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

by Mary Lancaster

  He ran his hand through his hair, not knowing what to say. For much of what she said was true, that was certain. And yet, she had still lied, and that rankled deep within him.

  Jeffrey paced back and forth, his emotions fraught, every nerve seemingly on edge. She had taken him off guard, and he needed time to process all of this, to think through her revelation.

  Now that he knew the truth, his own stupidity rankled. It all made sense. Phoebe’s opinions, her proclivity to say whatever she felt, her determination to make a difference, to change the world. Her frequent daytime outings not entirely in keeping with a woman of her station. He knew the publisher was likely a woman, and she signed her very name as “a lady.” Why had the thought never even occurred to him?

  Because he wouldn’t have wanted to accept the truth, even subconsciously, he admitted to himself. He wanted to marry her, and how could he be married to a woman who not only supported, but actually published, such a scandalous newspaper?

  He groaned aloud as he sat in the rickety old chair that creaked dangerously under his weight, and placed his head in his hands as he leaned onto the old desk. Phoebe took a seat across from him, saying nothing for a moment, as she allowed her words to resonate with him.

  “Do you see now?” she asked gently. “If I had told you from the moment we met, what would have happened? You would have wanted nothing to do with me, and we would never have had the opportunity to develop … feelings for one another. I am still the same woman you wanted to marry, Jeffrey, and I have so badly wanted to accept your proposal, but I couldn’t. Not with this secret between us. I am well aware of how this may change your feelings toward me, but please know that I am still the same woman you asked to marry you, the same woman who would like to agree. My ideals have never changed—simply the fact that I have actually taken the step to do something about them.”

  “Would you cease this production if we were to marry?” he asked.

  He wasn’t sure that he would actually ask her to do so—in fact, he wasn’t altogether certain of anything at the moment. But it would surely tell him just how much she actually cared for him—if it was more than this blasted publication.

  “I—I would not want to,” she said, dropping their locked gaze for a moment, looking down at her hands. “I would hope that you would not ask it of me. However, if it was a condition of marriage to you … I would consider leaving it, but not destroying it. I would ensure that it remained in good hands.”

  “I see,” he said, leaning back in his chair now, crossing his arms once more and nodding his head. It was not the answer he had been looking for, but nor was it an outright rejection of him. “At least you are being honest with me now.”

  “I never meant to be dishonest!” she cried. “How could I have told you the truth? Once I learned that you were the one who was trying to find the publisher of The Women’s Weekly, to destroy the newspaper that I worked so hard to build, I knew that if you became aware of what I was doing, you would do everything you could to bring me—this—down.”

  He looked intently at her then as her words stirred a thought within him.

  “That’s when you began to pursue me,” he said, standing once more and leaning over the desk, looking deep into her eyes, studying her face to determine her reaction to his words. “After you knew that I was the lord who was interested in learning more of the publication. Before that, you hated me. You slapped me! And then this sudden interest. Your appearances at events I frequented, where I had never seen you before. Your coy looks, your slightest touches, your apparent interest in my life, my family.” He paused for a moment as he read the guilt in her eyes. “By God, you used me.”

  “I—it wasn’t—”

  “You intended to be close to me. You wanted to know what my actions were, of what I was aware. Not only that, but—perhaps unknowingly, I’ll grant you—you distracted me from my goal. And like a fool, I fell for your games, for your lies. You are not only a talented writer, Phoebe, but you are a clever actress as well.”

  Horrified, he stepped back from the desk, the realization of his complete and utter stupidity draping over him like a cloak he could not pull from his body.

  “I thought your dishonesty was simply that you did not tell me of your role here, but now I realize it is far, far greater than that. Our entire relationship is a lie.”

  “Jeffrey,” Phoebe finally cut in, desperation written all over her face and tears pooling in her eyes as she stood and rounded the desk. She raised her hands up toward him, but he pushed them away, not able to stand the thought of her touching him at the moment.

  “Jeffrey, what you say … well, I cannot deny it. There is certainly truth to your words. Except for the fact that I have been attracted to you from the moment we met, even during that awful conversation we had in the Earl of Torrington’s drawing room. And yes, it is true that I did want to be aware of any progress you were making in your investigation as it were, but once I began to know you, the man you truly are—aside from your nonsensical beliefs regarding women—then I became far more than attracted to you. I began to fall for you, Jeffrey. I never thought you could want anything to do with a woman like me for more than a flirtation, so trust me, no one was more surprised than I over the fact that you not only courted me but then asked me to wed you. Every time we have been together, I only…”

  Tears began to fall down her face, and he steeled himself, determined not to give in to her dramatics. For that’s what they were, were they not? More dishonesty as she attempted to make him feel sorry for her?

  “You only what?”

  “I only fall more in love with you.”

  He looked at her, at her tear-stained cheeks, her ink-stained hands, her stunning face that he had come to care so much for, and could only think of how it had all been a lie.

