Candice Hern (9 page)

Her blush deepened, spread to her neck and ears. She was clearly embarrassed. Was there someone she fancied? Quiet, unassuming Prudence who never went anywhere or met anyone new? Who could have caught her attention?

“What a foolish notion,” Prudence continued. “A glorious creature like Mr. Morehouse with the likes of me?”

“You think him glorious, do you?”

“Well, don’t you? He’s so handsome. I mean, all that golden hair and those blue eyes. Although they’re really more gray than blue, aren’t they? And the beautiful clothes and the perfect manners. And all those elegant watch fobs. Yes, I think him quite dazzling, in fact.” Prudence gave an embarrassed little giggle. She was not often so voluble. Maybe
there wasn’t someone else. Maybe she did indeed have a tendre for Anthony. “He is quite as beautiful as you are,” she added. “What a striking couple you would make.”

“Pru!”

“Well, it’s true. And I am persuaded you are not entirely indifferent to him.”

So
that
was what was on her mind. Not fantasies of her own after all. “My girl, you have been reading too many of Simon’s romantic stories. I have no interest in Anthony Morehouse.” It was not precisely a lie. She simply wasn’t interested in him in the way Prudence thought. Not really.

“Oh, pooh.” Prudence gave a wave of dismissal. “I’ve seen that look in your eye when you’re with him.”

“A look of pure aggravation most of the time.”

“Well, I shan’t press you about it. But if you ask me, he’s a perfectly charming man who is obviously taken with you. It would do you no harm to let down your guard for once.”

It was because she’d let her guard down that Edwina was now about to be saddled with a retired courtesan as her fashion editor. She had to admit, though, that it had been most satisfying to realize the effect she’d had on Anthony when she removed her stocking. She had quite enjoyed it.

It might be amusing to let her guard down again, once or twice. She was not a green girl, after all.
Prudence was right; it would do no harm. So long as she remained the one in control, she wondered how far she would allow their little flirtation to go.

Before she could ponder the answer to that question, voices in the hallway announced the arrival of Anthony and Mrs. Gallagher.

Anthony had been right about their infamous new fashion editor. Edwina liked her at once.

The upstairs drawing room, where they gathered for tea and cakes, seemed smaller than usual, through the sheer force of Mrs. Gallagher’s personality. Her voice was not loud, but it was commanding in a way that was almost seductive. Something about her manner made one feel important and interesting and…cheered. Edwina found herself smiling throughout their conversation.

She could see how men were drawn to Mrs. Gallagher. Though not beautiful, she was strikingly handsome, even though her bright red hair owed none of its glory to nature and she wore more cosmetics than was necessary. She had an engaging smile, and she was beautifully dressed. Here was a woman who definitely knew a thing or two about fashion.

Flora, as she insisted on being called, had overwhelmed her and Prudence with profuse and repeated expressions of appreciation for the opportunity to serve as fashion editor for the
Cabi
net
. But she was in no way cloying, and her enthusiasm seemed absolutely genuine. And she was full of ideas.

“I feel it is a very wise move,” she said, “to expand your fashion coverage.”

Edwina shot a speaking glance in Anthony’s direction. “It was a difficult decision, but I feel
forced
to make changes in that direction.”

“I can see how you would be,” Flora said. “
The Lady’s Magazine
has expanded its fashion reports and everyone I know reads them religiously.
The Lady’s Monthly Museum
has two fashion plates to your one. Very little description, though, so it would be easy enough to best them in that regard. And, of course, there is the
Gallery of Fashion
.”

“I have no intention,” Edwina said, “of competing with that publication.”

“Quite right,” Flora said. “It is much too grand and caters to a very elite readership. You will want to appeal to the common woman—the shopkeeper’s wife, the wool merchant’s daughter. She is the one most interested in what the women of the
haut ton
are wearing.”

Edwina sighed. “I suppose you are correct.”

