Читать книгу The Earl's Secret - Terri Brisbin - Страница 10

Edinburgh, Scotland

Anna Fairchild walked briskly over the Water of Leith from Stockbridge toward the New Town. Anxious to get to the offices of the Scottish Monthly Gazette, she barely spent a moment returning the greetings of those familiar faces she passed as she made her way through the fashionable area toward Frederick Street. There would be time to stop and chat on another day, but this one was special. This one could determine her success or failure in her endeavors.

This was the morning after the latest issue had been delivered to households and news sellers all over Edinburgh and London. By now, A. J. Goodfellow’s nemesis, Lord Treybourne, had read the answers to his essay and was probably still reeling over it. This was the first time that Goodfellow took the earl on directly and Anna could not wait to see the results. It was Nathaniel’s reactions that she was not so certain about.

Her usual journey of about thirty minutes from the home she shared with her sister and her aunt near the newly built Ann Street houses to the offices on the corner of George and Frederick Streets seemed to rush by, much evidenced by her out-of-breath condition upon arrival at the door. Anna looked around the office and found Nathaniel speaking to his secretary. Taking a moment to remove her pelisse and bonnet and to put her appearance back to rights, she smoothed several strands of hair loosened by her brisk pace and the city winds back into place in the rather severe bun at the nape of her neck.

Anna nodded to the two clerks working busily at their desk, opening and sorting the piles of letters already arriving at the office. She presumptuously blamed part of the amount of letters on the contents of yesterday’s issue and her decision to publish it, Nathaniel’s objections notwithstanding.

“I can see the pride in your gaze, Anna.” Nathaniel stood by her side near the doorway.

“Is it unseemly then?” she asked, trying to resist the urge to gloat a bit over the success of their gamble.

“A near thing.”

“We wanted to gain more attention for the magazine and, by the looks of that—” she pointed to Messrs. Lesher and Wagner at their work “—it’s been successful.”

“But at what cost?” He let out a sigh. “I have just this morning received an ‘invitation’ to speak to several of the Whig leaders about the latest essay.”

“I would think that you would be pleased by that, Nathaniel. Part of this plan was for you to gain some notice and begin to move toward election to Commons. Surely, this will build your reputation and possibly even gain you a patron toward that end.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? More likely you will find yourself engaged in a debate on the floor of the Commons with the target of that essay.”

“Trey?” he asked.

“Trey?” she echoed now recognizing the familiarity that he’d never exposed to her before.

“We attended Eton and Oxford together. I thought I had mentioned it to you when we started this endeavor.”

Anna forced the first three thoughts, ones not appropriate for mixed company and certainly not from a woman of gentle birth, back into her mind and spoke her fourth one. “Perchance you should have made your prior acquaintance clearer to me a bit earlier than this moment?”

Her tone drew the attention of the clerks, Nathaniel’s secretary and several delivery men and visitors to the office. Anna closed her mouth and lowered her eyes modestly. Now was not the time to jeopardize all that they worked so hard to accomplish. Nathaniel nodded toward his office. She walked inside, and waited for him to follow her in and close the door behind them.

“Anna, I am certain I mentioned it to you when we planned these essays.” He stepped behind his desk and waited for her to be seated across from him. “And I repeated my concern over mentioning him by name this early in our campaign.”

It had been Nathaniel who had first named it “their campaign” and it had appealed to her sense of organization and judgment. Theirs was a campaign. Not a military battle certainly, but a moral and economic one.

She thought on his words and those expressed when they reviewed the essay. “Will Lord Treybourne retaliate?”

Anna smoothed the wrinkles of her forest-green gown over her lap and tugged off her gloves. Tucking them inside her reticule, she laid it on his desk, on top of one of the numerous piles of magazines, newspapers, leaflets and other printed matter. When he did not answer, she looked up and met his gaze.

His worried gaze.

“Financially?” she asked.

“I think not,” Nathaniel said. “The Lansdale family seat is in Dursby in western England. They own properties all over England, even a few here in Scotland. We have nothing financially appealing to tempt them to attack. But…”

“But?” Nathaniel was not usually an alarmist in matters of business, one of the very reasons she valued his input.

“I do not remember Lord Treybourne as such a stickler for propriety when we were at the university. His position surprised me and still does. This makes him unpredictable to me now.”

“Ah, life at the university! I have read that even divinity students succumb to the temptations of that life and all it offers. And young men are susceptible to many pressures,” she said, allowing a slight smile to curve her lips. “The Marquess of Dursby has long supported Tory positions. It is natural, I think, for his son to do so as well.”

“The Prince Regent did not always agree with his father,” Nathaniel countered. “Anna, I think you must be reading all manner of improper material if the subject is such an inflammatory one as the occupations of young men at university.”

“But when forced to it by the economics of his lifestyle, he certainly discarded his long-held beliefs and conformed,” she replied. “And my reading material, other than the Gazette, is none of your concern.”

Although, at first, a frown dug deep angles in his forehead and drew his eyebrows together and his eyes turned a darker shade of green, Nathaniel smiled at her. “If you would accept my offer of marriage, it would be.”

He had pulled their two separate topics of conversation into one and brought it to an abrupt halt. But, it was the true affection in his eyes that caused her stomach do a flip and her heart to beat a bit faster. Anna looked away to try to calm her rapidly beating heart, after hearing such a declaration.

“There is no new ground to turn on that matter, Nathaniel. You know that you and Clarinda are my dearest friends and held in the highest regard. Marriage, although desirable and necessary for most women my age, is something I simply am not seeking.”