  Jeffrey shook his head despondently, turned from her, and before she could say another word, slowly strode out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Phoebe was rolled in a ball in her bed the next morning, her knees wedged into her chest and the bedclothes clutched tightly around her. She heard a knock on the door, but she squeezed her eyes shut, not ready to face the day.

  In fact, she had barely been able to sleep through the night. After Jeffrey had left her office, she had sunk to the floor and allowed the tears to flow freely as she realized just how much it hurt, knowing she had lost him. While he had never said the words, she had felt it, deep in her soul. She hadn’t been aware of the depth of her emotions toward him until her dreams for a future with him began to seep away from her. It wasn’t fair, she had thought, shaking her head against the truth of it all. Why could she not follow her passions and make a difference, while still finding the true love she had never thought would be there for her?

  The worst of it all was that she could see the situation from Jeffrey’s point of view. She had used him. She had lied to him. She had done everything of which he had accused her, and there was no use arguing with him, for all she could say was that he was right—and that everything had changed for her.

  But why would he believe her now?

  All of these details flowing through her mind, Phoebe had finally come to her senses when there had been a soft knock at the door. At Rhoda’s quiet question regarding whether everything was all right, Phoebe rallied herself enough to call out that all was fine, and finally after enough time had passed, she composed herself, collected her belongings, and left, calling out to her staff that she was not well and would return tomorrow.

  Since then, she had been desperately trying to determine how she could save it all. By the time she had fallen into bed, physically and mentally exhausted, no brilliant ideas had come to her, and she had despaired of waking up the next day to face it all again.

  But she did. For that’s how time worked, did it not?

  And now … well, for the moment she would have to put aside her own heart, or what was left of it, and focus on other matters. For by telling Jeff
rey of who she was, she had not only risked her heart but her entire paper as well. Now it was in his hands, and she had no idea what that would mean for her or her staff. What he would do with the information he had gleaned yesterday … she would have to wait and see. But she would have to be the one to speak to the people who worked for her, to prepare them for what may come.

  Nancy came in quickly after Phoebe rang the bell, and Phoebe managed a small smile for the girl, who had likely been waiting outside the door, aware that her lady was not entirely in her best state of mind.

  “Good morning, my lady,” Nancy said quietly, and with her somehow unhurried efficiency, began to search through the wardrobe to choose Phoebe’s clothing for the day. “You will be in at the office today?” she asked, to which Phoebe nodded. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to face it all. She would far prefer to sit here and cry over the love she had never sought but had found and lost all the same, all by her own doing. And yet, life went on. Other people depended upon her. And so she would put on a brave face along with her clothing for the day, attend to matters at the newspaper office, and then return home where she could allow herself to feel once more in private.

  “The gray, I think, Nancy,” Phoebe said, choosing a smart gown the same color as her mood. Nancy nodded, finding the dress as well as the accessories to accompany it, and Phoebe reluctantly pulled herself from the bed to begin dressing. After Nancy arranged her hair in a tight chignon that Phoebe found pulled at her head but allowed her to feel rather efficient, she went down to breakfast, sighing when she saw that for once in her life, Aurelia had decided to come down first thing in the morning. She loved Aurelia, truly she did, but why today, of all days, did she decide to join her, when Phoebe would far prefer to sit in her own miserable silence?

  “Good morning, darling,” she said, and Phoebe attempted to smile as she took a seat. She didn’t miss Aurelia’s shrewd perusal of her face.

  “Good morning, Aunt Aurelia.”

  “And how are you today?”

  “I am fine, thank you.”

  “Are you?”

  Phoebe knew she wasn’t exactly at her best, but she didn’t think there was anything particularly amiss with how she looked. Perhaps Aurelia had been seeking her out last night when she had remained in her rooms.

  “I am feeling better than yesterday. I must have had some sort of megrim or something.”

  “You never have megrims.”

  “It seems that yesterday, I did.”

  Why was Aurelia questioning her so today? Typically her aunt primarily left her to see to her own affairs, without any interference.

  “Phoebe.” Aurelia reached across the table and placed her hand over hers, and Phoebe looked up at her in surprise, her fork stilling in her other hand in its work of shuffling food from one side of her plate to the other.

  “Yes?”

  “Has something happened? I may be an old spinster, but I know what one’s face looks like after her heart has been broken. Has something happened between you and the marquess?”

  And with her aunt looking at her so pityingly, Phoebe put down her fork. She began to assemble a story that would tell the truth while leaving out a few details, but soon enough the tears were flowing once more, and it all came spilling out—every bit of it, from her original intentions and her dishonesty, to falling in love with Jeffrey and his visit to the office yesterday, to her fear for the paper and her desire to continue her quest.

  “Oh, Aurelia, what do I do now?”

