“I have time,” he said simply and took her arm in his once more. Phoebe held herself stiffly away from him, and yet she cursed herself for feeling the burn of his hand upon her, for noticing every time his body came into even the slightest contact with hers. When they rounded the corner and the dressmaker’s shop came into sight, she couldn’t extricate herself fast enough.
She turned, and with the slightest dip of her head, offered, “Farewell, Lord Berkley. Until we meet again.”
And with that she practically flew into the dress shop, where she waited by the window, watching him depart as she determined just how long she would have to wait until she could emerge once more.
He was being generous with his time, chivalrous even, for which she certainly could not fault him. And yet it irked her that it would be so untoward for her to walk through the streets alone. Really, what could happen to her in a street filled with businesses in the middle of the day? she wondered as she politely thanked Madame Boudreau for her offer of assistance, but told her she was would have to return another day when she had more time to browse. It wasn’t as though she were strolling along the streets of the Seven Dials without a care. Why, the marquess could have just as easily taken advantage of her as any other man.
She frowned when the thought of his body against hers in a way altogether improper caused not the consternation she would have hoped, but rather a warm flush to begin to flood through her. Stop it, Phoebe. You’re being ridiculous.
Men such as the marquess were the very reason it was better to become a spinster unless one found true love. Aunt Aurelia had never married and enjoyed life just fine—just as Phoebe would.
A grin took over her face, however, when she thought of just what the marquess would think if he knew what she was truly doing here near Fleet Street. Not shopping for dresses—the riot of color around her was beautiful, to be sure, but did not captivate her attention as it did many women. Oh no, it was the thought of printing presses now that made her blood rush quickly through her veins. The marquess would be scandalized. Which was exactly the point.
*
Jeffrey took one long last look at the dress shop, shaking his head as he continued on his way. Lady Phoebe. Just when he had successfully omitted her from his thoughts, there she was, rushing back in again. He couldn’t determine exactly what it was about her that caused such turmoil to arise within him, but she was like a storm—majestic and astonishing, yet so tumultuous and destructive.
She needed someone to watch out for her. He pitied her for the loss of her parents, but it wasn’t right for a woman—particularly a young woman such as she—to be alone in the world without a man to protect her. Despite her protestations, it wasn’t natural—as was apparent by her wandering Fleet Street completely alone, save for her driver a fair distance away. What kind of chaperone was her aunt, allowing Lady Phoebe the freedom to act completely as she pleased?
But this lady wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself as he continued on a few streets off of Fleet to meet his brother at the address provided to him on the note he had sent. Jeffrey had enough to deal with himself, including four sisters, as well as a brother who seemed intent to destroy him.
What Ambrose was up to now, he had no idea. His note had been cryptic, but Jeffrey feared it was another scheme of his, trying to make himself quick coin. By his own choosing, Ambrose lacked any sort of purpose, and the majority of his time was occupied spending his entire allowance, using most of it in a fool’s quest to become independently wealthy. The more Jeffrey tried to convince him that it would never work and that he should make himself an honest living, the more determined Ambrose was to prove his brother wrong. Jeffrey continually found himself thrust into situations in which he had to save his brother, and he was tired of it.
Finding the correct address to be a small, rather unkept building crammed between two others, he knocked, only for the door to swing open at his touch.
“Jeffrey, there you are!”
Wary, Jeffrey took a slow step inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Despite the fact that the sun was shining, the windows were smoky, the floorboards scuffed and dirty, and the odd assortment of furniture was scattered around the room in various states of disarray. Finally he found his brother sitting on one such rickety wooden chair, a hefty man sitting in the shadows across the table between them.
“Meet Hector,” Ambrose said, sweeping his arm across the table with a flourish. “He’s about to make us rich.”
“Hector,” Jeffrey nodded toward him before returning his attention back to his brother, ignoring the chair to which Ambrose gestured. “Make us rich, will he? How so?” he asked with sarcasm.
“Well, all we need to do is to give him a small sum of money, and then within a year, he will more than double it. Perhaps even triple it!” Enthusiasm lit up Ambrose’s face as Jeffrey rubbed his brow. He had cleared his afternoon for this?
“Come, Ambrose, let’s go,” he said, gesturing to the door. “Excuse me, Hector. Our apologies.”
Ambrose stood but refused to move, stubbornness setting in. “Can you not even listen to his plan?”
“No.”
“He lends money, Jeffrey, then charges interest back. It’s a sure thing, for if people do not pay, then—”
“I said, no.” Not wanting to argue with his family in front of a stranger, Jeffrey strode over to the door without looking back, wrenching it open as he stepped outside, allowing it to slam behind him. He was pulling his gloves back over his fingers, breathing deeply to find a sense of calm, when Ambrose finally joined him.
“That was terribly rude, Jeffrey. Hector didn’t do anything wrong, and you hardly even acknowledged him.”
“Hector is making his money off of people’s misfortune. That is not the way I do business, Ambrose, and I should hope that neither do you.”
