“I thought it was harmless filth,” Lady Hamilton said, working herself into even more of a fury. “I believed if I ignored it, it would go away, as so many other things do.”
Lenore was suddenly struck with the idea of Lady Hamilton ignoring everything, even war and poverty, and having it simply vanish in disappointment at not snagging her attention.
“But this is the end,” Lady Hamilton went on in a dire tone. “My poor, sweet, innocent Agnes has been dragged into the muck and filth, and I will not stand for it.”
“I’m sure any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental,” Phineas said, as deadpan and considerate as anyone could be under the circumstances.
“It is most assuredly meant to be my daughter,” Lady Hamilton insisted.
Lenore shot Phineas a sideways look, knowing the woman was right.
“I will not let this stand,” Lady Hamilton repeated. “I will be contacting my solicitor tomorrow. I will enlist the services of Scotland Yard if I have to. I swear to you and to all, I will bring the law down on this pitiful excuse for a publication. I will have the head of anyone involved in it. I will avenge my daughter and prove her innocence if it is the last thing I do.”
Lenore’s mouth dropped open, but Lady Hamilton stormed on to the conservatory before she could say anything. As Lenore and Phineas continued to the refreshment room, they heard Lady Hamilton interrupt the music to repeat her threats.
“Heavens,” Lenore exclaimed as they stepped into the relatively peaceful parlor. “Isn’t it a bit of an admission of guilt for Lady Hamilton to go on like that? Belaboring the point is just going to prove to anyone who read it that Lady Agnes is the subject of the story. Isn’t it much wiser to deny everything?”
“I think I need a drink now too,” Phineas said, looking more than a little ill.
That was all the proof Lenore needed to know he was, in fact, the author of Nocturne.
“You should come clean and apologize,” she whispered to him as they approached the table where a footman was pouring wine. “It’s the least you could do at this point. It might be the only thing you can do to save your hide.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Phineas said, taking a glass of red wine and handing it to Lenore before grabbing one of his own and downing half of it.
Lenore wasn’t at all impressed by his continued evasion. She was, however, thrilled by the prospect of attempting to wheedle the truth out of him in spite of the way the stakes had been raised. “The only man who behaves as you are behaving in this moment is a guilty man,” she said with a mischievous grin, gazing over the top of her wine glass at him. “Whatever shall I do to make you confess?”
The color was back in Phineas’s cheeks in an instant, and not from the wine. “What indeed?” he asked.
“There the two of you are,” Freddy said a moment later, before anything truly interesting could happen. He sent a look of dread over his shoulder. “Things have gotten a bit heated in there.”
“Yes, we heard Lady Hamilton’s speech before she delivered it to the rest of you,” Lenore said. “I was just telling Mr. Mercer here—”
“I’ve suddenly had an idea,” Phineas interrupted her. He set his empty wine glass—he must have downed the last of his wine when Lenore turned to speak to Freddy—on the table and took a step toward Freddy. “I would love to host you and your charming fiancée for supper next week.”
“Supper?” Freddy blinked in surprise, sending a questioning look to Lenore. “Next week?”
Lenore set her half-finished glass of wine on the table and stepped over to Freddy’s side, slipping her arm into his. The butterflies that had been playing in her stomach since she first started talking to Phineas doubled their activity. She wasn’t ignorant of Phineas’s aim in issuing the invitation, both in terms of cutting short the previous conversation and in getting her alone in private.
“Of course, we’d love to come,” she said with a smile directed like an arrow at Phineas. “I relish the chance to get to know you and all of your secrets so much better, Mr. Mercer.”
“I’ll send a note around with the details then,” Phineas said, then followed that with a bow. “If you will excuse me.”
He dashed out of the room without any more of a goodbye.
“What the devil has gotten into him?” Freddy asked, twisting to watch Phineas’s retreating back.
“I suspect he needs to pay an emergency call on his solicitor,” Lenore said, her smile widening as she reveled in the victory of discovering the truth about the man. She drew in a breath and grinned up at Freddy. “You will, of course, suddenly find yourself with a head cold on whatever day he invites us to supper.”
“Oh, of course,” Freddy said without pause, sending her a lop-sided grin. “I can feel a tickle in my throat already.”
“Good,” she said, steering him out of the parlor and back across the hall to where the entertainment had resumed in the conservatory. “Because I think I might be in for a rather interesting evening next week.”
Chapter 4
He should have listened to Lionel. It wasn’t the first time Phin found himself thinking those words. Many had been the times in his life when he should have listened to Lionel, and many were the times that Lionel should have listened to him. But like true brothers, they disregarded each other’s advice as often as they took it, choosing the most enjoyable outcome, rather than the most prudent.
In this case, however, as Phin hurried along the street to Jameson’s printing office, buffeted and blasted about by a strong, autumnal wind as he walked, he most definitely should have listened to Lionel and thought twice about publishing a story based on Lady Agnes’s exploits at the theater the week before. The way the cold wind tore at him, flapping his coat around his legs and making it necessary for him to walk with a hand clapped to his head to keep his hat from blowing away, seemed to be Nature’s way of punishing him for his foolishness.
But more foolish than writing about a young lady with a mother as intent on destruction as Lady Hamilton was, Phin had included one too many details that Lenore had picked up on. She knew. He could deny it all he wanted, but Lenore had guessed his secret. Which was why he was having her for supper that night. He needed somehow to assuage her curiosity and convince her not to say anything to anyone, at the very least.
Before he did that, though, he had to take care of business. He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the building housing Jameson’s discreet office, shook a few stray leaves from his hat and coat, checked to be certain he hadn’t somehow lost any of the handwritten pages he’d tucked away inside his jacket, and proceeded to the unmarked door at the end of the hall.
“Come in,” Jameson’s voice sounded from the other side when Phin knocked. As soon as he entered, he knew Jameson was in a foul mood. The man practically paced behind his desk, and his hair stood up at odd angles, as if he’d been tugging at it. “Oh. You,” Jameson greeted Phin without enthusiasm.
“I’ve come with another story, though I know it’s not yet time to print a new issue,” Phin said without a more formal greeting, unfurling the pages in his hand and holding them out to Jameson.