Candice Hern (22 page)

But there was one thing about which Anthony was dead wrong. She was indeed capable of love. Just now, she rather wished she were not.

“You look terrible.”

Nicholas stood in the doorway of the back parlor, where Edwina had taken refuge. She glared at him, picked up the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a large volume of poetry tucked between the seat cushions, and threw it at him.

He ducked.

“What the devil is wrong with you?” he said, and came into the room, even though any sensible person would have run screaming in the other direction.

“Go away, Nickie. I’m too angry with you right now to talk rationally.”

He ignored her, of course, and took a seat. “Then don’t talk,” he said. “Let me do all the talking. But look at me, first, Ed. No, don’t turn away. Look at me.”

She lifted her eyes to his and glared.

“You’ve been crying.”

She snorted and looked away.

“Look, Ed, I don’t like to see you unhappy like this. You’ve never thrown a book at me before. I’m assuming it has to do with Morehouse. I saw him storming out of the house this morning, half dressed.”

“Don’t scold me about that, Nickie. It’s none of your business.”

“I know. And I wasn’t going to scold. It’s just that I assumed things were going rather well be
tween you two. You could hardly keep your eyes off each other last night, and I can only suppose that the hour and state of his departure means you took him to bed.”

“I repeat, it’s none of your business. I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”

“Of course you can. Come on, Ed. You know I’ve never interfered with your personal life. But something went wrong. And because I love you, I want to help.”

“You’ve already helped quite enough, thank you. It was your blasted pamphlet that sent him storming out of here. I
told
you to pull the Quayle portions out, Nickie. What the devil happened?”

He pulled a face. “I forgot. Plain and simple. I meant to do it, but before I thought to get around to it, Madge had taken the proofs to Imber. I’m so sorry, Ed.”

“He read it, you know. Can you imagine how he felt? To think that his uncle might be vilified in a publication with his name on the cover? But it’s worse than that.”

“Oh, God. What else?”

“I had left one of the account books on my writing desk. He found it. He knows what we’ve been doing. He was furious, Nickie. And now…” She thought of the things he’d said, that she couldn’t love, that she hadn’t loved Gervaise. There was only one reason why he would say such horrible things to her. “And now he hates me.”

She looked away and blinked hard. She would not give in to tears again. She had spent her share. She heard Nicholas rise and crouch down before her. He pressed a hand to her cheek and turned her face toward him.

“He does not hate you, Ed.” His voice was gentle and he took hold of her hands.

“You didn’t hear the things he said. I know he was provoked, he was angry. But he couldn’t have spun those notions out of the moment. He must have thought them all along. He was just angry enough to speak them aloud.”

“What did he say?”

“Among other things, that I can’t love a person. That I can only love a cause.”

Nicholas tugged on her hands and pulled her to her feet, then wrapped his arms around her. “He is wrong. You most definitely know how to love. You love me. You love Simon. You love Pru. You loved Gervaise.” He stroked the back of her hair. “And you love Morehouse. Don’t you?”

“I thought I did,” she said, her words muffled against his shoulder. “After last night, I thought I did. But I never wanted to, Nickie. I never wanted that again. You know I didn’t.”

“Yes, I do know.” He nudged her away from his shoulder and looked into her eyes. “And I cannot tell you how pleased I have been that you were ready to let a man love you again. It has pained me
to see you so closed up, so alone, for so long.”

Edwina shrugged out of his embrace and walked to the window overlooking the garden. She wasn’t closed up. She was simply disciplined. But she had allowed that discipline to slip, and see where it got her?

“Let me go to Morehouse and explain,” Nicholas said. “I will tell him how you asked me to change the proofs when you learned Cedric Quayle was his uncle. You begged me to drop the attack on him. But I didn’t. It is me he should be angry with, not you. Good Lord, if it weren’t for you, all those copies might not have been retrieved.”

“There’s no need for you to do that, Nickie.”

“But I want to help make things right between you.”

“You can’t.” She turned to face him. “It was never going to be right between us. There was the wager to begin with. Which, by the way, I am not going to win. There are only two weeks to go and we are almost six hundred subscriptions short. There is no way to make that number, hard as we tried.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And there is the fact that I work for him, if I continue on at the
Cabinet
.”

“If?”

“I have begun to realize how trivial the magazine is in the overall scheme of things. It will never make any sort of a difference in the world.”

“My God, Edwina, how can you say that? You are reaching thousands of women. How can that be trivial?”

