by Merry Farmer
“Well, that’s that, then,” Lady Agnes said breathily, reaching for her mother’s hand and letting herself be led off to the theater.
Lenore watched the two women go, feeling terrible for Lady Agnes.
“What a curious interlude,” Phineas said, a look of careful calculation in his eyes as he adjusted his spectacles.
Lenore wasn’t sure she liked his tone. “I have a friend like her—who has what I assume is her same problem—back home,” she said in a scolding tone. “Bethany had a mortal fear of crowds. They make her anxious to the point of tears, as though she is in imminent danger. She says that in crowded circumstances her pulse races, her hands grow numb and clammy, and she feels as though she might pass out, even if there is no more danger than some of the boys from town running around too fast and making too much noise.”
“Yes, I have heard of the condition as well,” Phineas said with enough of a sympathetic look that Lenore’s good opinion of him remained intact. He nodded across the room, then went on with, “You’d better rejoin your fiancé and his friend.” There was just enough intonation to the way he spoke to leave Lenore believing Phineas knew all about Freddy and Reese. “The house is open.”
Lenore stayed right where she was. She crossed her arms and studied Phineas. “I suppose you think you’re clever,” she said, one eyebrow arched, daring him to point out the truth of her arrangement with Freddy. And Reese, for that matter.
“Oh, I know I’m very clever indeed,” he answered with a mischievous grin, made somehow more alluring by the way his glasses framed his eyes. “But then, I suspect you are clever as well.”
A shiver of excitement swirled through her. She adored speaking in code, particularly when done in the context of flirtation with a man. It was almost a shame she hadn’t met Phineas before she met Freddy. Then again, even if she had, there wouldn’t have been a damn thing she could have done about the undeniable attraction between them.
“I think you should escort me into the theater,” she said, letting her arms drop and holding one of them out as though she expected him to take it. “I wager we’re sitting in boxes located close to one another.”
“I don’t have tickets for the evening’s performance,” Phineas admitted.
Lenore’s brow shot up. “Then why loiter around a crowded theater lobby without intending to see the show?”
“I’ve seen the show,” he replied, his grin so wicked that lust pulsed through her.
“How can you have?” she asked. “It’s a brand-new play by that playwright, Niall Cristofori, who everyone seems to adore. No one has seen it before tonight.”
“That is not the show to which I was referring, Miss Garrett,” he said with even more heat in his gaze. “I’ve seen a show far more entertaining than that already this evening.”
He had the audacity to drop his gaze to the low cut of her neckline. Lenore loved it. There was nothing more enjoyable than being ogled by a man she fancied. Even more so when she, in all of London, seemed to be alone in that fancy.
“Besides which,” Phineas went on, “I’ve gotten what I came for already.”
“And what is that, Mr. Mercer?”
He didn’t answer. At least, he didn’t answer with words. His impish grin was all the answer Lenore needed, though.
“Your fiancé and his friend are waiting,” he said, nodding to the stairs that led up to the boxes. Freddy lingered near the top, watching Lenore with a look of pure amusement. “I’m sure he’d love to hear what the two of us have been talking about.”
“I’m sure,” Lenore said. She took a step away from Phineas, peeking over her shoulder at him. “Let’s not wait so long between encounters next time, Mr. Mercer,” she said as she walked away. “I rather like you.”
“The feeling is mutual, Miss Garrett.”
“You know,” she added, pausing her steps. “I will be walking in Hyde Park tomorrow around midday.”
“Good to know,” Phineas said before nodding, then slipping out through the nearest door.
Lenore giggled to herself as she crossed the now mostly-empty lobby and climbed the stairs to rejoin Freddy.
“Mr. Mercer seems quite taken with you,” Freddy said in a way that implied she was quite taken with Mr. Mercer.
“I find him to be singularly interesting,” she said, taking Freddy’s arm and letting him lead her on to their box for the evening.
It was just a crying shame that she’d already made too many fatal mistakes to do anything about it.
