“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.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Phoebe filled the printing press with ink and checked that the paper was feeding correctly before she pulled the handle and set it to work once again. As the machine began to press the letters into the paper, she marveled once more at its capabilities. It was one thing to provide your copy to a printer and pick up the papers once they were prepared. It was quite another to watch the magic happen in front of your own eyes.
The door—closed to prevent as much noise as possible from reaching the writers—creaked open behind her, and Phoebe turned to find Rhoda had entered the room.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about this now,” Rhoda admonished her, though she wore a smile as she did so. “You have much more pressing matters at hand.”
“Is something amiss?” Phoebe asked, turning to Rhoda now, worried.
“No,” Rhoda said with a laugh, “But I believe your mother-in-law and your aunt await you at Madame Boudreau’s.”
“Oh no, I’m late!” Phoebe exclaimed and raced to the door, but not before turning back to Rhoda. “You will look after the printing today?”
“Of course!” Rhoda said, shooing her hands toward the door. “Now go!”
Phoebe found her bonnet and raced out the door, though she was but halfway down the street when she remembered that Nancy was within, and realized that she was much too far to walk. Nancy had accompanied her today for the visit to the modiste’s and the carriage was awaiting them down the street, so as to not draw attention to their location.
“Damn,” Phoebe said, returned, and then encouraged the driver to hurry to the shop.
Phoebe raced in the door, out of breath when she arrived, but Jeffrey’s mother either didn’t notice or didn’t much care. Today was the final fitting of Phoebe’s dress. The wedding would take place in just a few days, this very Saturday. Jeffrey had felt it best not to wait overly long, to which Phoebe certainly agreed. Of course, there had been much to work out, what with the marriage contract as well as the entire situation with Ambrose, but somehow, it had all gone according to plan.
Phoebe was both shocked and pleased to walk in the door and find not only Aunt Aurelia and Jeffrey’s mother, but also his four sisters and her three closest friends. Madame Boudreau bustled around them all with a long-practiced efficiency, and Phoebe was not quite sure how to express her thankfulness to have such women in her life.
“I cannot believe you are all here!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, we wouldn’t miss it,” said Sarah with a smile.
“Besides, we have to make sure you do not find out Jeffrey’s true personality and leave him before you are married!” Rebecca exclaimed, and Phoebe didn’t miss the elbow Viola nudged into her side. Phoebe simply laughed.
“Fortunately I believe I have come to know all sides of him and will marry him anyway,” she quipped, and Lady Clarissa wore a look of such happiness that Phoebe nearly started crying at that moment. Goodness, when had she become such an emotional mess? She hurriedly found Madame Boudreau in order to try on the dress before she showed too much emotion before the lot of them.
And when she came out and turned in front of them, the lengths of cream satin swirling around her, the jewels on the dress glittering in the light, she could only hope that Jeffrey would feel as impressed as these ladies did, judging by the looks on their faces. She grinned at them all, wondering how she had ever gotten so lucky.
*
One week later
St. George’s, Hanover Square
Phoebe breathed deeply as she waited in the vestibule at the back of St. George’s. People filled the pews before her, most of them faces she had seen in passing but didn’t actually know well at all. They had all come to see the Marquess of Berkley marry a woman they had hardly heard of at all until recently—Lady Phoebe Winters. She had no real connections, hardly any family to speak of, and, to most, was as much of a mystery as the identity of the publisher of The Women’s Weekly.
Two lives, she mused, and yet they were one and the same as far as Jeffrey was concerned, and he was all that mattered.
He was right down the aisle, she knew, and yet he was too far for her to see him, and so instead she focused for a moment on the stained glass, under which she knew he would be standing. Despite all the people filling the pews ahead of her and the man who waited for her at the end of the aisle, Phoebe had never felt quite so alone. She looked up above her to the rafters of the church, to the windows emitting daylight at the very top, and closed her eyes as she felt her parents’ presence beside her, imagined her father was with her, holding onto her arm. Suddenly her arm was lifted, interlocked with another, and Phoebe’s eyes flew open to find Aurelia beside her.
“Aunt Aurelia!” she exclaimed. “I thought you would be at the front of the church, in the very best seat.”
“Well, I could not allow you to walk all that way alone now, could I? Particularly in all those layers of fabric. What if you tripped?”
She smiled gently and squeezed Phoebe’s arm softly.
“Your parents would be ever so proud of you,” she said. “You are marrying a handsome marquess, true, but what they would really be thankful for is the fact that you are marrying for love, and that this man will make you happy for the rest of your days.”
“Yes,” Phoebe said softly. “Yes, he will. Thank you, Aunt Aurelia, for everything.”
“That’s not necessary. I love you as my own, and always will,” Aurelia responded, tears forming in her eyes, though she hastily blinked them away. “Now, we best get moving or else they’ll all think you’ve jilted him.”