“I have been thinking that I’d like to do something more…direct.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anthony said I do not have any true understanding of the poor and their needs. He is right. I stay here in Golden Square and spin words. It is time I did something more useful.”

“Have a care, my dear. Do not let a bruised heart push you into rash action. Morehouse certainly lashed out in anger. Let him cool down a while, Ed. He will regret what he’s said, I’m sure of it.”

“It doesn’t matter. It would never have worked between us. We are too different. He scoffs at my ideals and my ‘causes’ and yet they are vitally important to me. He doesn’t understand me. And I don’t understand him. I don’t know how a person goes through life as a gambler. He likes to be reckless. I prefer order.” She sighed. “We would never suit.”

Nicholas moved to stand beside her. “There is such a thing as too much order, you know.”

“No, there isn’t. Order is predictable, clean, unambiguous.” She looked out the window. “It’s like my little garden. I never have to worry about it going wild because I keep it under control.”

“Ah, but your garden is an unnatural thing, Ed. It is nature pruned and clipped and trained into
something artificial. A little disorder is natural, my dear. And welcome. Don’t be as ruthless with your emotions as you are with your garden. Don’t prune away all that is honest and human.”

Tony stormed around with a wad of anger in his throat for more than a day. He was still furious. With Edwina, with Nicholas, with Prudence, with the whole bloody lot of them and their righteous causes and their pilfered profits. When he thought about how close a call it had been, to have that attack on Uncle Cedric published under his name, his blood ran cold. It wasn’t as though he agreed with his uncle. In fact, he disagreed with him on most things. But for once in his life he was on the brink of actually making his father proud of him. It still stunned him to think of that note congratulating him on the endowment. It was the first positive word he’d had from the man in twenty years.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d craved those few words of praise.

It might all have been lost if that damned magazine had been distributed. At least he had Edwina to thank, he supposed, for insuring that hadn’t happened.

How could he have been so wrong about her? How could he have fallen in love with a woman ready to plunge a knife in his back? The time they’d spent in each other’s arms had been so special it had
shaken him to the core. Why did she have to turn it into something he could now only regret?

The thing was to simply put her out of his life. Completely. He would not seek out her laughter, her face, her voice, her body. He did not need her. He could find all of those things elsewhere. The pleasures of London awaited him. Good wine. Good food. Good play. Good women. London teemed with them, everything he could desire.

And yet somehow it all seemed so empty.

How was he to put her out of his mind?

He was trying to do so in a small gaming hell off Jermyn Street when he looked up to find Nicholas Parrish at his side. Bloody hell.

“Did she send you to find me?” Tony glared at Nicholas and wondered how the fellow had managed to track him down.

“No, of course not. I need to speak to you in private, if you please.”

“Now? While I am having such a streak of luck?”

Nicholas surveyed the hazard table and the pile of winnings in front of Tony. “If you please.”

Tony sighed and nodded to the other gentlemen at the table. “It seems I must call it a night. Please excuse me.”

He gathered his winnings, rose, and indicated that Nicholas should follow him into another parlor. He found two empty chairs near the fire and took one. Nicholas sank into the other.

“What may I do for you, Parrish?”

“Edwina told me what happened.”

Tony arched a brow and wondered precisely how much she had told her brother.

“You have a right to be angry,” Nicholas said. “But not at her.”

He did not wish to listen to Edwina’s apologist. She had defended her position well enough and he had no desire to hear it all again. He made to rise. “If you will excuse me, I have no desire to continue this conversation.”

“Sit down and hear me out, Morehouse.”

Taken aback by the man’s sharp tone, Tony resumed his seat. He glared at Nicholas and said nothing. He would let the fellow have his say, and be done with it.

“The mixup with the magazine was entirely my fault,” Nicholas said. “When Edwina learned that Cedric Quayle is your uncle, she came to me at once and asked me to remove all references to him from my pamphlet. I simply never got around to doing it.”

Tony gave an indelicate snort. “Indeed.”

“It was not a malicious oversight, Morehouse. I simply forgot. The proofs were delivered to Imber before I had corrected them. It was all mischance, a foolish series of errors. I wanted to make sure you understood that.”

“Your sister had much the same excuse.”

“It is no excuse. It is merely the truth. I know you
are still angry, Morehouse. But at least the error was caught in time.”

“How fortunate for everyone. Now, is that all?”

Nicholas studied him for a moment, then said, “No, that is not all. I am extremely fond of my sister and you have made her very unhappy. That doesn’t set well with me.”

