“It was aplay, Phoebe,” said Julia with a sigh, as she tilted her head. “Oh, how utterly romantic. He asked you on awhim. His heart was so overcome with emotion for you that he couldn’t wait a moment longer. Oh, you must agree.”
“But the paper!” Sarah protested. “Does he know about the paper?”
“No,” Phoebe said, biting her lip. “And therein lies the problem. He told me once that what he appreciates the most about me is my honesty. Well, I certainly have lied to him. He asked me if I knew the publisher ofThe Women’s Weekly, and I outright told him that no, I did not. But I knew that if I told him it wasme, he would likely never again speak to me again.”
“And you did not want to push him away because you required information on his movements in regard to the publication, is that it?” Elizabeth asked cryptically.
“I suppose at first that was why,” Phoebe said slowly. “Though I have to admit that from the very start, there has been something about him that draws me to him, something I cannot even put into words. At first it drove me mad that I should want to be around a man so vexing, however, I must admit that I have grown to enjoy our time together. He is not who I originally thought he was. He can be kind, and caring. The way he is with his sisters, his mother, his dog even. It is hard to reconcile the man I first met with the man I have come to know.”
“But he is still there,” Elizabeth persisted. “The man you slapped for his disparaging remarks toward you.”
“Toward women,” Phoebe amended. “But yes, I suppose, he is. So you see my difficulty now?”
“Phoebe,” Elizabeth said carefully. “You know I love you, I do. And I hate to say that I told you this would happen but…”
“But you told me this would happen,” Phoebe said with a sigh. “I know.”
They were all silent for a moment as they contemplated her dilemma. It seemed none of them possessed any quick answers.
“Do you love him?” Julia asked softly.
“Pardon?” Phoebe said, her head snapping up toward her.
“Do you love him?” Julia repeated. “Can you imagine a life with him?”
Phoebe looked down at her fingers.
“I can picture that life, yes,” she responded quietly. “But the image of contentment, of love, slowly slides into one in which the two of us argue, when I am bored by simply being the mistress of a house. The purpose I feel now with what I am doing — it is what I have always longed for, and I have never felt so complete. And yet … there is something missing.”
“Him,” Sarah said simply.
“Yes,” Phoebe said, her breath coming out in a swift exhale. “Is it too much to want to have both?”
“It is more than most men would allow,” Elizabeth said practically.
“Though, Phoebe, you have to know,” Sarah said, leaning forward and placing a hand on her knee, “The Women’s Weeklyis something of which to be very proud. In a mere couple of months, you have created change. Not only do women now have a resource which matters to them, in terms of fashion and advice — and even horse racing,” she bestowed a small smile upon Julia, “but women are speaking now of our role in this world. Conversations within salons and drawing rooms are expanding beyond gossip and theatre and sewing patterns to matters of Parliament, to the plight of those less fortunate, to the role of women in our entire society.Youhave done that. Do not forget that. I am not suggesting you give up on love. I am only suggesting that you do not give up on what you have created.”
Phoebe blinked back tears at Sarah’s words. Shewasproud of her work, it was true, but to hear such praise from someone she loved and respected meant more than the words of a stranger, and helped erase some of the words of hate that were often spewed toward her and the paper, most often through letters addressed to the publication.
“I believe you have two options, Phoebe,” Elizabeth said, her head tilted in contemplation.
Phoebe looked up hopefully, grateful for a potential answer to her plight.
“The first is that you choose between your passion and the marquess.”
Phoebe did not altogether like that suggestion.
“The second is that you tell him the truth, explain what you long for. He will either agree or force you to choose anyway.”
“Or, perhaps, he would want nothing more to do with me anyway.”
“That is another possibility,” Elizabeth said with a nod, her mouth firm.
Phoebe squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.
“Well,” she said. “I suppose I am the one to blame for being in this mess to start with. Now I must extricate myself from it. But you are right, Elizabeth. I can no longer hide within my fear. I’ll tell him,” she said with a decisive nod. “And then … come what may.”
“Come what may,” Elizabeth agreed, raising her teacup to her lips.