To that, Phoebe agreed. After the scene at White’s a few short weeks ago, Jeffrey had continued onto Phoebe’s townhouse, where he related the entire incident, including the fact that Ambrose didn’t return to White’s, nor did Totnes. Torrington, however, was enough of a man to report back to all of them, somewhat sheepishly, that it was, in fact, as Jeffrey had said. The building was empty, with hardly a thing left in it to prove that anyone had even occupied it in the past month.
“I know you are still concerned that some may come after you,” Jeffrey had told her, to which she nodded. She supposed part of her always would be. “But maintain your anonymity, and all will be well. And Phoebe,” he had continued. “I am not asking you to keep your name from others because I am ashamed of you. I want you to know that. I would simply like you to be able to maintain your way of life as well do what you are driven to do.”
Phoebe had nodded, understanding. Part of her longed to be able to show her face, to be proud of what she was doing, to attach her name to the publication that was a part of her now. But she understood Jeffrey’s reluctance, and he had done so much for her, made so many compromises, that the very least she could do was to keep the name of Berkley from any disrepute. So she would continue in her current capacity, doing what made her happy, with the full support of the man she loved beside her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The wedding breakfast passed quickly, cheerfully, and afterward, while she knew Jeffrey was itching to begin the wedding night, despite it being the middle of the afternoon, she found her friends, leading them into the drawing room for a moment alone.
“Oh, Phoebe, I can hardly believe this is your home now,” Sarah said, sighing at the romanticism of it all as she flounced onto the settee, her skirts billowing out around her. Julia nodded in agreement, placing a hand on Phoebe’s arm and squeezing it gently.
“You have always been determined, Phoebe Winters—or should I say Worthington. I am so very proud of you and all that you have accomplished.”
Elizabeth sat down next to Sarah, shaking her head in wonderment.
“I never thought it was possible, Phoebe, and I am sorry for it. I suppose I underestimated both you and Lord Berkley,” she said.
“I can understand your feelings, Elizabeth. And you are correct. I myself underestimated Jeffrey from the very moment I met him, so I can hardly blame anyone else for doing the same,” Phoebe said from her seat on the corner chair. “And I thank you for always being honest with me. If nothing else, you are a moral compass that we are all fortunate to have as part of our lives.”
“That is a very kind way of telling me that I am a pessimistic busybody who should keep her nose out of others’ business,” said Elizabeth with a sigh, but the rest of them quickly assured her that she was being far too harsh on herself.
“And, oh, Phoebe, the wedding was ever so beautiful,” Sarah continued, and as her friends continued their chatter, Phoebe was silent for a moment as she took in all that surrounded her. She was fortunate to have friends like these, and she was determined that despite now being married, she would always make them a priority.
“What of Aurelia?” Elizabeth asked. “Will she move with you?”
“No,” Phoebe shook her head. “We asked her if she would like to, but she said she would prefer to be on her own, so she will maintain the house. I believe she rather enjoys her independence and her ability to come and go as she pleases. Which is why she made such a terrible chaperone, although the perfect one for me. She will likely accompany us when we return to Jeffrey’s country home for the summer, but here in London she will retain her own residence.”
“That is actually lovely,” said Julia, “For then your parents’ home will remain within your family.”
“It will,” Phoebe said softly. “I do not think I could ever let it go.”
“Nor must you,” Elizabeth agreed, and Phoebe smiled, so glad she had women in her life who completely understood her.
*
“Have they finally gone?”
“Who, all of my loved ones?”
“Yes,” Jeffrey said, as he stood beside his wife at the entrance to their home, where they waved at the departing carriages. “Now if I could only get rid of my own loved ones so easily.”
Maxwell clearly understood his words, for he was soon standing at attention at his master’s side.
“Oh, Maxwell,” said Phoebe, dropping down beside the dog, oblivious to the fact that her satin skirts were all over the floor and Maxwell had no qualms about stepping upon them. “I hope you do not mind that I will now be monopolizing much of your master’s time. However, you should be pleased as now you have a mistress as well.”
“You do not truly believe he can understand you, do you?”
“To an extent, I suppose he likely can,” Phoebe retorted. “Where does he sleep?”
“Originally he was supposed to sleep in the stables behind the house,” Jeffrey began, already inwardly sighing at his lack of control over the damn dog. Or his family. Or his wife. “But he spent all night crying at the door, so we allowed him inside, where he was supposed to remain on a dog bed in the drawing room. But then…”
“He sleeps in your bed, doesn’t he.”
“He does.”
Phoebe began to laugh at his vexation, and Jeffrey couldn’t help but smile along with her.
“Well, Maxwell, you are going to have to move over tonight,” she said, patting his head as she stood.
“I believe, wife,” Jeffrey said dryly, “Maxwell will have to remain on the floor.”
“Oh?” Phoebe said as he drew her in closer. “And why would that be?”
“Because I have plans for you involving the bed.”
He brought his head down, intending to kiss her, to show her a sample of what was to come, when footsteps began to descend the stairs, and he stepped back from her reluctantly.
“The next order of business is to marry off my sisters,” he muttered, causing Phoebe to laugh.