“Of course I am.” Flora gave a rueful smile. “And that means including more than brief descriptions of plates reworked from French publications. Ideally, you must have original prints drawn from life. It is fine to know what the ladies of Paris are wearing this season, but it is quite another thing to know what
the ladies of London are wearing, who made their gowns, where the fabrics were obtained, and so on. You will woo more readers with news of the gowns seen at Covent Garden or in Hyde Park than you will in describing the
élégantes
of Longchamps.”

“Now, didn’t I tell you Flora would be the perfect fashion editor?” Anthony rose to his feet, the movement causing his fobs to bounce against one another in a jangling chorus. “She obviously knows precisely what must be done. As owner of this operation, I give her my full support in this endeavor.” He sent Edwina a look that clearly said he expected her to do the same.

“I shall leave you ladies to discuss the details.”

Edwina rose to see him out, but he held up a hand to forestall her. “No need to disturb yourself. I know the way.”

What he meant was that he would give Edwina no opportunity to bend his ear in private with complaints about Flora’s ideas. He bowed to all three of them, then made a hasty exit.

“The blackguard,” Edwina muttered.

“Oh, dear,” Flora said. “I am guessing that none of this was your idea after all.”

Edwina returned to her place on the settee. “Not exactly,” she said and offered a sheepish smile. “I merely asked for some general assistance. Pru and I are quite swamped with work. It was Mr. Morehouse who insisted the assistance be in the form of a fashion editor.”

“And so I have been forced upon you. Poor dear.” She gave a musical little chuckle. “What a shock that must have been.”

Edwina broadened her smile. “It was, actually. But I have been considering all that you have said. Do you really think we could substantially increase subscriptions if we added fashion reports?”

“Without question. Is that important?”

Prudence, who had been quiet as a mouse, choked on her tea. Flora turned to her and raised her brows.

“It is extremely important,” Prudence said in a diffident tone. “Edwina will lose the
Cabinet
otherwise.”

“What’s this?” Flora gave Edwina a questioning look. “Lose the
Cabinet
? Perhaps I misunderstood, but I was under the impression that Anthony was the owner.”

“He is,” Edwina said. “Unless I can add two thousand new subscribers before November.”

Flora groaned. “Do not tell me he has wagered you for ownership?”

“He has.”

“A blackguard, indeed,” Flora said with a shake of her head. “The boy is forever concocting some foolish wager or other. How utterly contemptible that he should play such games with you.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Edwina said. “But it is the only way I can ever hope to own the magazine
outright. And I want that—and the control it would bring—more than anything in the world.”

Flora regarded her thoughtfully. “Well, then,” she said, “it seems to me Anthony is going out of his way to help you win this wager. For I will guarantee that if you add fashion reporting and more prints to the
Cabinet
, you will be more likely than not to reach your goal.”

“I rather suspect Mr. Morehouse’s intentions were to vex me as much as possible,” Edwina said. She also believed he truly wanted to win their wager, just to pay her back for all those times she bested him as a child. And he wanted the Minerva back. He had made that very clear. Though his actions may sound helpful to some, she suspected he knew Flora’s name would somehow, inevitably, become associated with the
Cabinet
and result in reducing rather than increasing subscriptions.

“However,” she said, “I am forced to agree with you in regard to the fashion reports, as much as it pains me to say so.”

“A magazine of fashion is not what you had in mind, is it?” Flora asked.

“Not in the least.”

“And yet the title is
The Ladies’ Fashionable Cabinet
.”

“The title was already well established when I inherited the editorial reins from my great aunt. But we have worked so hard to improve the publica
tion, to make it into something more than just a bit of throwaway amusement. Mr. Morehouse, however, will not listen. He does not understand.”

Flora put down her teacup, rose from her chair, and came to sit beside Edwina on the settee. “But I believe I do understand,” she said. “I have read the
Cabinet
for some time now. It is quite clear to me what you are trying to do.”

“It is?” Prudence asked, her voice rising almost to a squeak.

“Yes, of course. The messages are subtle, but quite consistent. You want women to be strong, to think for themselves, to seek and receive proper education, and to take more control of their lives.”

