Go, Ambrose, do as you please.”
Ambrose nodded and stood, looking around to determine if any would follow, and finally Totnes began to totter after him, beckoning Torrington to accompany him.
Once the three of them had departed, Jeffrey breathed deeply, knowing they would find nothing, that this was finally near to over. As the others began to move onto other matters, Jeffrey found a seat next to his friend.
“Thank you, Clarence,” Jeffrey said in a low voice, and Clarence shrugged, as though it weren’t that much issue.
“I never much liked Totnes,” he said, throwing back his drink. “It was a good excuse to get under his skin, if nothing else.”
He laughed then, and Jeffrey felt fortunate that he was a friend of the Duke’s, for he would not want to be on his bad side.
“And I must say,” Clarence continued, in a much lower voice now as he looked around to ensure the rest of the men were no longer listening. “You have found yourself quite a woman. I always thought I preferred a woman I could control, but now I am wondering if perhaps it might be more fun to find a woman with something more to her than a giggle and a smile.”
Jeffrey simply raised his glass to Clarence in a toast, as he sat back with some satisfaction and now contemplated what the future might now hold.