And with that, she urged Phoebe forward, and they began the long walk to the altar. There were quite a few murmurings, of course, that Phoebe was escorted by her aunt, but she cared not at all. This was her life, and her wedding, and what mattered was the man standing at the end of this journey. Jeffrey was as handsome as ever, tall, broad, and imposing, his blond hair swept back immaculately over his hard, chiseled face. But then his eyes found Phoebe’s as she neared, and his entire countenance softened, his lips curling upward ever so slightly, his eyes becoming a lighter shade, less harsh as love filled them. And when a lock fell out of his perfectly coiffed hair and onto his forehead, any nerves which remained left her and she returned his grin. For she knew the man that so many didn’t—the man who was willing to accept her for who she was, for what her passions were, who overlooked her own many faults and loved her anyway.
Phoebe kissed Aunt Aurelia on the cheek and stepped up to stand next to the man who was to become her husband. She looked up at him, leaned in close, and whispered for his ears alone, “I love you.”
*
While the church had been filled, the wedding breakfast was, thank goodness, simply for their families and closest friends. Jeffrey’s London home had been outrageously decorated, the doing of his mothers and sisters.
“Was all this really necessary?” he asked them as they arrived home, and a piece of long pink fabric nearly fell on him from where it was draped above them over the balcony.
“Of course it is, Jeffrey,” Penny said indignantly from where she awaited them, practically bouncing on the toes of her pink kid slippers. Jeffrey’s sisters certainly had a taste for pink, Phoebe thought as she looked around her at the floral arrangements covering the entryway and the staircase. She could hardly imagine what the interior rooms must look like.
Though secretly, she thought, as they rounded the corner of the stairwell and entered the drawing room, she would guess that they simply did it to irk Jeffrey. His sisters loved annoying him, and Phoebe found it particularly entertaining, though she would never tell him so.
Jeffrey’s mother, who had entered but moments before them, sailed over to greet them. She took Phoebe’s hands in hers and kissed her cheeks. “Welcome home,” she said, a tear sliding down her face, and Phoebe squeezed her hands in response.
She leaned in and whispered in Lady Clarissa’s ear, “I will ensure he is happy—I promise.”
Which only, of course, led to more tears, and Jeffrey looked at Phoebe with something akin to horror. “Perhaps we best get on with this breakfast,” he said, attempting to steer her away from his mother and toward the table, but Clarissa stilled him by placing a hand on his arm.
“Oh, Jeffrey, you were never one for tears,” she said, taking Jeffrey’s offered handkerchief. “You would think you would be used to it by now.”
The moment was broken, however, when loud barking flowed into the room from the corridor outside, and Jeffrey looked around at all of the perfectly placed decorations, at the flower arrangements in their crystal vases. “No, no, no,” he called out. “Maxwell! Stay—”
But Maxwell’s keeper—none other than Annie, who ran in behind the dog—had lost all control, and Maxwell happily bounded into the room, nea
rly knocking Jeffrey over with an uninhibited exuberance.
“How long has it been since you have seen him?” Phoebe asked as Maxwell turned his attention toward her, covering her face with a lick of his huge, wet tongue.
“Since before I left for the wedding,” he said, shaking his head as he handed her what must have been a second handkerchief. Apparently he had anticipated a need for them today.
She laughed then, following her husband—goodness, it felt odd to say such a thing—into the dining room, where the table was piled high with every type of confection that one could possibly dream of, and where her new family and closest friends awaited.
It was not, of course, the type of wedding breakfast one might expect at the home of the marquess. In fact, Jeffrey told her, it was reminiscent of most of the breakfasts held at this house.
“This will likely be a change for you,” he mused, and she nodded.
“That would be an understatement,” she agreed. “Typically my company every morning is a stack of papers.”
“Mine as well,” he said, turning to her with a bit of surprise. “Though my reading is continually interrupted by never-ending questions and comments meant to drive me mad.”
“Ah, so you are aware they do it on purpose.”
“Of course they do,” he grunted. “But I keep up the pretense, for I do not want to spoil their fun.”
When she laughed, Jeffrey ruefully smiled before turning his warm look at his family around the table, though his gaze slightly hardened when it alighted on Ambrose.
“Did we have to invite him?” he asked Phoebe, and she nodded. She had, in fact, told Jeffrey in no uncertain terms that he absolutely must invite his brother to his wedding or he would never forgive himself in the future.
“I know he has acted absolutely appallingly, and I understand your reluctance,” she had said, “But he is your brother, and one day you would look back and be upset that this would have only increased the divide between you.”
“Fine,” he had finally relented. “But after this, he is off to his country estate. The man must learn some responsibility, some decency.”
Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two Page 66