Chapter 2
“Miss Lenore Garrett is perfection,” Phineas Mercer remarked to his brother, Lionel, the next morning as the two of them strolled through Belgravia. “Not only is she one of the finest beauties that has graced London for years now, she is intelligent, witty, and, unlike most of the porcelain-fragile ladies of the British aristocracy, she has a backbone.”
“Yes,” Lionel said, most of his attention on the handwritten sheets of paper he read as the two of them walked. “A backbone I’m certain you’d love to bend over the nearest settee so that you can have your wicked way with her.” Before Phin could so much as open his mouth to reply, Lionel went on, laughing, with, “I say. What an inventive use of opera glasses. That’s certain to pop the eyes of more than a few of your readers.” He whistled at the page he’d just finished reading, then shuffled it to the back of the pile as he continued to read the next sheet.
“The best part is that I believe Miss Garrett would be up for any manner of backbone bending activities,” Phin went on with a grin. He glanced sideways to see what part of his story Lionel had reached, but his thoughts remained single-minded. “That’s another thing that sets her apart from the simpering, delicate misses I’m supposed to be courting.”
“What?” Lionel glanced up from the page and smirked at Phin. “That she has loose morals?”
“There’s a world of difference between loose morals and the ability to step outside of the false strictures of society in order to enjoy oneself in the way Nature intended.”
Lionel laughed and shook his head. “Spoken like a true hedonist.” He turned back to his reading after they crossed a small side street and went on to say, “Don’t let the priggish mamas you need to impress to land a wealthy wife hear you say that. They abhor anything that skates close to young people having fun. You have enough working against you already.”
Phin’s grin and his good humor flattened. “I resent the fact that a man has to shackle himself to a woman he is entirely unsuited to be with as if marriage is employment intended to provide an income,” he said. “Just as much as I’m sure the ladies resent being forced by social-climbing mothers into marrying men they never could and never will like or respect. Every time I think of those poor creatures being forced to go to bed with their boorish husbands it makes me shudder.”
“Aren’t the ways of the upper classes charming?” Lionel asked in a distracted voice. He finished reading, then straightened and handed the manuscript back to Phin. “Though, for the record, you aren’t a catch. Even if you are sympathetic to the female cause.”
“How terribly kind of you to say so, dear brother,” Phin said, dripping with sarcasm, as he rolled the papers Lionel had finished reading into a cylinder.
Truth be told, he loved his brother more than just about anyone else that he could name, besides their father and sisters. Lionel was more than a brother, he was a true friend. He was also someone Phin stayed up nights worrying about. With his delicate good looks and powerful demeanor, Lionel was a walking target for the busybodies and blackmailers who sought to lure men like him into traps that would land them in prison, the pillory, or worse. It had come as an immense relief over the summer when Lionel had announced he’d given up his fast-living ways to take a steady job as a clerk for the Law Offices of Dandie & Wirth, but that didn’t mean Phin would ever stop worrying about him.
“I am simply being pragmatic,” Lionel said with a refined tilt of his head. He brushed the cuff of his perfec
tly-tailored, devastatingly fashionable suit and sniffed. “It’s one thing to seek out a woman to marry for money, but Father hasn’t left you much to offer in return. A baronetcy isn’t much in terms of bait for high society ladies swimming in a sea of earls and viscounts.”
“It is when those earls and viscounts keep setting up shop with American heiresses,” Phin told him.
Lionel hummed. “Yes, well, there’s that, isn’t there.” He shot Phin a look that said he knew full well what he thought of Dollar Princesses. One Princess in particular. “Which is why I find this rhapsodizing about Miss Lenore Garrett to be so amusing,” he went on. “She’s engaged already.”
“To Freddy Herrington,” Phin said. He and Lionel both knew enough about which way the wind was blowing that he didn’t need to say more.
“All the same,” Lionel went on with an almost indulgent grin, “good luck with that. Also,” he continued, nodding to the papers Phin carried, “I don’t like that one.”
