Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  But, of course, it wasn’t. No, life was filled with women you shouldn’t want but did anyway, who surprised you at every turn. It was filled with responsibility that you never asked for, but that others would do anything to take from you. And it was filled with indecision, at least for him. On what was the right action to take, on whether he should follow his heart or his head. On the greater questions of life, such as whether or not society was based upon the correct foundation.

  Phoebe Winters had upended his entire world—well, every part of his world that wasn’t already chaotic. The aspects of which he thought he had entirely under control. Now … he wasn’t so sure about anything.

  There was a knock at the door and Jeffrey said nothing, hoping that if he were silent enough, whoever was desiring entrance would go away and he could remain deep within the soft leather of his mahogany chair. He was not so lucky, however, as the door slowly eased open, and Maxwell woke up and gave a traitorous cheerful yip of welcome.

  “Shush,” he said as he took another sip of his drink. Whiskey tonight. He needed something more than brandy, of which he was typically quite fond.

  “Jeffrey?” came the soft voice, and he sighed. If there was one woman he could never turn away, no matter the circumstances, it was his mother.

  “Come in,” he said, attempting to hide his reluctance to invite her into his sanctuary for the evening. The library was shared amongst the family, of course, but, besides his study and his bedchamber, it was one room where he could usually be alone, or if not alone, in silence. Viola was often seated upon the chesterfield in the corner, but she always had a book in hand and let him be. They had a rather extensive library for a London townhome, with floor-to-ceiling shelvings that lined the walls, much like his office but in greater volume, and more throughout the room within recesses, all filled with various books from multiple eras, in many different genres. They had accumulated over the years, and it seemed that no Marquess of Berkley had felt the need to be rid of any of them, nor to change anything substantially about this house itself. It seemed aversion to change was a Berkley trait that had been passed down, and now lay in residence within his very own soul.

  Lady Clarissa softly padded into the room, taking a seat across from Jeffrey in a matching leather chair.

  His mother was still beautiful, of course, and possessed a gentle soul. Yet, she had been strong enough to raise six children, and to continue to counsel them upon the death of her husband, a man she had loved with all of her heart—though with whom she hadn’t always agreed.

  She looked at Jeffrey now, with the deep love in her eyes that she held for all of her children, a look that told him she knew some of the pain he now held.

  “Jeffrey, tell me what’s happened.”

  It was a soft, silent command, yet a command it was. Jeffrey took another sip of his drink.

  “Nothing, Mother,” he said but attempted a smile, though he was concerned that perhaps it came out as more of a grimace. “Please, do not concern yourself. It is nothing I cannot determine how best to handle.”

  “Truly, Jeffrey?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “I have never known you to shutter yourself away, to be so surly to your sisters and me. They may have jested with you, true, about your attitude at breakfast this morning, but that is not how I raised you. If something is wrong, you share it, so that we may help you with it. You do not take your anger out on the rest of us, Jeffrey. You can be silent and read your papers, I understand that. But when Rebecca asked you to pass the sugar, you made it seem as though she had asked you to travel across England to get it for her!”

  Jeffrey looked down at the drink in his hand, remorse filling him as his mother chastised him like a child, and he knew very well he deserved it.

  “You are correct,” he said finally, rolling the glass between his hands. “Something has happened. I fell in love with Lady Phoebe Winters, but then I found out she is not the woman I had thought her to be. She was dishonest with me, hid her true self from me, took actions that I could not condone were she to become my wife—as I asked her to be. Yes,” he said at his mother’s look of surprise. “I asked her to marry me, and what did she do? She revealed herself to be a woman who I could never accept.”

  Lady Clarissa held his stare for a few moments as she took in his words.

  “And this … revelation—did it come before or after she accepted your hand?”

  “She told me that she would accept my proposal, but only if I still wanted her after what she told me.”

  “Well, that, I suppose, Jeffrey, is considered honesty,” she said.

  He reluctantly nodded, but continued.

  “This was after weeks, Mother. Weeks in which I thought we were developing a relationship that was leading to something. However, she was using me. For nothing more than her damn paper!”

  “Ah, I see,” said Clarissa, not looking the least bit surprised, and Jeffrey eyed her warily.

  “Do not tell me that you knew of her role as publisher of that rubbish!”

  Jeffrey’s mother stared at him calmly in response, not rising to his anger.