Edwina stared at Flora in open-mouthed astonishment. This woman, this infamous courtesan, had in one sentence precisely defined the objective of
Cabinet
. How extraordinary.

“Do not be so shocked,” Flora said, as though reading her thoughts, “that a woman like me would catch on to your intent. I am more like you than you would think, Edwina. After all, we are both self-reliant women, doing what we can to take control of our lives. I have certainly lived my life on my own terms, have I not? I have never been tied to one man, but instead have used men in order to maintain my independence. You’d be surprised how many women who’ve chosen the same road as I have are on your side, my dear. We support the same reforms you do.”

“Reforms?” Prudence darted a wary glance in Edwina’s direction.

Prudence was not the only one thinking of the other activities supported by the
Cabinet
. But Flora couldn’t possibly know about that. Could she?

“Granted,” Flora continued, “you do not preach specific reform in the pages of the magazine, thank heaven. I fear you would have few readers if you did so. But social reform is certainly at the heart of what you publish, when you encourage education for women, when you encourage a certain level of independence. All I am saying is that a great many women like me agree with you. We just go about things differently.” She gave a little laugh, tinged with self-mockery. “For example, we can subtly influence a man’s opinions in ways his wife never could.”

“I have always believed,” Edwina said, “in the importance of educating women on social and political issues for precisely that reason—so they can in some way influence their men who, after all, have the vote.”

She could not believe she was having this conversation with a renowned prostitute. It was almost bizarre.

“Just because women do not have political power,” Edwina continued, “does not mean we have no power at all. We are not merely ornamental objects. We have brains. We must learn to use them.”

“Brains,” Flora said, “are not incompatible with beauty, as you so eloquently demonstrate, my dear. You have been most wise to include in the magazine at least a modicum of those less serious topics, like fashion, that help to entice women to read the rest.”

“But you and Mr. Morehouse seem to agree that I must make further compromises in terms of content.”

“Not necessarily,” Flora continued. “You already accept the inescapable need, however distasteful, to appeal to that least attractive aspect of the female character: vanity. Now, all that is required is to escalate the seduction of your audience with a greater focus on fashion. It will bring in more readers, which will bring in more money. Once the revenues have increased, you could put them toward the more enlightened content you desire. It is the way of business.”

“Oh, my,” Prudence said. “That sounds so…so reasonable.”

Flora laughed. “Do not sound so surprised, child. A woman in my position must have a head for business, or at least for strategy, if she is to survive. And it seems to me the best strategy in this case is to entice new readers with a little fashion, a little glamour, a brief glimpse into the lives of the
ton
. As they flip the pages, many of them will read the other content. Over time, they will subtly be converted to your way of thinking.”

“Oh, Edwina,” Prudence said, “I think Flora is absolutely right. Just think of how many more readers we could influence. It is so exciting!”

Edwina smiled. “All right. You are both extremely persuasive. Though in my heart I believe women are capable of being as delighted by the rational, I will allow a temporary expansion of the frivolous. As an experiment only. I will not, however, allow slander or gossip or scandal into the pages of the
Cabinet
. I do have my limits. You were saying, Flora, that we need more prints—”

“Original ones, not copies.”

“—which means finding a new artist and perhaps even a new engraver. That will take time. And where are they going to find these fashions they will draw from life?”

“Leave that to me,” Flora said.

“But in the meantime,” Prudence piped up, “Flora could begin on the reports themselves, even if we don’t yet have the fashion plates to go with them. Perhaps for the next issue?”

Edwina could not recall when she’d seen docile, quiet little Prudence so enthusiastic. Between the two of them—three, counting Anthony—Edwina felt as if she had been hauled into a fast-moving stagecoach barreling down the road to some unknown destination. She hated having things spin out of her control. The only thing to be done was to take charge.

“Yes, Flora,” she said, “I think it is best that we
start right away. I will leave it to you, with Pru’s help, to investigate new artists and engravers. We have an issue going to print this week. Imber, our printer, will want to murder me, but do you think you could create a report within the next day or so?”