Enchanted by a Lady's Talent: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  “I highly doubt that Fiona. I mean, what relationship begins with such deception and ends happily? I do not think there could ever be an excuse from him which would undo the awful thing he was planning. And he has been caught, but he is unlikely even now to change his plan.”

  “I expect that he will. Why would he not? Now that he has been caught, he will be petrified that you are going to tell people. It is not worth it for him,” Fiona said.

  Pippa wanted to believe that, but she remembered their earlier conversations. He had mocked her with the fact that no one would believe her over him. It only made sense that he was still the same rude man he had been earlier on. Why had she ever believed that he had truly changed and wanted what was best for her as well?

  Mr. Brooks had shown his character when they had first met, and he had clearly not repented. Whatever foolish part of her had wanted to believe that he was going to do the right thing, it was now dead.

  “He will not be honest about it, Fiona. Mr. Brooks knows that he can get away with it. He is a respected businessman. I am a young woman from a privileged family. There is no reason for anyone to believe me over him,” she said.

  The realisation that she had been right to distrust him early on was painful. Pippa wished that she had never been so foolish as to believe that Mr. Brooks would do the right thing that he would allow her to be seen as the author she truly was. He never had any plans to put her name on the cover. It was all a lie.

  “I want nothing more to do with him, Fiona. Not only that, but I do not wish to think about him any longer. The book is gone. It is no longer my work and that is all there is to it. I have no plans to fight any more for it because I have nothing to gain from it,” she said.

  “What do you mean? Of course you would gain from it! You would be known for the author you are!”

  “No, I would not. It would be an embarrassment to me and to my family. My mother and father would be furious if they discovered that I had been doing all of this behind their backs or they would think I was delusional for claiming that I had written the book. If my name was on it, I think a small part of them might accept my love of writing, but as it is, they will only be angry,” she said.

  “So what? You would still get the credit due to you,” Fiona said.

  “No, I would not. It is not only my parents who would take issue with my claims, but all of society. I would be called a madwoman. The literary community which I hold in such high regard would criticise me for being a silly girl who has dreams to which she could never amount. Do you not see, Fiona? He has won. They all have won. This is not a world which is kind to women, and we are stuck, taken by the reality of society that men are in charge and women are to remain silent,” she declared hopelessly.

  “Maybe that is true, but you do not need to fear that Pippa. You ought to fight for the right to be heard. You deserve it. You know you do,” Fiona insisted.

  Pippa shook her head. She would not fight. She could not try to be heard when there were so many reasons to stay silent. She had no real fight left in her. As her face fell, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, accepting her fate.

  “I think you should go to him,” Fiona said.

  Pippa’s head shot up and she looked at Fiona, wide-eyed and stunned.

  “What? What do you mean? I cannot go to him. That would be…why would I do that?” she asked

  “Because you deserve answers. Why would you let him get away with this when you have the right to learn the truth? There really may be some sort of an explanation and I want you to have it,” Fiona said.

  “No, there can be no explanation. He is a liar and a thief, that is all there is to it. You know what George said. You know the evidence he presented me with,” Pippa said.

  “But could there be no reason at all for it?” Fiona asked.

  “Like what? Think about it, Fiona. He must have gone out of his way to hide those papers form me every time I came into the shop. He must have truly worked hard to make sure that I did not see the date listed on them, even taking them away when I came, and he was not aware of it. Can you imagine? I never even noticed,” she said.

  “Maybe they are old, and he did not have them out?” Fiona reasoned. “Maybe he had the wrong date printed and had to fix it?”

  “Stop giving him excuses,” Pippa said.

  “I am not giving him excuses. I am encouraging you to know the whole truth as opposed to whatever George said to you. You know that he likes you. Too much, in fact. So, why would you not give Mr. Brooks—the man you love—a chance to explain himself?”

  Pippa could not refute what Fiona was saying, even if she desperately wanted to. It bothered her that she could be so blinded as to fall in love with this man who had truly wounded her and lied to her, but the fact was she loved him regardless. And if there was more to the story, if he had actually done the right thing and was not intending to steal her work as it appeared, she knew that it was only right to allow him an opportunity to explain himself.