“He’s helping people, really,” Ambrose attempted to reason as Jeffrey began walking down the street to where his carriage awaited. Ambrose’s charming, handsome face, which he had used to extricate himself from more than one scrape, was beaming up at Jeffrey now, but he would certainly not be fooled by his brother. Oh, no, he knew him far too well, had allowed him too much leniency in the past.
“It’s time you began acting like an adult, Ambrose,” he said as a father would, though he was only two years older. “You have a choice.”
Ambrose looked at him warily but said nothing.
“You have the small estate near Peterborough. You could actually take some responsibility for it, grow it to the point where it is much more profitable.”
“But it’s so far from London! I—”
“Or, I would purchase you a commission.”
“The military?” Ambrose looked horrified. “Do you really think I would be fit for the military, Jeffrey?”
No, he certainly did not, though it would teach Ambrose some required life lessons.
“Or, you could continue your education and become a barrister.”
“A barrister? Jeffrey, do you know how much work that would entail?”
Jeffrey continued his straightforward march back toward the busy Fleet Street, pausing to look at his brother only when he reached the carriage.
“Three options, Ambrose. Choose wisely.”
“And if I do not wish to take any of the paths you suggest?”
“Do you fancy the church?”
Ambrose snorted.
“Continue as you are and your allowance will be cut off. Now, are you getting in, or not?”
Chapter Six
One month later
Jeffrey smiled triumphantly as he entered the breakfast room. For once, he was alone. He had finally risen early enough that he had a few moments before the herd of women stampeded in to greet him. He could read his papers in a few moments of silence, enjoy his coffee, and start the day on a pleasant note.
He nodded to Harper, his ever-efficient butler, who stood in the doorway overseeing the staff. Jeffrey took his s
eat at the table, and Maxwell, never one to miss accompanying Jeffrey to a meal, settled in beside him, well behaved for the moment, as he knew he could perhaps be fortunate enough for a crumb to drop from the table. A stack of papers was folded at Jeffrey’s elbow, ready for him to peruse as he ate his eggs and toast.
The first was the typical news of the day in the Morning Post. A review of the most current performance at the Theatre Royal, discussions that had occurred within Parliament, a list of the officers killed and wounded in battle, a mix of information from the very same battlefields. Everything contradicted itself, and Jeffrey was looking toward to receiving a more noteworthy report, hopefully in due time.
Setting that paper aside, he picked up the next, frowning as he did, for he didn’t recognize the typeset nor the size and structure of it. “What’s this?” he murmured as he read the heading. “The Women’s Weekly.”
What in the…
He began reading, his eyes widening as he did. It was apparently the debut issue, for the first column spoke of what a reader could come to expect from the publication going forward.
Common sense and reason remain two of the most revered attributes of a man. A woman? Far be it for one to say the same. For that would be at odds with what is expected of women. Beauty, decorum, and modesty are appreciated in the female species, while if a woman displays her wisdom or idealism, she becomes a scandal. Let it not be so. Women, it is true that our education is often lacking, as we are hardly provided with learning environments that are even half as vast as those of men. Therefore, we must become learned in our own right. Never fear a witty conversation, nor telling a scandalous joke in proper company. What am I suggesting? Simply be the woman you truly are.
So often, women gossip and envy one another, particularly if another is more attractive or possesses attributes she is told are desirable. I urge you to put this aside. Strive to help one another rise up, to display the strength we each hold together. Only then will we be seen as equals.
On these pages, we will inform, advise, and ask questions about what we know to be true. Politics, travel, fashion, advice, and even a little bit of gossip will provide you all you need in one publication. Welcome.
The next article included texts and publications that might be of particular interest to women looking to better educate themselves, followed by a piece about marriage. It claimed that marriage was necessary for most women in order to look after themselves, but it went onto describe what qualities to search out in a man who would become a lifetime companion.
Jeffrey could hardly believe what he was reading. He looked at the heading to find the name of an author, and seeing nothing but “By a Lady”, he turned the paper to its back, desperately searching.
He looked up, surprised to see that three of his sisters, excluding Viola, were now at the table. He had been so intent on the pages in front of him that he hadn’t even noticed them arrive.
He nodded at them absently before returning to the sheet in front of him. He was about to continue reading when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and before he knew what was happening, the paper was lifted from his hands.
He turned to find a flustered Viola, who was now holding the paper behind her back, out of his sight.
“Viola,” he said sharply, his words clipped, and she flinched slightly. “What is that outrageous thing?”
“It’s nothing, Jeffrey. It should never have become entangled within your morning reading, my apologies. I will advise Harper to ensure that it is held for me next time.”
She attempted a smile and began to walk away, but his voice held her within the room.
“You never answered my question. What is that piece of drivel?”
“It is simply a periodical, Jeffrey, much like Ackermann’s Repository. You know, fashions of the day, some gossip, general news, how women can help in the war effort, that type of thing. Nothing to be overly concerned about.”
