CHAPTER5
Phoebe had dressed with care in a modest cream gown, a simple matching cloth bonnet over her black waves. She was determined that she be taken seriously today, woman or not. Finding her aunt awake, but still in a state of undress despite the fact it was well past noon, Phoebe had bid her a quick farewell. Aurelia was, for propriety’s sake, her chaperone, true, but Phoebe was certainly no debutante. After Phoebe’s parents passed, naming Aurelia her guardian, she and Aurelia had a frank discussion regarding their arrangement. They came to the mutual understanding that while they enjoyed spending time together, they each could continue to enjoy the freedom they so treasured.
Now as the publisher of a periodical, Phoebe would have others relying upon her. She did not see the need to disrupt Aurelia’s life by requiring her to follow Phoebe around during her business pursuits.
For her first task, Phoebe knew exactly where to go — Fleet Street, where all of the printers and publishers were known to operate. She began by stopping to meet with her banker to determine exactly what funds were available to her, and then she began her second mission — to find an office.
She had perused the papers that morning to locate available properties, and with a list of addresses in hand, she conversed with her driver and then they were on their way. The first building on her list was a few streets away from her desired location, but the rent was low. It did not take long to determine why, as she could smell the interior before she even walked in the door, and with a quick shake of her head she was onto the next. When that one proved equally dismal, its floorboards rotting and some indiscriminate liquid dripping from the ceiling, her heart began to sink. Perhaps this was a futile effort. There must be a better way. Her aunt had suggested she hire someone to find a place for her, but this was important, and Phoebe was determined to find exactly what she was looking for on her own.
The third property was slightly more expensive than she would have liked, but it was a small office tucked between two larger buildings on Fleet Street, and she walked in to find a jovial man sitting behind a desk waiting for her.
“Hello, there,” he said with a smile. “Are you lost? May I help you find where you are going?”
Phoebe suppressed a sigh at the man’s assumption but smiled, for he seemed kind and genuinely interested in helping her.
“Are you renting out this property?” she asked instead, walking over to the desk.
“I am,” he acquiesced with a nod.
“I’m interested in it,” she said with a smile. “What can you tell me about it? Can you show me around?”
The man looked her over for a moment, as though assessing her sincerity and whether or not she was jesting with him. Finally it seemed he determined she was serious, as she stared right back at him, her jaw set and a very slight curve to the edge of her lips.
“Very well,” he said, standing himself. “Come with me.”
An hour later, satisfaction filled her as she strode down the busy street, filled with all manner of businesses, hers soon to be one of them. After a thorough tour of the building as well as a careful review of the review of the rental contract, Phoebe had decided that it would suit her needs. A property in place, now she needed people to fill it. That she would do through an advertisement in some of the current newspapers, but in the meantime, she needed to find a printer. Someday, she thought wistfully, she would have her own press, but that would prove far too expensive for her current budget. In the meantime she would have to hire the work out, so it was imperative she find a printer she could trust. She was looking into shop windows, deep in thought, when she crashed into something so hard she nearly fell backward, saved only when a long, strong arm reached out and caught her.
She gasped, looking up to find herself staring into the dark, searching eyes of none other than the Marquess of Berkley — the very man she had spent far too many hours pushing from her thoughts.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said sardonically, to which he nodded his head. At least there was one thing they were in agreement upon. After what seemed like minutes though was likely simply a few seconds, he wrenched his gaze from hers to look over her head behind her.
“Where is your chaperone?”
She nearly jumped. It had been only an evening prior that she had last heard his voice, and yet she had forgotten how deep and husky it was.
“She does not accompany me today,” she responded, not seeing the need to provide him any further answer. What business of his was it whether or not she was alone?
His frown deepened, his thick eyebrows sinking low.
“You should not be wandering London unaccompanied,” he said, showing his clear disapproval of her actions.
“I am not unaccompanied,” she said with a sniff. “My driver follows behind in the carriage. I simply decided it would be easier to walk from one appointment to the next. Now if you will excuse me.”
She made to brush past him, but a strong gloved hand reached out to take her arm in a firm grip.
“I will escort you wherever it is you wish to go,” he commanded, and she bristled.
“Thank you, but I am fine without you,” she said, wresting her arm away. “If I had need of an escort, I would have found one of my own choosing.”
“I cannot allow you to continue on alone,” he said, and some of the hardness of his face lifted slightly. “I am only doing what I would ask another to do for one of my sisters.”
Her frustration melted slightly then as she thought of Viola, who was a sweet girl, though it was difficult to believe she was related to the hard marquess. Somehow it was a challenge to imagine him holding any emotions besides disdain and derision.
“Very well,” she said, realizing that the best way to be rid of him would be to simply allow him to think he had done his duty, then he would be on his way. “I am simply walking to Madame Boudreau’s around the corner to have a dress tailored. But do not allow me to keep you from your business, Lord Berkley.”
“I have time,” he said simply and took her arm in his once more. Phoebe held herself stiffly away from him, and yet she cursed herself for feeling the burn of his hand upon her, for noticing every time his body came into even the slightest contact with hers. When they rounded the corner and the dressmaker’s shop came into sight, she couldn’t extricate herself fast enough.
She turned, and with the slightest dip of her head, offered, “Farewell, Lord Berkley. Until we meet again.”