  “I had my suspicions,” she said with a lift of one shoulder. “I knew her opinions on matters such as those written, was aware that she would have the means to create such a publication, and I also knew her parents. They would have raised her to be a woman who would speak her mind, to not hide behind the trappings of what is expected of a young lady, and to believe life held more for her than what is typically expected of a woman. You may not want to hear this, Jeffrey, but I admire her. She is brave and doing what she feels is right. You do not necessarily have to agree with her, but you must understand where she is coming from.”

  His mother leaned forward now, and Jeffrey was taken aback at her passion for the subject, for his mother was most often fairly reserved in her opinions, allowing her children to express their own instead.

  “Think of it from the other way, Jeffrey. Imagine if the roles were reversed, if men were relegated to the household, to marrying well and bearing and raising children.”

  He snorted at the idea, but she ignored him and continued.

  “How would you feel about it? Would you feel stifled? Would you not want your voice to be heard?”

  “You can hardly compare, Mother, for then I would not have been raised with the expectations that I currently hold.”

  “That is true,” she conceded. “However, you did not know Phoebe’s parents as I did. They raised her to be aware of her true potential, and now she is sharing that knowledge with other women, who are awakening to the possibilities that may be available to them. It is a powerful thing, Jeffrey, to learn the world may not necessarily be as stifling as one thought, to find a sense of freedom in knowledge. For that is what Phoebe is providing—knowledge.”

  She paused for a moment, then leaned forward and rested cool hands on his cheeks as she looked into his eyes.

  “All I am asking, Jeffrey, is for you to consider my words, and then consider hers.”

  She stood and walked over to a corner cupboard. She opened the bottom doors, rummaged around a bit, and then, finding what she was looking for, she returned to him with a pile of newsprint in her hands and held the sheets out to him.

  “Read these, Jeffrey,” she said. “Not just on the surface, but truly read them. Do not think about how these articles might affect you, but of how you would react were you a woman. What would you think? How would you respond? And not only that, imagine if every other newspaper you read was only for those of the opposite gender, and finally, there is now something you feel comfortable reading. How would you feel?”

  He reluctantly took the papers from her, and she lit another candle, bringing it over to him so that he would be better able to read, as his current near-burned candle was far too dim.

  She began to walk to the door, but stopped and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and Jeffrey?”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “I simply w
ant you to be happy. And from what I can tell, Lady Phoebe Winters certainly makes you so. It does not matter whether or not she would make the perfect marchioness. What matters is that she would be the perfect wife for you.”

  With a pointed look telling him that she expected no argument, she left as quietly as she came, leaving him alone with his newspapers, his drink, and his swirling emotions—or so he thought.

  “Well, you certainly have a conundrum, do you not?”

  “Ambrose!” Jeffrey shot up in his chair at his brother’s voice, which came from the depths of the library. He stood, looking between the shelves, until he found him, leaning nonchalantly against one bookshelf up against the wall. Jeffrey squinted to make him out in the dim light, glaring at him and his smug expression. “How long have you been here, eavesdropping on my private conversation, observing me for whatever sick purposes you may have?”

  “Long enough,” said Ambrose, uncrossing his arms and advancing toward Jeffrey. “So, dear brother, you have a choice to make. Do you maintain your reputation as the perfect marquess, filled with honor and responsibility, or do you bend your wills for a woman, one who would be oh, so unsuitable, despite what Mother may think? And what would happen then, with Phoebe’s little publication? Would you tell your friends, the Earl of Totnes, the Duke of Clarence, and all the others, of the true identity of the publisher—your betrothed? Oh, what a scandal it would make!”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said, tight-lipped. “It certainly is, as you say, a conundrum. But,” he made the decision that instant, one he had known deep inside but had not spoken aloud. “Whatever happens, I will not tell anything of Phoebe and her role with The Women’s Weekly. It would be too great a betrayal, and whatever should happen between the two of us, I do not want to see her persecuted or hurt by any other.”

  “No? How very gallant of you,” said Ambrose. “But what if someone else were to find out?”

  “To whom would you be referring?” Jeffrey asked darkly, knowing full well what Ambrose was insinuating.

  “Well, Jeffrey, I see you are taking far longer to make this decision than you have with any decision I have ever brought to you. So I suggest that you think much harder about what I have asked you. Just a pittance, really, for your own brother. And no, I have no plans to vacate to the country, nor to take up a commission. Me, in the military? Ha, it is laughable! Yes, Jeffrey, think hard on your next actions, I implore you.”

  He chuckled as he walked around Jeffrey and out the door, his laughter echoing along the corridor. Jeffrey stood with fists clenched tightly as he watched his brother’s shadow depart.

  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 determ
ine 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?”