“You don’t?” Phin stared at the roll of papers in his hands, trying to decide whether to be mortally offended by his brother’s criticism. Writing had always brought him joy in a difficult world. Writing erotic stories that set society buzzing even more so. He was as proud of his work as he was amused by the reaction to it.
“No, I mean, the thrust of the action is fine,” Lionel said, emphasizing the word “thrust” in exactly the way it was meant. “But everyone is going to know you’re targeting poor Lady Agnes Hamilton, which is a positively terrible idea.”
“Her antics at the theater were worth remarking on,” Phin said with a shrug. “Besides which, Miss Garrett gave me a few ideas about how to craft a unique story by mentioning her friend from home.”
Lionel arched an eyebrow at him. “Taking advantage of an otherwise delightful young lady who suffers from a devastating fear of crowds by writing about her being ravished by an intruder after being closeted away by her mother at home is beneath you, Phin.”
“I think it has a rather Rapunzelian feeling to it,” Phin argued.
“‘Rapunzelian’ is not a word,” Lionel replied. “I wish you’d disguise Lady Agnes’s identity more.”
“But hints and innuendos about specific members of society are what cause Nocturne to sell. And you know it has to sell, for all of our sakes,” Phin went on, more conflicted than he wanted to be. It had seemed like a harmless bit of fun to write about Lady Agnes, and, as far as he was concerned, the playful sensuality of her character might even help the shy lady to find a suitor in real life. He’d thought he was doing the woman a service.
“I have a bad feeling about where this could be headed. You know that Lady Hamilton, dear Agnes’s mother, is a harridan. And that she’s not particularly bright. It’s a dangerous combination in the best of times. You are asking for trouble by publishing this.”
“Hazel and the girls need the money,” he muttered, referring to their younger sisters. The needs of their sisters was his last resort of justification whenever his conscience pricked him.
“Hazel is resourceful, and you can write another story,” Lionel countered.
Phin trusted his brother’s judgement—and it was true that his conscience had pricked him a bit as he’d penned the erotic story based on what he’d observed at the theater—but he held onto his belief that the story might do Lady Agnes some good, and they’d reached the office of his publisher, which meant it was already too late.
“As you pointed out,” he said in a quiet voice as they entered the building, trying to be as discreet as possible, “I am no catch, no matter how desperate the ladies of society have become. It’s all well and good that you’ve finally taken gainful employment, but our loved ones back home need food on the table and warmer clothes for the coming winter. Gladys and Amaryllis are growing like weeds.”
Lionel only had a chance to hum dubiously in response as Phin headed to the unmarked door at the far end of the hall they’d entered. He knocked once, then let himself and Lionel in.
“Mr. Mercer,” the short, balding man behind the office’s one desk said in greeting. He stood and edged his way around the desk to shake Phin’s hand.
“This is my brother, Lionel,” Phin introduced him. “Lionel, this is Mr. Jameson, my publisher.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Jameson nodded to Lionel, but was noticeably slow to shake his hand.
For his part, Lionel didn’t seem to notice, though Phin was certain he had. Unlike other men of Lionel’s persuasion, he couldn’t have hidden who he was if his life depended on it.
“I’ve brought you a new story,” Phin said, handing Jameson the roll of papers and clearing his throat. “Do you think it can go to press by this evening?”
“I’ll do my best,” Jameson said with a sigh, taking the story to the other side of the desk and unrolling the pages. “I’ve got a few fliers for that political chappy from Chiswick to print before three this afternoon. The boys are just finishing that up, but Davy has gotten good at setting type lickety-split.” He scanned over the papers Phin had given him, his brow shooting up.
“It’s all right if it doesn’t go to press until tomorrow,” Phin said. “Although I am rather anxious for the income this issue will provide.”
“I bet you are, Mr. Mercer,” Jameson said, sending him a knowing look. He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a thick envelope. “Here’s the profits from the last issue. That one did quite well, it did.”
“That was the one where you implicated a member of the royal family, was it not?” Lionel asked with an amused snort.