Tony shrugged. The protective big brother was back.

“I don’t know all that happened between the two of you and I do not want to know. You apparently said some rather vile things to her, though. Hurtful things. One in particular that I must set you straight on.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“You told her she was not a woman who could love. I am here to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. She has loved. She does love. So much so that her heart is easily broken.”

Had Tony broken her heart? He didn’t believe so. She kept it locked up too tight to allow it to be touched, much less broken.

“She is a very strong woman of great character,” Nicholas went on. “She likes to be in command of every situation, does not like to feel vulnerable in any way. But do not mistake that for an inability to love. She has a great capacity for love, but she fears it because when she does love, it consumes her. Losing Gervaise made her even more afraid. But that was a long time ago, and I had thought she was let
ting go of her fear at last.” He gave Tony a significant look. “Instead, I believe she is more afraid than ever.”

None of this was a revelation. Tony had recognized Edwina’s vulnerability for some time. It was not so long ago, only yesterday, in fact, when his heart had soared to think she had got beyond her fears to let him into her heart. But everything had changed when he’d read that pamphlet and the account book. How could he trust her after that?

“I’m sorry, Parrish. I had frankly hoped there was something between us. But she deceived me. You all deceived me.”

“And you cannot forgive her?”

Could he? His anger was still so fresh and hot it was impossible to see beyond it.

“She believes you hate her,” Nicholas added. “Do you?”

“Of course I do not hate her. I am just…angry.”

“Then perhaps you will eventually be able to forgive her?”

“I cannot think clearly just yet,” Tony said. “Give me a little time.”

“Your wager comes to an end in two weeks.”

Lord, so soon? “Give me until then.”

“Y
er don’t mean it?”

Edwina smiled at Madge’s incredulous expression. “I do mean it. I want to have a look around St. Giles, and since I know you come from that area, I was hoping you could come along with me.”

“I think yer must be daft, Miz Parrish. No one goes ter the rookeries jus’ ter ’ave a look round. ’Tain’t safe. Specially fer a lady like yerself.”

“That is why I want you to come with me, Madge. I shall feel quite safe with you.”

“Dunno why. Yer needs a big strappin’ man, not the likes o’ me.”

“I believe we shall be ?ne together. I would not go at night—”

“Gawd, I should ’ope not.”

“—and I am sure it must be less dangerous in broad daylight. Besides, I want to see the school.”

“Oh.” Madge made several musical syllables out of the word. “Yer never seen it, then?”

“No.”

“Then ’ow come yer knows about it? I figgered yer been there, even though yer a lady an’ all, seeing as how ’twere yer what told me to go.” Madge stood before Edwina’s desk and stared at her with sharp interest.

Edwina, and the
Cabinet
, had been funding the school in St. Giles ever since she’d learned of it. She knew it taught prostitutes and other unfortunates how to read and write, along with some other basic skills, in hopes it would help them to find better employment. The stated objectives had been enough for Edwina to lend her support, but she had never once visited the school, to see for herself if it was successful. It was past time she did so.

Anthony’s accusations had struck home.

“I learned about the school a few years ago,” she said, “and have since been providing a small amount—a very small amount—of financial support to help pay the rent, buy books and materials and such. And since Flora has been entrusting you with more duties, I thought it would be helpful if you learned to read.”

Madge colored slightly and cast her eyes down. “So I wouldn’t make no more mistakes.”

“It was not your fault, Madge. We all had a hand in that one. But it can only serve you well in all aspects of your life to be literate. And I thought the St. Giles school would be the perfect place for you to learn.”

“’Tis a fine thing ter be able ter read.” She stood up a bit straighter and a look of sheer wonder gathered in her eyes. “I still be learnin’ me letters, but I can make some sense o’ signs and such. I be most grateful to yer, miss. Din’t know ’bout that school, an’ it right under me nose.”

“Its existence is not trumpeted about. Too many of the men—factory wardens, brothel owners, pimps—do not want their women to be educated.”

“’Fraid we’ll be able ter get better work somewheres else, I ’spect.”

“Exactly. Just as you have done here at the
Cabinet
. I hope that by working for us you will no longer have to earn your living on the streets.”

Madge shrugged. “Gettin’ too old fer that any’ow.”

Edwina would be surprised to learn that Madge was even thirty-five, though she looked ten years older. “But you are never too old to learn to read and write.”

“Cor lumme, I wish I’d learnt sooner. But there weren’t never any time. An’, o’ course, me old man wanted me out at night bringin’ in the dibs so ’e could spend it in gin shops.”