She thought him long ago disabused of the idea of marriage between them, so this new request surprised her. Was he truly worried that Lord Treybourne or his father, the marquess, would seek to destroy their fledging publication over this disagreement of position and politics? Nathaniel’s expression gave her a moment of tension before he nodded his head and smiled.

“I think you simply avoid the controls that would be in place if you marry—your husband would certainly curtail your work here and at the school. And control your money,” he added. “That is what I think you fear the most.”

He most likely had no idea of how close to the truth his words were.

Anna had struggled for years to keep her family together after her father’s death and during her mother’s illness. Her own education at the fashionable Dorchester School for Girls outside Edinburgh made it possible for her to support them through those difficult years. Then, with her mother’s death and an unexpected, though modest, inheritance, she was able to invest a portion of it in Nathaniel’s dream—a monthly magazine. Now, the funds from their increasingly successful endeavor supported both of them, as well as several charities for the poor.

“Shall we return to the topic that brought us here this morning, Nathaniel?” He seemed to have lost the trail of the conversation so she refreshed his memory. “Lord Treybourne,” she repeated the name of A. J. Goodfellow’s adversary. “Are you overly concerned about his reaction to the essay? Or just worrying, as is your custom when each new issue is published?”

“I fear something of both, Anna. The Trey I knew at school was always direct about his displeasure. If he believes I—we, that is—have crossed a line with this, I think he will contact me directly about it. As to the new issue, I am pleased to tell you that our subscription demand has risen more than ten percent over the last month.”

She quickly calculated how much that would be, after the additional expenses, and smiled. “That is excellent news!”

“I have the figures here for you to review at your convenience,” he offered.

“With your assurances, there is no need for me to do that.” She did not doubt his honesty, just his willingness to see their plan, their campaign, through. Anna understood that their motivations for investing in the publication were completely different, but she also realized early on that they could both accomplish their own aims together.

“Nathaniel, I do think you should go to London.”

He seemed startled by her change in topic again and the frown said so. “You do? But Clarinda is coming to visit next week. And Robert.”

Anna stood and walked to the window, peering through it to observe the activity on the very busy corner outside the offices. Nathaniel politely rose as well. She waved him back to his seat and stared out as she organized her thoughts.

“I do not think you must accomplish this trip in haste. Truly I think that waiting until after Clarinda returns home is the best timing. Lord Treybourne will be busy this next week trying to frame his response to Mr. Goodfellow’s address. You should not appear too overly concerned with his reaction, but I suspect it would be best to meet him at a time advantageous to you. One when you can speak of gentlemanly subjects and leave when you have made your point.”

Nathaniel laughed at her words. “Gentlemanly subjects, eh? Will you give me a list and the point I must make as well?”

“You tease me now, Nathaniel. I trust you to handle Lord Treybourne and his inflated ego and opinion of himself.”

To her consternation, he laughed harder and louder, crossing his arms over his waist, until tears flowed down his cheeks.

“Oh, Anna,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You are so comfortable with your ways and your attitudes that you have no idea of what faces you if the Earl of Treybourne takes the bait. When you teach, your students listen because of your experience and expertise. When you advise me on publishing matters, I heed your words because I know you and trust you. But, Lord Treybourne, especially if his father the marquess is involved, will be the most formidable adversary you have faced.”

Anna felt her spine stiffen at his words. Not specifically an insult, they bordered closely upon an affront to her. Being called a bluestocking was no new matter to her. Indeed, it kept many undesirable acquaintances at bay and many unwanted inquiries unasked and unanswered, so she relished the label for the freedom it granted her. And, she was not embarrassed by her abilities or education. They had served her well and saved her family, as well as countless others, from a life of dismal and unrelenting poverty and its dangers.

Nathaniel rose now and approached where she stood, taking her hand in his. “I suspect that if you ever face Lord Treybourne in the flesh, you might begin to believe that marriage to me is the lesser of two evils.”

“Since, dear Nathaniel, you will take care of facing down the devil, I mean the earl, in London, I will worry not over the possibility of it.” Anna slid her hand from his and patted his. “It is part of the appeal, of course, of our unorthodox arrangement.”

He looked as though he would argue or add to his warning, but he stepped back to allow her to pass. Dawdling here without purpose when others waited on her arrival was rude and not to be excused without good reason, so Anna reached for her reticule and walked past him.

“And A. J. Goodfellow?”

“A. J. Goodfellow will continue to chip away at the hardness of society regarding the poor and unfortunate.”

“So, the arrangements remain the same?” Nathaniel asked, as though there were some measure of doubt in the situation.

“I do not think there should be any changes at this point. We should stay the course,” Anna offered, waiting to hear his decision. They faced this each month since A. J. Goodfellow had delivered the first essay to the magazine. And each time, she held her breath, hoping that Nathaniel would not lose heart or courage in their work. Anna distracted herself while waiting for his answer by putting on her bonnet and gloves.

“Stay the course,” he repeated, with a nod.

She let out her breath and turned the door’s knob to open it. “Well then, I bid you a good day, Mr. Hobbs-Smith.”

“And good day to you, Miss Fairchild.”

Their feigned formality was for the benefit of any strangers or visitors in the outer office, for both clerks and Nathaniel’s secretary knew that they were well-acquainted. They might not know the nature or extent of that acquaintance, and most likely were under the misapprehension of some romantic involvement, but she and Nathaniel did not hide their friendship nor most of their working relationship while in the office.

The men employed there did not, however, know that the woman now being assisted into her pelisse and being escorted out of the offices by Mr. Hobbs-Smith was none other than the political essayist A. J. Goodfellow.