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

by Mary Lancaster

  “It seems I did not want to believe such a thing,” he said wearily. “Though apparently everyone else who knew her was aware.”

  “We were not entirely sure,” said Viola reassuringly. “However it seemed somewhat likely.” She tilted her head and studied him. “It looks as though you have been reading.”

  “I have,” he nodded, though said nothing more.

  “And?” she asked.

  “And what?”

  “And what do you think now, Jeffrey?” she finished, rolling her eyes at him.

  He smiled at how easy it was to rankle her, as it was with all his sisters. They were rather predictable that way. Unlike his brother, who was completely the opposite.

  He leaned back in his chair now, contemplating his answer, for he knew how much importance it held—not only for Viola but for his own understanding, as it could determine the course of his very future.

  “I believe,” he began slowly, “That I possibly made some assumptions about The Women’s Weekly and about Phoebe’s own opinions that were, perhaps, not altogether true.”

  Viola’s eyes brightened behind her spectacles, but all she said was, “How so?”

  “I had thought that Phoebe wanted to create great change, to upend our current society, to cause chaos,” he continued reflectively. “But her articles seem to state that, in fact, what she believes is that women should have a voice, should be able to express themselves and have a forum where they can feel comfortable, in both finding items to read that intrigue them, while also opening their minds to other possibilities. That does make sense to me. There was also something Mother said—about imagining what it might be like to have both your opinions and your potential stifled. It is a difficult thing to conjecture, having been raised with every door open to you, but I suppose I would feel completely closed in.”

  “She does propose changes to some of the acts, to providing women more freedoms, more choice,” Viola pointed out, and Jeffrey was aware that his sister was ensuring he was completely aware of the full implications of the potential choice he might make.

  “Yes, I am aware of that,” he nodded. “I cannot lie and say I agree with every one of her articles or opinions, ’tis true. And yet, there are some which I do understand. If women had more power to look over their own marriage contracts, for example, that could make quite a difference, would it not? And I agree with her that there should be a law in place to protect a woman from a man who would put her in harm’s way, though how one would ever determine the guilty party in such a matter, I have no idea.”

  Viola tilted her head, a slow smile beginning to spread on her face. “So tell me, Jeffrey, what will you do? Will you go to her? Make amends?”

  He frowned.

  “Despite the fact that I better understand many of her principles, that does not change the fact that she was completely dishonest with me, that she used me for her own purposes, made me into a fool.”

  He drummed his fingertips absently on the top of the desk, and Viola leaned forward and placed her own hand atop them to still his movements.

  “Do you not understand why she had to do such a thing when you were of a completely different opinion but hours ago?”

  He stared down at the desk, at Viola’s gentle hand, and closed his eyes and sighed. He did not want to give in, did not want to admit any errors in his own ways, but perhaps Viola did have a point.

  “What is pride worth?” she persisted. “More than losing the love of your life?”

  He passed his hand over his eyes as he couldn’t help but chuckle ruefully at Viola’s words, that she displayed such maturity and grace, and she smiled back at him with pleasure as she patted his hand.

  “That’s the spirit. Now, what are you going to do about reporting on this wicked publisher you so determinedly tracked down? For you have some men who will be waiting to hear what you have to say, and you must be prepared.”

  “I suppose I shall just say that I could not find her.”

  Viola snorted. “That is a terrible lie and they will never believe it. No, you must say that you tracked her down, but she evaded your grasp. That you found their place of work, but she got away.”

  “That is certainly not believable either—that I let a woman and an entire building escape me?”

  “It will if you are convincing, and if you concoct a story that is believable—and you must help ensure that no one will ever find her. How did you determine the address of the publication?”

  “I visited the print shop, asked the proprietor to deliver a message to the publisher, and then followed the messenger.”

  “You see?” Viola said with a pointed look. “You must work backward to help Phoebe hide her tracks from any other.”

