Ignoring Totnes for a moment, out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey was not at all surprised to see Ambrose slip through the door, and it was concerning when his surprise at seeing Jeffrey was completely convincing.
“Ah, brother!” he said, taking a seat next to him. “I did not expect to see you here, for you so scarcely visit these days, now that you have found yourself a woman.”
Jeffrey turned to him with eyebrows raised.
“I do not recall you being a frequent visitor to White’s.”
Their father, who had always had a soft spot for Ambrose while foisting all of the duty and responsibility on Jeffrey, had, before he passed, secured a membership for his younger son, though Ambrose far preferred less reputable establishments.
“Well, one cannot argue with the quality of their whiskey,” Ambrose said with a wide grin.
“’Tis true,” Jeffrey replied, though he wondered at how Ambrose could afford such spirits when he was constantly practically begging Jeffrey for money.
“Berkley!” Totnes barked again, determined not to be ignored, and Jeffrey finally turned to him with an exaggerated sigh so that the man was aware of exactly what he thought of his summons.
“Did you have a question for me, Totnes?” He asked sardonically as he took a sip of his drink.
“You know very well I do, Berkley,” Totnes said, leaning forward across the table and pointing a finger at him.
“If you think you can simply point a finger at me like that, Totnes, and I will obey your commands, then I will tell you just what, exactly, you can do with that finger.”
Totnes turned even redder, were it possible, but he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling to himself as he did so.
“What Totnes was so rudely attempting to ask,” Lord Torrington said, “is whether or not you have made any progress in determining the publisher of this women’s magazine that you so disdain, so as to bring about its demise.”
Jeffrey heard Ambrose snort slightly behind him, and he paused a moment to glare at his brother.
“As a matter of fact,” he began slowly, knowing that he needed to play the role required of him if he was going to sell this properly. He took a sip of his drink nonchalantly, as though what he had to say was of not much consequence, “I did find the building where the publication was located.”
“That would not be altogether difficult,” said Totnes. “I imagine you just had to ask around. It can hardly be a secret.”
“It was fairly simple,” Jeffrey agreed. “I visited the building — on Fleet Street — and was met by the editor. She advised me that the publisher was not in the building, and I should come back in two days’ time.”
“Very well,” Torrington said, “And then?”
“And then I returned, and they had all vanished.”
“What?” came the chorus of voices from around the table, all shocked at his words.
“All had vanished,” Totnes repeated. “You cannot be serious. Do mean the people?”
“The writers, the editors, their files, hell, even their pencils — it was all gone. Cleared out.”
“Just like that?” thundered Totnes. “Did you continue the search?”
“Of course I did,” Jeffrey said, holding his nose high in the air with all of the noble status he could muster. “But they have completely disappeared.”
“So you have failed,” Totnes said with a sniff, looking as though he wanted say more but, at the last moment, he refrained from doing so. “Very well. If that is your response, we will assign someone else to the task.”
“An excellent idea, Lord Totnes,” Ambrose finally chimed in, and Jeffrey smiled. He had been waiting for his brother to speak. Ambrose continued. “I am afraid my dear brother here has become slightly … prejudiced.”
“Prejudiced?” Torrington cut in. “In what way?”
“Well,” Ambrose said, relishing this moment, and he sat up, breathed in, and puffed his chest out as far as he was able. He looked around the room to ensure he had the full attention of all. “The publisher ofThe Women’s Weeklyis none other than … the woman Jeffrey is courting.”
There was a pause for a moment as the heads of each man at the table swiveled around to him, unsure of how to react. Jeffrey waited for a beat before he burst out into laughter. The moment his guffaw began to echo around the room, Clarence joined in, and soon the remainder of the men added in their chuckles, though none were quite as exuberant as Jeffrey, for Ambrose was still looking particularly determined for them to believe his words.
“It’s true! Lady Phoebe Winters. She is the publisher, and she is runningThe Women’s Weekly. Jeffrey has fallen in love with her, and she has softened him to the extent that he thinks nothing of allowing such a wretched publication to continue.”