  “Well,” Aurelia said matter-of-factly after consoling Phoebe, “the first thing you do, that you must do, is continue to live your life. For wallowing in self-pity will help no one, including yourself. Secondly, if you love him as truly as you say you do, you must tell him of this—again, after he has recovered from hearing all that you shared with him. And lastly, Phoebe, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you and all that you have done. You must save that publication. I can hardly believe that Jeffrey would do anything to ruin all that you have built, but others will come after you. It cannot be helped. You can protect it, and you can fight for it. Do not quit.”

  Phoebe looked up at her, her eyes watering with unshed tears once more, but she nodded. That was one thing she could do, that she had some control over. The Women’s Weekly would not fall, not on her watch.

  “You are right,” she said, with some determination now. “I cannot fail. I refuse to. Well, wish me luck, Aunt Aurelia.”

  “You, Phoebe Winters, do not need luck,” Aurelia said with a loving smile as she squeezed her niece’s hand tightly. “You simply needed a nudge in the right direction. With your intelligence and your determination, you can do anything you set out to do. Now go.”

  Phoebe rose, rounded the table to bestow a quick kiss on her aunt’s cheek, and then set off to Fleet Street where she would put all to rights.

  *

  “What do you mean, we must pack it all up?”

  Collette’s voice, slightly shrill, rose over the din of chatter in the writer’s pit. Phoebe had known she would be one of the few who would question her, and she was prepared for it.

  “I have reason to believe that some of the nobility, who are not exactly enamored with us, may attempt to put a close to our publication,” Phoebe explained calmly. “And we all know what that could mean for us, do we not? I do not want to lose this paper, and I am assuming that none of you do either.”

  Most in the room nodded, a few voicing their agreement with her, to which she was pleased. Rhoda stood next to her in support. The two of them had spoken privately beforehand, determining the best message to share with their small group of writers. They didn’t want to lose any of them, and in fact, were doing all they could to protect them and their livelihoods.

  “We have kept all of your identities concealed as best we can,” Rhoda said, though she herself was perhaps most at risk as Jeffrey knew of her name. “So you should have nothing to fear as individuals. We do not believe that legally anything can be done to bring about our demise as a business, however, when powerful lords band together, well, it seems nothing is impossible.”

  Phoebe noted quite a few worried stares from around the room, and she attempted to smile reassuringly.

  “We have not much to move, should the need come, as we are still a small operation, and of course we do not utilize our own printing press—this connection is actually what hailed to our discovery. At any rate, our address is now known, and we do have some supplies, and of course copies of the paper itself and material for upcoming editions. I suggest we pack much of it away so that if we must, we can easily move it from the building until we find new premises to where we can relocate.”

  “Is the building not rented in your name, Miss Phoebe?” a reporter asked, and Phoebe nodded.

  “So your name is known then.”

  “I have been discreet, but yes, it is likely.”

  “We appreciate how much you are risking,” said Rhoda, who knew more of Phoebe’s identity, and likely suspected more regarding her relationship—or previous relationship—with Jeffrey than any of the others would, with the exception of Julia, who had come in as well when Phoebe had written to her of the urgency of their meeting this morning. Julia now eyed Phoebe with a crestfallen expression covering her face, and Phoebe knew that the romantic Julia was likely just as, if not more so, upset about Phoebe’s loss of love than the potential loss of the newspaper.

  “It’s worth it,” said Phoebe with emphasis, and she looked around the room at each writer. “Sometimes something bigger than yourself comes along, and you have the unique opportunity to be a part of it. It can be difficult to see this through the day-to-day tasks, but what we are doing could create change and affect the lives of so many women. Women who are in marriages in which they are beaten, who have no rights for themselves or for their children. Women who feel alone, hopeless, in whatever situation they find themselves in. Or women who simply need something to help them pass the time, to show th
em that this world is made for more than men.”

  She saw heads nodding, and her spirits began to rise slightly, knowing that her words were taking effect.

  “All we can do—besides a little packing—is continue in our work, with the knowledge that our words are being read, understood, and discussed. I wish to thank each and every one of you for the work you do in making this not only the best women’s periodical in England, but the best periodical of all.”

  The room broke out into a round of applause, and Phoebe smiled at them all, hoping her words rang true. Finally, sensing the mood had somewhat lifted, Phoebe returned to her office, needing to decide her own next course of action.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jeffrey stared moodily at the drink in front of him as he sat in his library, alone, in the near-dark. It had been a day since he had spoken with Phoebe, and he had not done much of anything. Oh, he had seen to his paperwork, he had met with his secretary, he had breakfasted with his family—who were filled with remarks about how he was compensating for his cheeriness by becoming even more surly than his usual self—and he had even taken a walk with Maxwell through the nearby park. But now he sat, brooding. Maxwell snoozed at his feet, twitching now and then as he let out sleepy barks, likely dreaming of chasing after birds and rabbits, Jeffrey thought with a rueful grin. If only life were as simple as that of a dog.