  “I can see it in your eyes. You want to know the full truth. Please, Pippa, follow that. You need to have the truth in your hands before you continue being angry. There really may be a reason for all of this and you should know it. I hate seeing you sad, broken by the fact that he lied to you. If there is a way for this to be mended, it must be done,” Fiona said.

  Pippa took a deep breath and sighed. If there was a reason, of course she wanted to know it, but she had a far greater fear in her heart. A fear which she could not ignore.

  “I understand, Fiona, but…what if it is true? What if I am only going to confirm that he has lied, and all of this was a farce?”

  “Then you shall finally have the opportunity to confront him. All those things you said? You may say them to him. You may tell him that he means nothing to you anymore, that you will let go of this book so long as it means you never have to see him again,” Fiona said.

  It was a difficult act to consider. If she really did go, if she was willing to face him and have this terrible discussion, there was no telling how it might go. But it was Pippa’s only chance to learn the full truth and to confront Mr. Brooks about his actions. Maybe it really was worth it.

  “I do not know what I am going to do if it turns out to be true,” she said.

  “You are going to be the same strong, brave woman that you have always been. I know you, Pippa. You can do this. You can face him and bring him to justice. It is worth it. Of course, I am still hoping that there is another explanation, but I want you to be prepared for whatever response you receive. Just know that I am here for you, always. You are not going to have to fight against him. You need only find it within yourself to demand the truth,” Fiona encouraged.

  Nervous but convinced that this really was the right thing to do, Pippa decided that she was ready. She would go and she would stand up to Mr. Brooks, demanding to know the truth about what had taken place and what his plans were.

  She did deserve the closure, if not a full explanation. Whatever happened, she promised herself that she would not be won by love until she was absolutely positive that he was the man she had begun to think he was. She would only forgive him if he were truly repentant.

  “All right. I am ready,” she said.

  Fiona gave her a hug and Pippa stood up from the bench. She had an important thing to do and it was going to take every ounce of strength she had to do it.

  But she would do it nonetheless.

  Chapter 32

  “I am coming,” Doyle said as he reached to open the front door. Whomever was on the other side was knocking with a firm eagerness that bothered him.

  He grasped the handle and swung the door wide.

  There she was. Standing before him with her jaw clenched and her nostrils slightly flared, she was still as beautiful as ever.

  “Miss Blackwell,” he said in a hushed voice.

  The last thing he had expected was to see her again, especially now. Why was she in his home? Miss White had made it
very clear that Miss Blackwell wanted nothing at all to do with him. Was it possible that she had a change of heart? Was she willing to give him a chance now? He tried not to be as desperate as he felt, to remain calm and collected and not frighten her away, but all Doyle truly wanted was to throw his arms around Miss Blackwell and beg her forgiveness.

  He had no time to do anything. She pushed her way inside, without ceremony, without a curtsey, and without any grace.

  “I am here to speak with you about the plan you had in place for releasing the book,” she said.

  “Yes, of course. I am more than happy to discuss it.”

  “Then we ought to sit and have a chat,” she said, her voice filled with disdain.

  “Most definitely. Please, you know where the parlour is. Take a seat and I shall bring the tea. I shall be only a moment,” he promised.

  “Very well.”

  She walked away from him, going to the parlour, while Doyle quickly rushed to the kitchen. He put the pot on the little stove and prepared everything for the tea, as well as slicing the fruitcake his sister had brought him the day before, which he had forgotten entirely. He hoped that it was not stale and wished that she had brought it when she came that morning instead.

  But after a few moments, he took the cake and tea out to Miss Blackwell on a silver tray. Everything was as perfect as he could make it in such a short time.

  She would not look at him and he could hardly blame her for that. She was so determined to be angry that he was certain she had heard only the worst of his plans and nothing about how he intended to make it right. Nevertheless, Doyle sat down across from her and poured the tea before handing it to her. She took a sip, looking as though she was simply trying to distract herself more than actually wanting tea at all.

  “Would you like more sugar?” he asked.

  “No. Now, are you going to tell me what you intend to do about the publication of the book?”

  “Most definitely. Miss Blackwell, I understand that you have learned I was intending to publish the book under my own name,” he said.

  “Yes, as you originally planned. You, however, told me that you had changed your mind on that. I would like to know why you lied to me. You could have simply gone along with your original plan and left me out of this. You could have stolen my work and told me—as you did—that no one would believe me in refuting it. Then, you could have moved on,” she told him.