“Does he know you are going to the school?”

“No, an’ I ain’t tellin’ ’im. Long as I bring ’ome the blunt, ’e don’t need ter know nuffink. So, why’d yer wanta go to the school for?”

“I just want to see if I could be of any help. I don’t have more money to give, but I could help teach.”

Madge’s eyes grew round as saucers. “In St. Giles? Yer’d come down to the rooks to teach girls ter read?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Well, I do. Yer a lady wot’ll stick out like a rose in the ragweed. An’ yer’d be lucky if yer met up wiv no worse’n a cutpurse. There’s bad folk in them alleys.”

“What about your teacher at the school? She apparently does not worry about her safety.”

“That’s cuz Miz Jakes lived nearby most ’er life. Grew up in Seven Dials, but married ’erself a brewery foreman an’ got all respectable, like.”

“And so she is trying to help other girls better themselves, as she did. How remarkable. It will be a pleasure to meet her. Shall we go?”

Madge rolled her eyes but said, “Whatever yer wants, miss. But yer’d best change outa that dress.”

They set off on foot, for St. Giles and Seven Dials, two of the worst areas of London, were only a mile or so from Golden Square. The atmosphere changed abruptly when Oxford Street met Tottenham Court Road. The sound of carriage wheels faded as the streets narrowed and fed into a net
work of dingy courts and alleys, grimy rabbit warrens of closely packed buildings.

Shadows hovered and disappeared. Dark, ragged mounds stirred. Drunkards slumped in doorways. Piles of rubbish were heaped against walls. Open gutters, full and filthy, ran down the middle of cobbled lanes. The occasional rat skittered along the gutter edge. A putrid smell of decay filled the air, along with a sick-making sweetness from the nearby breweries. Edwina covered her mouth and tried not to inhale too deeply.

So much squalor so close to home caused Anthony’s words to ring loudly in her ears. While Edwina sat in her comfortable house beside a warm fire, real human misery was barely a step away. She penned passionate pleas about the plight of the impoverished masses, and yet never once walked the few blocks to face that poverty head-on.

She kept close to Madge, who would not allow her to dawdle by drinking in every detail or stopping to offer help to every miserable creature.

“Walk brisk, like yer got business ’ere. Lallygaggin’ll mark yer fer sure, an’ every knuckler and buzman’ll be all over yer like fleas on a dog.”

Madge had insisted she wear dark, simple clothes that showed wear and dirt, the easier to blend in. She wore no jewelry and carried no reticule or pocketbook, though she did carry a few small coins in her pocket with the intent of handing them out to the most needy. But she soon discov
ered there were too many wretched urchins and too few coins. She would save them for Mrs. Jakes.

At street level, many buildings housed businesses: fish sellers, costermongers, gin shops, picked clothing. The upper levels housed families and, Madge told her, a variety of illegal operations, prostitution being the most prevalent. Few windows retained their glass, and those that did were black with grime. Many were filled with straw as the only barrier against the cold. Some were open with laundry hanging on the sills. One woman leaned out an open window and tossed the contents of a slop bucket into the street. Through another window, a dark figure lifted a jug to his mouth.

Most of the men of the district who were employed worked at one of the breweries. Some worked at the timber yard, others worked as stone cutters in the mason’s yard. But a great many did not have any employment at all, due to illness, disability, or drunkenness. These men relied on their wives and daughters to pay the rent by walking the streets at night.

Almost every idle woman who leaned out a window, sat on a stoop, or huddled in a doorway was, according to Madge, a prostitute. Hundreds of them. Some looked as young as twelve or thirteen. Skinny, ragged, sickly—they made the Crimson Ladies look the picture of health and prosperity.

As she walked beside Madge, Edwina’s fists clenched and swung stiffly at her sides like bell
clappers. It angered her that she had been so oblivious to the true nature of poverty and despair. She had read, and penned, thousand of words on the plight of the poor. But walking through St. Giles gave a new meaning to those words. And stirred her to a new purpose.

Madge stopped at a nondescript door of a grimy brick building on a dark alley. She entered without knocking and Edwina followed close behind. They walked up a narrow staircase and turned into a long corridor. Madge halted before a door that stood slightly ajar. The soft chatter of female voices could be heard within.

“They’re ’avin’ a lesson,” Madge said.

“Perhaps we should wait.”

“Naw. We’ll be quiet as mice an’ Miz Jakes won’t mind. Come on.”

