CHAPTER22
By the time Phoebe herself arrived at 53 Fleet Street, she was no closer to retaining a handle on her emotions. She had a tendency to let her thoughts and opinions get away from her, to cause her to say things she shouldn’t, or show toomuchthought or emotion. What was new to her, however, was this indecision that was plaguing her. Typically it did not take long for her to make up her mind and follow through with the next steps ahead.
She pushed open the door to the offices, rounding the corner to find a few of her writers were in the building, with Rhoda jumping to her feet the moment Phoebe walked into the room.
“Miss Winters!” she said, coming around and Phoebe’s consternation rose.
“What’s happened?” she asked, reading the concern on Rhoda’s face.
“The man — the one that was asking around about you before, who Ned told us about? Well, he was here.”
“The marquess.” It was a statement, not a question, and Phoebe pulled out a chair and took a seat, suddenly noticing that Ned was in the room, sitting by the window, his feet dangling over the floor.
“Ned,” she said, holding a hand out. “How are you?”
“Just fine, Miss Phoebe,” he said. “Thanks very much to you. My mam said to thank you as well.”
“Of course,” Phoebe said, knowing Ned’s circumstances: that it was only his mother at home, with no one else to provide. She was a seamstress, but with another couple of young ones, it was hard for her to keep up. Phoebe knew it wasn’t exactly the best business practice to pay Ned — or the other boys — as much as she did for distributing the paper once a week, but at least it was helping to make a difference in families who needed a hand.
“When Ned stopped in for his pay, I asked him to stay for a moment so that you could determine if it was the same man, but it sounds as though you are already well aware of his identity,” said Rhoda, and Phoebe nodded, leaning back in the chair.
“He asked to speak with you,” Rhonda continued. “Well, not you specifically, but the publisher. He said he was here to meet with you about providing financial support to the newspaper, and he was quite believable, but I wasn’t entirely sure. Told him you’d be back tomorrow if he wanted to speak with you directly. I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. I’m sorry if it wasn’t.”
“There is nothing at all to apologize for, Rhoda,” Phoebe said, rising from her chair. “This shouldn’t be your issue to deal with. In fact, he is right to ask for me, for as the publisher, this is my role — to handle these situations, while you look after the editorial. I know the man and I shall speak with him.”
“Will he shut us down?” Collette asked from behind Rhoda, her eyes wide. “I need this job, Miss Winters. I have to work for a living, and if I’m not writing, well, my options are rather limited, I’m afraid. I have no training in anything but becoming a wife one day, being part of the gentry and all, but now supporting myself…”
Though she trailed off, Phoebe could practically read her thoughts. Collette had refused to marry her parents’ choice of a husband for her, and so they told her the only other option was to leave. They would no longer support her, not when they had found a husband to do so instead. Collette had left her home in the countryside and made her way to London. She told Phoebe she hadn’t the patience nor the skill to become a governess, she would likely be fired the first day as a servant, her sewing skills were dismal, and becoming a mistress was too frightful to bear.
When Collette had seen the ad for a writer, she had felt as though all her prayers had been answered.
And now Phoebe certainly didn’t want to disappoint her, nor any of the women or young lads who worked here — and especially not the people who read and supportedThe Women’s Weekly.
“We will not allow him or anyone else to threaten our existence,” she said firmly, though truthfully she wasn’t nearly as confident as she seemed outwardly. Men like Lord Berkley and his peers had power the likes of which she could never imagine. “Leave it to me.”
And, entrusting the preparation of articles for this week’s edition to Rhoda’s capable hands, she left to her office, finding a sheet of paper and pen. She scribbled a note, sealed it, and then penned on the outside of one of the most respected addresses in all of Mayfair. Tonight Jeffrey would know not only of her role, but of her determination not to lose it.
* * *
Jeffrey wearily satdown in the wide leather chair behind the desk in his study with a sigh. Peace and quiet — finally.
After his visit with Phoebe and then onto the newspaper offices, Jeffrey was filled with indecision. Stepping through the foyer of his home, he hardly had a moment to even take a breath before his sisters descended upon him. As always, they were eager to question him about the latest engagements they had been invited to, their requirement to find a new gown that was both in the latest fashion and yet completely different from what any other woman would be wearing, and to question him about what he himself had done all day.
“It’s not fair,” they would sigh regarding the fact that Jeffrey could do whatever he pleased, while they had to seek permission and a chaperone to accompany them wherever they went.
“I am a marquess,” he would remind them, though they were not nearly as impressed by the fact as most other people, for they would only roll their eyes at him and continue their incessant chatter. After managing to escape them, he made the necessary niceties with his mother and then secluded himself in his office. There, he found correspondence awaiting him — of course. It never ended. His heartbeat quickened, however, when he noticed a note on top with what had become rather familiar handwriting covering its exterior.
“Well, well, what have we here?” he wondered aloud, and Harper, who was bustling around the office to ensure all was in order for his master, though Jeffrey assured him he wouldn’t be long, looked up with question in his eyes.
“My apologies, Harper, I was speaking aloud to myself.”
The butler nodded, but then Jeffrey continued. “When did this last correspondence come?”
“Shortly before you arrived, my lord.”
“Very good,” he nodded, wondering what Phoebe would have to say that was not already stated in their conversation earlier today. He was sure she was waiting to find out what he had chosen to do with his quest in bringing downThe Women’s Weekly. He knew she enjoyed reading the blasted paper but did it really mean that much to her? More than a marriage to him? Though deep down, he was well aware that it was more than the paper. It was the difference in beliefs that were instilled within each of them.
They were at a stalemate, and were this to go any further, one of them had to break, or else.… He didn’t want to think on it. He quit wondering what could be and read her quickly scrawled note. It was no love letter, that was for certain, but rather she was requesting for him to come to see her tonight — long past an acceptable social hour, particularly for a man to be calling on an unattached young woman. Would her aunt be in attendance, or was this a request for the conversation he hoped — that she would accept his marriage proposal despite whatever he chose to do regarding his responsibilities as a peer? For that’s what this was, and nothing more.