  “I know, but I could not do that,” he said.

  “Why not? Why did you have to pretend that you were going to do the right thing?” she asked.

  “May I tell you the full story? May I simply explain it all in one go and then, if you have any further questions, I am happy to answer them,” he said.

  She stared at him for a long, painful moment, as if considering this offer. At last, she nodded.

  “Yes, you may tell me what it is that you planned.”

  “Thank you, Miss Blackwell,” Doyle said in relief.

  He took a moment to breathe before launching into the full truth of what had taken place. Well aware that she may still not accept his reasoning, Doyle had to at least try.

  “First of all, I would like to tell you the ending of the tale. In this ending, I had no intention at all doing what you believe I was going to do. I did not wish for you to be harmed and I have even spoken with the printer who knows that I am not the only author,” he said.

  Miss Blackwell scoffed.

  “Well, now you really have ruined the ending,” she smirked.

  Doyle couldn’t help but laugh, appreciating her sarcasm during such a tense and awful moment.

  “Yes, I have, but you may not know that early on, when we had just met and were coming to this agreement, I did make these plans. I was going to lead you along so that I could get the book in its very best condition and prevent you from publicly refuting that it was my work. I believed that, in doing so, I was protecting my business, finding a way to keep it going. You see, business has been dreadfully slow. We have been losing customers because there are so few who care for such a large selection of nonfiction,” he began.

  “But I knew that if I wanted to start selling more fiction, I needed a better offer than the other shops out there. Your work was magnificent. Unfortunately, however, feeling a book by a young woman would get me nowhere. I understand that it is unfair, but that is society for you.

  “Therefore, I decided to publish it as my own. You know all of this, of course, but I tell you so that you may understand that when I intended to do you this harm, it was out of desperation and selfishness. Alas, however, it took…well, I shall get back to that…” Doyle said, trailing off. He was not yet ready to profess what was really on his heart.

  “Anyway, I knew that I could not do it. So, I came up with a plan to surprise you,” he said. “I was going to be sure that you had all of the credit which you are due. It was a very good plan, you see, but I know that you are not willing to hear me out if I tell you now.”

  “So, you will not tell me at all?” she asked.

  “Perhaps. But I have a question for you as well.”

  “What sort of question?”

  “I am curious how you figured it out? I was very careful when this was my plan. I tried to hide it from you. Then, once I came up with this new, better plan—the one which was meant to be a wonderful surprise—I continued to try and hide it,” he explained.

  “Well, it matters not how I found out. The fact is, I did and now I need explanations from you, far beyond the simplicity of what you have just told me,” she said.

  “What more would you like to know? How can I undo what I have done? I know that it must have been George who told you what I originally planned because he was one of the few who knew. My sister and James were aware of what I intended to surprise you with,” he said.

  “It does not matter,” she repeated.

  “Yes, it must have been George. He loves you, you know,” Doyle said.

  Miss Blackwell looked away, blushing. He could hardly blame her for being uncomfortable with this profession of another man’s love for her. Why should she want to hear it from him rather than George? And was it possible that she liked George back?

  “Miss Blackwell,” he began, “I know that George loves you and I do not know how you feel about him in response, but…but you should know that the reason I grew a conscience, the reason I was finally able to admit how vile my plan was…”

  She looked up at him with a hope in her eyes that Doyle could not explain. He wondered if she felt the same thing he did. Was it possible that she did not love George but that she loved…him?

  “I love you, Miss Blackwell. I love you. I never knew that I could feel this way about anyone, but you have changed me completely. You have struck my heart in ways that I never imagined, and I must tell you that now. If you do not believe that I wanted to do the right thing, believe that I loved you. I would never harm you when you have so enraptured me,” he confessed.

  Miss Blackwell inhaled, raggedly. She was clearly stunned by his profession of love, but he saw that she was not, at once, ready to respond.

  “P-please say something,” he begged, uncomfortable now that his vulnerability had been exposed.

  “What am I meant to say?”

  “Anything. Tell me how it makes you feel to know that I love you. Are you happy? Repulsed? Relieved? Indifferent to the whole matter? I must know the truth,” he said.