“Any resemblance my characters have to real, living persons is purely coincidental,” Phin said, one eyebrow raised. He took the envelope of cash that Jameson offered him and glanced at its contents briefly.
“I had a scare with that issue,” Jameson said, growing serious. “Nearly got found out, I did. A gent came around asking questions. Said he was asking all of the printers in London for information about Nocturne. I told him I’d never heard of the publication before, that I only print fliers.” He paused, wringing his hands for a moment. “I’m not sure he believed me.”
“Your discretion is the reason I patronize your services, Mr. Jameson,” Phin said with a reassuring smile, thumping the man’s shoulder. “It’s also why I let you keep forty percent of the profits.”
“For which my wife and children thank you,” Jameson said with a wary look. “But perhaps no more stories about the royal family.”
“That sounds like a wise and sensible plan, sir.” Phin tipped his hat to the man, then turned to go. “Thank you, Mr. Jameson,” he said before he and Lionel stepped back into the hall. “You have no idea how grateful I am for everything you do for me, and for your absolute silence on the matter.”
“I know,” Jameson said. “It’s your neck the same as its mine.”
Phin nodded to him one more time, then left the office, shutting the door behind him.
“That man is a saint to keep your business secret the way he does,” Lionel said as they proceeded down the hall.
“That’s why I hire him to print and distribute Nocturne,” Phin said. “He’s as efficient as he is discreet. Here.” He handed the envelope of money to Lionel.
“What’s this for?” Lionel asked, thumbing quickly through the bills, his brow shooting up, before tucking it into his inside jacket pocket as they stepped out into the crisp, October sunshine.
“It’s yours,” Phin said. “Well, yours and the girls’.”
“Aren’t you in need of funds to maintain yourself in the style to which you have become accustomed?” Lionel teased.
“I’m still getting by on the profits from August’s issue,” Phin said. And he was only just doing that—getting by. It was lucky for him that he’d never been a spendthrift and that he was meticulous about maintaining his clothes and other personal effects in pristine condition, no matter how old they were. The majority of the money he kept for himself went to paying his maid and cook. “
That law office can’t be paying you what you’re worth, so you keep the rest.”
“To stop me from falling back on my old means of income?” Lionel asked, arching one brow pointedly as they crossed the street and headed on toward Hyde Park Corner.
“Sex should be for recreation, not employment,” Phin said. It was as close as he was ever going to come to criticizing the way Lionel had “lived off of the generosity of his friends” for years.
“Says the man who writes shameless erotica to pay his bills,” Lionel laughed.
“I have to put all of that wicked experience I gained in my misspent youth to use somehow,” Phin laughed in return.
“I would have thought you’d put it to use wooing Miss Lenore Garrett away from her fiancé,” Lionel joked. “Seeing as Freddy isn’t going to entertain her with those sorts of skills.”
“It remains to be seen whether I will, in fact, get a chance to entertain her myself,” Phin said.
No sooner had he finished his thought as they crossed Park Lane and made their way to one of Hyde Park’s entrances, when Phin spotted Lenore lingering near a bed of flowers that was in no way interesting enough for the scrutiny she was giving them. As soon as she spotted Phin, her gorgeous face split into a wide smile and she abandoned the flowers to meet him and Lionel on the path.
“Mr. Mercer, what a delightful surprise to find you here today,” she said, as though she hadn’t told him exactly where she’d be that morning. “And might I assume from the striking resemblance that this man is your brother?”
“He is indeed,” Phin said, shifting to stand closer to Lenore on the pretense of making introductions. “Miss Garrett, this is Lionel Mercer, my younger brother. Lionel, this is the inimitable Miss Lenore Garrett.”
“How do you do, Miss Garrett?” Lionel said with regal gallantry, slipping Lenore’s hand into his and raising it to kiss her knuckles.
Lenore made the most delicious sound of amusement—a giggle that somehow managed to make her sound sultry instead of simpering and girlish. “Well, I can see that there is a definite strain of charm that runs in the Mercer family,” she said, glancing at Phin.