But it was not any of Jeffrey’s sisters, nor his mother, nor a servant. Phoebe’s laughter subsided somewhat as Ambrose came down the stairs, his valet behind him, laden with trunks in each arm. Phoebe’s smile faded slightly as Ambrose came to a halt in front of them, looking at each of them in turn with hostility in his gaze.
“Well,” he said finally. “I will be away, then, which I’m sure you will be pleased about, Jeffrey.”
“I never wanted it to come to this,” Jeffrey responded, his face hard. “But I do wish you the best of luck. I know if you set your mind to it, you will be successful.”
“Well, there will be nothing else with which to occupy my time, will there now, in the middle of Peterborough?” Ambrose asked with sarcasm, and Phoebe stepped forward, surprise crossing Ambrose’s face as she took his hands in hers.
“Be happy, Ambrose,” she said, and he apparently had no response for that as he simply nodded curtly at her.
“I have said my goodbyes to the others,” he said in a clipped tone as he turned toward the door, his valet following. “Farewell to the two of you.”
Phoebe leaned her head on Jeffrey’s shoulder as they watched him walk away.
“I do hope he comes to learn that you only wanted what was best for him,” she said.
“Perhaps,” Jeffrey replied. “Perhaps not.”
The butler was about to close the door behind Ambrose when a boy came running up the walk. “Miss Phoebe? Miss Phoebe, is that you?”
Phoebe waved the boy in the door, and the butler closed it firmly behind him, some consternation on his face as he looked down at the street urchin.
“Why, Ned,” she said, surprised at his presence. “Whatever are you doing here? How did you find me?”
The boy caught his breath. “One of the servants at your old house told me where you lived now.” Before Phoebe could ask how the resourceful boy knew of her previous address, he pulled two sheets of folded, crumpled, partially stained pieces of paper from inside
his jacket. “Miss Collette has two versions of her column for the paper, and she was worried about including a couple of pieces. Mrs. Ellis, who just returned from your wedding, told her not to bother you, that she would see to it, but Miss Collette asked me to deliver them to you anyway, and so—”
Phoebe nodded curtly, taking the two pieces of paper from him, reading them over with a quick scan.
“This one,” she said, handing one page back to him. “We keep the suggestive pieces out, including only what can be proven.”
“Miss Collette said—”
“She wanted my opinion, now she has it. Thank you for coming to see me, Ned, and it was industrious of you to find me here.”
“In-dust…”
“You were very quick-witted.”
“Ah,” his face brightened. “Thank you, Miss Phoebe. Good day, and good day, sir!”
Jeffrey lifted a hand in response as the boy flew out the door as fast as he’d come. The butler shut the door behind him, and at Jeffrey’s nod, continued down the hallway, out of the room.
Jeffrey paused for a moment. “I do not believe street urchins at our door help much with anonymity. But I must say, Phoebe, it seems we are alone, if you can believe it. Allow me to escort you to the bedchamber, where I will—”
“Jeffrey!”
Phoebe felt him tense, and when she looked up at him, his eyes were closed tightly, as though by shutting them he would block any sights or sounds that attempted to interrupt them. But his efforts, of course, were wasted, as Penny and Annie rounded the corner, chasing one another, curls and satins flying as they came to a sudden stop in front of them. It was Annie who stopped first, and Penny ran into the back of her so hard that she fell down on her backside.
“Jeffrey, I know that today was your wedding, but tonight there is a ball at Georgia’s parents house, and I so want to go, and I do not see any reason why I cannot, as it is a simple house party, and while Penny says that I am too young, I do not see why I cannot—”
“Annie,” Jeffrey said, holding up a hand to stop the flow of words. “You can go to any ball or party you like—after you come out.”
“But—”
“Do not argue, not now,” he said with exasperation, and Penny stood up with her nose high in the air and a huge smile of glee directed at her sister. They continued on their way out of the room, Annie pouting as she left, shooting a glare at Jeffrey before she walked through the door.
“Are you sure you are prepared for all of this?” Jeffrey asked Phoebe, who knew her eyes must be wide.
“It is too late to decide anything else, is it not?” Phoebe asked, laughing, and Jeffrey smiled with some chagrin.
“You are correct—I have trapped you now,” he said, and Phoebe squealed in surprise when he reached down and picked her up. “Now, I will have no more interruptions. Come, wife, up to the bedchamber we go.”
Maxwell barked in glee.
“Not you, Maxwell!” Jeffrey exclaimed, but the dog followed them up the stairs.
“I am far too heavy,” Phoebe protested, but Jeffrey shook his head.
“That is utter nonsense,” he scoffed. “And if you continue that line of thinking, I shall believe that you do not feel me strong enough, which would be a quite the affront to my manhood.”
She snorted. “That is ridiculous. A man is not defined by—”
He silenced her with a look. “I have come around to your line of thinking in many ways, Phoebe, but in this, you will not argue with me.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, but when she opened her mouth to argue, he silenced her by pausing in the upstairs corridor and bringing his lips down on hers, and she entirely forgot what it was she was going to protest.
