“And this was printed in the Advocate this afternoon,” Jack added.
He handed her a newspaper.
Tradesmen Unite Against Female Apprentices, the headline read.
She scanned the page. Several prominent business owners had come together to decry her call for female training, and vowed not to hire women.
She sighed. “I fail to see how this constitutes news when none of them hired women in the first place.”
She folded the paper and handed it back, but a name toward the end of the article grabbed her eye. She paused and read it more closely.
London architecture firm Anderson Mayhew said it would disavow its support of Miss Arden. “We’re horrified by the libelous and immoral accusations in Miss Arden’s memoirs,” said the owners. “We intend to notify Miss Arden that our pledge was made under false pretenses, and we publicly withdraw as sponsors of her institute.”
A fresh wave of nausea rose up from her gut. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to denounce her to her face.
She had long made the argument that men took what they wanted until the taking became inconvenient. That their public notions of morality became important to their personal behavior only insofar as it affected their ambitions.
But she’d never for a moment considered Adam might be made of such craven stuff. The message was clear: We men protect each other. You can never out-maneuver our power.
“Sera, what is it?” Cornelia asked, reaching for the paper.
Sera handed it to her and clamped a hand over her mouth, rushed to a waste bin, and was sick.
Jack came to her with a handkerchief and put his hand on her shoulder. “Sera, I think the best place for you is here. I’ll cancel the event.”
“Darling, perhaps it’s for the best,” Elinor said. “You need rest and some ginger for your stomach.”
“Nonsense,” she said, wiping her mouth. “If women let the small matter of reproduction stop them from their work, I daresay the human race would die out in a single generation. Besides, I find I have quite a bit I want to say.”
Adam stood on Seraphina Arden’s doorstep, panting. He’d run here, all the way from Cheapside, skirting past the throngs along the market and the procession of solicitors winding in and out of the Inns of Court and the snarl of traffic along Paternoster. He felt like his heart might burst inside his chest.
The door swung open, revealing Tompkins. Her face turned hostile at the sight of him. “Miss Arden is not here,” she said. “And I doubt she’d wish to see you even if she were.”
“I . . . has she already left for Willow’s?” he asked, baffled at her tone. He and Tompkins had always been friendly, yet now she looked at him like he had stepped in something foul.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where she is is her affair. Good day to you. Not that you deserve it.”
“Pardon me, Miss Tompkins?” he asked. “Have I done something to upset you?”
She puffed out her lips in disgust. “Miss Arden gets enough grief from her enemies, Mr. Anderson. She does not need added upset from her supposed friends. One would think you owe her common decency.”
He was now utterly confused. “I came here to warn her that a crowd of protesters is planning to amass at Jack Willow’s bookshop. A gang of Tories is going to denounce her and accuse her of sedition.”
Tompkins looked at him as though he was dim. “Of course they are. She would be disappointed if they were not. Their reaction will fan the flames and her memoirs will sell all the better. She does not do these things accidentally. And though she provokes this reaction, she is not immune to the toll that it takes. Having seen this yourself, I would think you would already understand as much. I’m disappointed in you. And Miss Arden will likely never say it herself, but so is she.”
Tompkins reached for the door to shut it. He grabbed it, stopping it from closing. Tompkins looked at him in shock.
“Don’t be a brute,” she hissed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, trying to piece together what was happening. “You are angry because of what I said last night? That I hurt her?”
Tompkins glared at him. “I am angry about what you printed in the paper this afternoon. Is there more you did last night?”
He hadn’t printed anything. “Miss Tompkins,” he said, not bothering to hide his desperation. “I’m lost. Please, what is it that you think I’ve done?”
Tompkins turned on her heel and disappeared inside the house, leaving him on the steps. She came back holding a newspaper by two fingers, like it was doused in excrement. The headline read Tradesmen Unite Against Female Apprentices.
He took the article and scanned it. “Bastard,” he whispered when he saw the quotation at the bottom.
“Precisely,” Tompkins sneered.
He was going to throttle Mayhew. “Tompkins, I had no idea. My partner must have done this. I would never have allowed it.”
“Well, the damage is done all the same, isn’t it?” she said. “You should have seen her face when she saw it. She had to be sick.”
He closed his eyes. “I’ll explain. I’ll make it up to her.”
“Can’t fathom how,” Tompkins muttered.
“She’s gone to Willow’s shop?” he asked.
Tompkins nodded warily.
He didn’t pause to say goodbye, just went running. He could barely see as he elbowed his way through the winding streets to Covent Garden. His mind was fixed with a vision of Seraphina reading that article and thinking he’d said those things after he’d learned who Pendrake was to her.
She must think he was the most perfidious, empty-hearted bastard. He hated the idea she would think she’d been drawn in by such a callous person. That she’d let herself care for another man who would toss her aside to save himself.
But then, what reason had he given her to think that he would not?
He’d said as much with his decision last night. And for what?
Mayhew, money, architectural prestige, what did it matter, when the thought of hurting her made him feel like he was being chased by rabid dogs?
He’d known his two lives were not compatible. He’d thought he had to choose the safer path. But that was foolish.
He could not pretend to have a different kind of heart than he possessed. He’d betrayed his own principles. He’d chosen wrong.
He’d protected the less precious thing.
And now he’d hurt her, in the same way she’d been hurt before.
God, this must have caused her so much pain.
His lungs burned from running, but he could not slow down. He had to get to her, had to explain himself, had to apologize and fix this. He reached Willow’s bookstore in a lather, stinking with his own anxious perspiration.
A crowd of men was thick in front of the store, blocking the entry. Mayhew stood with a group of them who were passing around signs covered in crude words. He waved and beckoned Adam over.
“Ah, I’m pleased you made it. Was beginning to question your commitment. Here, take this.” He held out a vulgar poster.
Adam snatched it from Mayhew’s hands and crumpled it.
“You bleedin’ dobber,” Adam hissed. He threw the poster into the gutter. “I saw your article. Don’t you ever speak on my behalf again.”