  He nodded absently and was about to reach for pen and paper in order to contact Phoebe, but the door flew open and Rebecca burst in, her long blonde hair billowing behind her in her rush to find him. She slammed the door dramatically, ensuring it was closed before continuing her breakneck pace, then came to a halt at Jeffrey’s desk, splaying her hands over its top. Her eyes were wide as she looked at first Jeffrey and then Viola. She hardly noticed Maxwell as he attempted to jump up into her arms.

  “Jeffrey,” she said, her breaths coming in quick gasps, as though she had run through the entire house to find him—and it was very well likely she had. “I’ve just overheard something completely wicked.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ambrose was speaking with his valet, and, oh Jeffrey, he is going to bring down Phoebe’s entire publication! Not only will it be destroyed, but she will be completely ruined as he is going to expose her secret to the world!”

  “Calm down,” he said, rising and bringing his hands to his sister’s shoulders, as he looked her in the eyes with as measured a gaze as he could manage. “Start at the beginning and tell me what you heard, when and where you heard it, and then we will determine our next steps from there.”

  She nodded, beginning to catch her breath, and Viola tugged at her hands to encourage her to take a seat next to her.

  “Very well,” Rebecca said, her words still coming quickly, though she finally sat, though her hands continued to wring together worriedly.

  “I was passing by Ambrose’s chambers, for as you know, his rooms are next to mine. I heard voices, and a few words caught my ear.”

  Viola gave her a look out of the corner of her eye, and Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Fine, I eavesdropped on purpose. Are you happy now, Vi? Ambrose is always up to some adventure or another, and I wanted to hear the latest. So anyway, my ear was to the keyhole of the door, and I heard Ambrose saying he was going to do something that would prove to you, Jeffrey, the fallacy of attempting to control him, of not supporting him in his own endeavors. He told his valet that Phoebe was the publisher of The Women’s Weekly—as we all guessed, Vi—but that you, Jeffrey, were not going to do a thing about it as … well, perhaps I shouldn’t repeat exactly what he said, but something to do with you being fairly besotted by Phoebe. Anyway, he said he had a plan to take her down himself. That he was going to gather Totnes and all the rest of them who wish to see the paper destroyed, and go down to the office and take everything they had, destroy the building, and then report the names of every woman they found working there.”

  “He would do all of that—ruin the lives of all of these women—in order to make me angry?” was the question Jeffrey first asked, ire simmering within his belly. He knew his brother was completely self-centered, but why take this action against the woman he loved, to women who would have no effect upon him?

  And that was the very ‘why,’ he realized. Ambrose had no care for others—just look at the scheme he became a part of, which preyed upon those with little to their name. He had determined, rightly so, that it would hurt Jeffrey far more to see someone he cared for ruined than to take revenge on him directly. Rebecca affirmed his suspicions.

  “He said that this is what you deserve, for supporting a woman more than you would one of yo
ur own family members. He said that now you will see what happens when you cross him.”

  Jeffrey lowered his forehead into his hand, rubbing at his temples.

  “My God,” he muttered. “Did he say when he proposed to take action?”

  “He will put everything in motion the next time you speak to the gentlemen, when you compose a lie. He said he would then out you, providing his proof. He said it will cause you to look a fool to all—as you always make him out to be. His words, not mine.”

  “So we at the very least have the ability to set the time ourselves,” he mused.

  Jeffrey rose from the desk, paced back and forth behind it, and then finally rounded its corner, and picked his sister up in a huge hug, one she seemed completely unaccustomed to as she let out a yelp of surprise. Maxwell jumped up from his slumber and began barking excitedly as he seemed to think they were beginning to play some kind of fun game.

  “Thank you, Rebecca,” he said, placing her feet back on the floor and then lifting Viola and doing the same to her. “And you as well, Viola. Not only for your words today, but for your presence in my life to keep me from the stuffy, boring marquess that I could have been, who would never have known how to see past his own prejudices and learn that, perhaps, there are other opinions out there worth listening to. Now,” he left the two of them where they were standing as he grabbed his cloak and began walking out of the study, “I have much to do within a few hours. And please, ladies, do not allow Ambrose to know you’ve spoken to me of this. Thank you again.”

  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 who wished 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 he 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.