In the background, Phoebe heard a slight peep from who she assumed was a startled housemaid, as she was sure that Jeffrey’s sisters would have a lot more to say about such a sight in their hallway.
Jeffrey, however, no longer seemed to care of who might be nearby or what any might think, as he used his boot to push open the bedroom door. Despite the fact that Phoebe had spent a great deal in the house over the past few weeks as they planned this wedding, this was the first time she had ever been in his bedchamber. It was masculine, of course, the walls navy and forest green, the brick of an impressive fireplace covering one wall, the fire just embers as they were not, of course, expected to be in the bedchamber in the middle of the afternoon.
Phoebe, however, did not require any additional warmth, as Jeffrey was soon covering her body with his own, and he was becoming even more adept at releasing her hair from its pins, though she had left half of it flowing down her back for their wedding, as she knew he loved it so. For the first time, he slowly, gently, undressed her, and she relaxed into it, not hurrying anything. She yearned for him, for his body upon hers, as much as she ever had before, and yet perhaps because now they knew for certain that it was not the last time they would be together, but the first of a lifetime as one, that they took the time to explore, to revel, to enjoy.
And when they came together, it was as magical as it had ever been, and Phoebe had to close her eyes at the bliss that filled her.
“I love you, Phoebe,” Jeffrey whispered in her ear as she lay her head upon his chest afterward, her hand splayed upon his glorious abdomen muscles. He brushed a hand over her hair, then twined his fingers into her loose curls.
“And I love you too, Jeff—”
But her words were cut short by a knock at the door, to which Maxwell, who had been snoozing on the carpet in front of the bed, began to bark ferociously.
“Jeffrey?” It was his mother this time. “Are you in there? We cannot locate you, nor Phoebe, and we were wondering—”
He groaned aloud and raised an arm over his eyes.
“Coming, Mother!” he called out, and then placed a kiss on Phoebe’s forehead. “Shall we resume this later?” he asked.
“We shall,” she said with a nod and a laugh, and reluctantly they disengaged, with one last, quick kiss—knowing there were many more to come.
Epilogue
Three months later
“Jeffrey?” Phoebe ran into the house in search of her husband. She had written what she hoped was a brilliant piece, and she could hardly wait for him to read it. Unfortunately, she did not immediately find him, though she did happen upon each of Jeffrey’s sisters, as well as his mother, and therefore it was a good hour before she reached the library, where, she knew, she should have begun her quest.
“There you are,” she said, exhausted now from not only her work with The Women’s Weekly, but her quick ride home, her dash through the house, and dutifully listening to and agreeing with the plights of three of Jeffrey’s four sisters.
Maxwell now bounded about her gleefully, and she knelt beside him to acknowledge his affections.
“Thank you, Maxwell,” she said as he left a large, sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You do know how to make a woman feel loved.”
“And I do not?” Jeffrey asked, rising from his desk with a wink.
“You do fairly well,” she said, cocking her head as she looked at him, “though you could learn some enthusiasm from your dog.”
He shook his head as he laughed ruefully, then kissed her cheek and stepped back, holding onto her shoulders.
“You look … excited,” he acknowledged and she nodded, waving him back toward his desk.
“I wrote something,” she said, sitting down across from him, Maxwell laying his giant head in her lap.
“It must be quite something,” he remarked, “for you write every day, and yet I don’t believe you have ever seemed so interested in sharing.”
“Oh, just listen,” she said, and then she began to read the piece that would be featured in next week’s edition.
A woman finds herself in an interesting position. She is expected to marry well, to bear children, and to care for her home. All my life I never understood this. I thought it was not enough, that it did not give a woman true purpose. An
d so I sought to make a difference. I determined my passion. And with means I was fortunate enough to have been provided, I created an outlet in which I could share my thoughts with the world.
I still believe that woman are capable of more than raising families and looking after one another, more than doing their societal duties at balls and dances, or whatever it may be.
And yet, I have realized, that in some ways, I was wrong. Marriage, when that marriage is to the one you love, is more important than anything else in one’s life. And the privilege to raise children—to form people as they grow and mature to adulthood—is both a great responsibility, as well as the ultimate form of love.
I do not believe that means a woman must forsake all else in order to have love and marriage. For if she finds a man who loves her, who truly loves her, for the woman she is, then he will understand what she needs to thrive.
I am one of the lucky ones—a woman in love with a man who loves her, all of her, in return. Not all are so lucky. Some are lucky enough to have love, or to have purpose, or to have both as one and the same. Whatever you are fortunate enough to achieve in life, enjoy it. Love it. Love with all of your heart, and with all of your soul, and never be afraid.
She finished and looked up at him.
“I have been wrong about many things,” she said. “I used to think that one could not love and be herself in the same breath. But love does not hinder anything. It only enhances it.”
He took her hands and leaned across the desk.
“And I am proud to be the man who will enhance your life for the rest of your days,” he said, a smile on his lips. “Your piece is wonderful. And will be well-read, as The Women’s Weekly is now on the lips of all in London.”
“Hardly,” she said with a laugh.
“It’s true,” he insisted. “In fact, it is all I hear of. I do not know what caused it, but somehow you have gone from being scandalous to sensational.”
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