“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.
Jameson stared at him as though he’d grown another head. “You expect me to print more of that so soon? When I already have the devil breathing down my neck?”
Phin’s heart sank as he stepped over to Jameson’s desk and deposited his latest story on top. “I take it word of Lady Hamilton’s fury has reached you,” he said, feeling guilty. He wasn’t going to stopper up that guilt either. He deserved to feel every bit of it after the misstep he’d made.
Jameson shook his head and let out a heavy breath. “The harpy hasn’t come after me yet,” he said, jerking a hand through his hair. “But word in my circles is that she’s going after each and every printer she finds out about, trying to figure out who publishes Nocturne. She’s made no secret of the fact that she intends to sue for libel, among other things.”
“She won’t,” Phin said, though he didn’t believe it himself. “To sue would mean an admission of guilt. It would positively identify the character in the story as her daughter, and doing so would ruin the young woman’s chances of any marriage at all.” Which was exactly what Lenore had hinted at the musicale. She was as right as she was beautiful.
All the same, Phin felt sick as he spoke. He had been a blind fool and an idiot not to think everything through before publishing. But every other subject of his stories had staunchly denied they were the basis for any of his characters. Lionel had tried to warn him, but all he’d been thinking about was buying winter coats for Hazel and the girls.
“The solution is to print another issue with an even more intriguing story,” he said, jabbing his finger on the pages he’d put on the desk. “Memories are short, and the sooner London society has something else to gossip about, the sooner they’ll forget last week’s scandal.”
He had listened to Lionel on that score. It had been his brother’s idea to rush a new story into publication, and it had also been Lionel’s suggestion to make it a tale of three lovers, two of which were men, so that Nocturne’s audience would be so stunned by its audacity—perhaps even causing a stir about its legality—that not a soul would remember Lady Agnes existed, let alone that she was the subject of the prior issue.
Jameson picked up the sheets of paper with a skeptical look. As soon as he glanced over them, his eyes went round. “Are you trying to have me arrested, sir?” he demanded.
“If you haven’t been thus far, you won’t be,” Phin reassured him. “And you wouldn’t be the only printer in London publishing this sort of thing, believe me.”
“I have a wife and children,” Jameson reminded him, his jaw clenched and his body practically radiating tension. “I have to provide for them.”
“And the reason you’ve been risking so much to publish Nocturne is because I generously share the profits with you,” Phin reminded the man as kindly as he could, even though he felt as though he’d dug himself into a hole that would be next to impossible to get out of. “Things will be all right,” he insisted. “You’ll see when you read through the story that I’ve been excruciatingly careful with descriptions. It’s all innuendo and suggestion, not explicit detail,