She pushed open the door and they stepped inside. It was a small room with one small window high on the far wall. Three long benches were lined up like church pews. A motley group of women and girls filled every available space—young, old, fat, thin, all of them scruffy, tattered, and dirty. Each had a small scrap of paper on her lap and a stubby pencil in her hand. They were practicing their letters.

A tall, fair-haired woman stood before them, holding a large notebook with a few words written in big, bold print. A small stack of paper and a box of pencils stood on a table at her side. She was
younger than Edwina had expected—no older than herself. She turned and smiled.

“Ah, Madge. Come for an extra lesson, have you? And you’ve brought a friend. Wonderful! Ladies, make room if you will.”

Tony sat at the breakfast table and tried to read the morning newspapers. But he couldn’t keep his mind off Edwina. The growing bond between them. The laughter. The lovemaking. The deceit.

He wasn’t quite finished being angry with her. He wanted to be angry with her. She deserved his anger. And yet he was almost ready to forgive her. He’d even begun to regret some of the things he’d said to her. Especially about not being able to love. That had been an inexcusable insult. He had not needed Nicholas Parrish to tell him so.

He could not decide what his next move should be. They had hurt each other, but he wanted to believe they could get beyond the hurt and back to where they’d been before he had crept out of her bed and into a sinkhole of anger and disappointment. He had been on the brink of a declaration, perhaps even an offer. Surely they could salvage something that had led them into each other’s arms.

He had been the worse injured, after all. If he was willing to forgive her, she would certainly find it in her heart to forgive regretful words he’d flung out in anger. Wouldn’t she?

It was a delicate situation, to be sure. And there
was the wager to consider. She was close to winning. He had seen exactly how many subscribers she had the night they had chased down every copy in town. The issue had been reprinted—he had seen a copy at a local bookseller—and the patriotic prints and added fashion reports would be sure to lure even more subscribers. He was certain she would win the game.

And then what? Would she want him out of the business, and her life, entirely? Or would she be willing to let him back into her life, back into her bed? She could not ignore what had happened between them there, the passion and desire—and love?—that had swept them up like a tidal wave. It was not an experience easily forgotten. Surely it had been as momentous for her?

And so he must contrive a way to make things right between them. As right as they could be.

“I beg your pardon, sir.”

Anthony looked up from the paper he wasn’t reading. “What is it, Brinkley?”

“A package has arrived for you, sir.” He held a small square box tied with brown paper and string. “Shall I put it here?”

“Yes, just put it right there. Who is it from, do you know?”

“No, sir. It arrived by special messenger.”

“All right. Thank you, Brinkley.” His tone was one of dismissal, to which Brinkley apparently objected if one were to judge by the sudden stiffness of
his spine and the clicking of his heels as he gave a quick bow. He had hoped to see what was inside the box, no doubt.

When he’d gone, Anthony took a paper knife to the string, and ripped away the paper. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, if he had expected anything, but it wasn’t what met his eyes when he opened the box.

The Minerva sat in a pile of fine protective tissue.

Oh, God
.

He lifted it out with fingers that were oddly unsteady. There was a note. Of course there was a note. It was folded in a neat square underneath the little bronze head. He didn’t need to read it. He knew what it would say. He held the paper in his hand for a long moment before gathering the courage to unfold it.

He dropped the note and pressed a hand to his temple. Hell and damnation. What had she done?

She could not give up the
Cabinet
. How could she even think of doing so? It was the pride of her life, the center of all her passions. What could possibly be more worthwhile to her?

A myriad of remembered conversations played out in his head. How it had come to her. How she had quietly changed its direction to be something more than frivolous entertainment. How she had recruited important contributors. How she wanted to make a difference in her readers’ lives. How proud she was of her work. How important it was to her.

She was ready to throw away all of that?

Tony picked up the Minerva and unconsciously ran his fingers over the soft ridges where gilt had worn down to smooth polished bronze. He had done this to her. Edwina was ready to walk away from the work that had defined her life all because of some brutal accusations he’d made in a pique of anger.

She had stood up to him, magnificent in her draped sheet, and defended her actions, refuted his indictment of her principles. He had assumed those words, at least, had not touched her.

He had been wrong.

She must have taken his words to heart, else why would she do something as rash as quitting the magazine?

Well, he wouldn’t let her do it. He loved her too much—yes, even her deceit had not changed that—to allow her to do this. It was unthinkable. Her spirit would be killed. She
had
to continue with the
Cabinet
. Edwina
was
the
Cabinet
.