“Yes, Jeffrey, there really are some lovely fashion plates within,” Rebecca chimed in. “You should take a look! They are on page four. Perhaps then you will see the need to send us for new gowns.”
“I believe half the earnings of the estate went to outfitting the lot of you, and that was but a few months ago,” Jeffrey said sternly, before returning to the matter at hand. “I read some of the pieces, Viola, and it contained much more content than you described. I will not have this type of nonsense within my home. You will dispose of it immediately.”
The room had gone silent, the fork that dropped from Annie’s hand clattering to her plate as they all stared wide-eyed at their brother. Jeffrey knew he was far too lenient with his sisters, proven by the fact that such an outrage had shocked them.
“You simply read the first page, Jeffrey!” Viola protested. “There is much more within it, I assure you. It is not untoward, either. All of the young ladies have a copy. It was on the lips of women in all the drawing rooms yesterday, or so I’m told, so I had to find a copy of one myself. Well. Good day, then.”
“Are you not taking breakfast?” he asked, taking in her red cheeks, her eagerness to escape his presence as soon as he would allow it.
“I-I’m not hungry at the moment,” she said with a forced smile. “I will be back later on.”
And with that, she was gone. Jeffrey no longer had an appetite, nor a wish to read anything further. He thought of Lady Phoebe’s ideas on the subject, of his own sister’s conviction and belief in the changing role for women. This was what he had been concerned about when he heard Lady Phoebe speaking to her friends of such matters. Now, to have a publication spreading this same type of useless ideals that would come to nothing but trouble? It was certainly not acceptable, particularly now that he had seen its effects within his own home. But what was he going to do about it?
*
Not finding an answer, Jeffrey took some advice from the column of the very paper he was battling. Sometimes, it was better to find strength in numbers. While he was unable to find Viola’s copy of the publication, he picked one up from a boy who had one copy left in his hand. As much as Jeffrey hated the thought of supporting the damned journal, he bought the thing to take with him. If there was one place where he knew he could find others who would be equally as appalled as he was, it was White’s.
He strode down St. James with purpose, then strolled through White’s front doors, where he was greeted by the footmen. Ease settled over his soul as he walked through the marble-columned hall. Here, he could always find himself a moment of peace, away from the many females who were constantly ordering him about, telling him how to live his life or asking him for one thing or another.
He was surprised to find the club was rather empty, with the exception of the morning room, where every gentleman seemed to have congregated, gathered around a small table, chairs filled, while many were standing.
No sooner had he stepped into the circle when he was noticed and gathered in.
“Ah, Lord Berkley!” the rotund Earl of Totnes greeted him. “I’m glad you have arrived. Tell me, have you seen this rot yet?”
So it would seem that he had not needed to stop for a copy of his own. The publication was already spread out on the table below, men staring at it consternation, as though it was about to grow claws and rise up to attack them.
“I have, unfortunately,” he said dryly. “In fact, it was on my very own breakfast table.”
Some began nodding in understanding, apparently having found themselves in similar circumstances in their own homes. Heated words began to form, and soon enough there were shouts and arguments echoing around walls of the typically reserved club.
Finally the Duke of Clarence, who Jeffrey hadn’t seen until this moment as he had been sitting behind the rest, reclining in one of the wide leather chairs, stood and raised his hands.
“Silence!” he shouted with all of his ducal authority, before lowering his voice once he had their attention. “We will get nowhere by bickering amongst ourselves. There is only one thin
g we can do at the moment, and that is to investigate this further and to encourage the proprietors to discontinue operations. In the meantime, if we are divided, it will only provide credence to ideals such as those contained within this publication. What we must do is create a plan and to take this down immediately, before any further traction is gained. What do you say?”
The Duke smiled at their resounding “Aye.” Jeffrey felt a momentary twinge of unease at the thought of this “lady” being hunted down by a vast number of powerful men, but it was to be expected, was it not?
“And what, pray tell, is this plan of yours?” someone asked.
Clarence turned a wicked smile toward Jeffrey and the swirling unease increased.
“I believe the Marquess of Berkley can help us in that regard.”
“I can?” he raised an eyebrow as he studied his friend. Now was not the time to jest. What was Clarence doing?
“You can,” he confirmed with a nod, then turned back to the rest of the throng. “It looks as though Berkley has already informed himself of the matter, as he holds in his hand the very publication we are discussing. Not only that, but he has four sisters he must protect, and therefore will be particularly motivated to resolve the matter. Is that not true, Berkley?”
He nodded slowly. That, he couldn’t deny.
“Very well,” Clarence said, clapping his hands together. “The matter is settled, then, gentlemen. Berkley will find the owner, explain our position, and shut this down. Now, let us clear this publication off the table and move to the billiards’ room. Who challenges?”
Jeffrey backed away. Well, this was a fine predicament. He had come here for a solution, not for additional reasons to pursue the matter. A storm cloud began to build within him, which began to pour out when Clarence came over to speak with him away from the other gentlemen.
“What were you thinking?” he ground out, his ire growing as Clarence simply laughed.
Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two Page 47