“Aren’t the ways of the upper classes charming?” Lionel asked in a distracted voice. He finished reading, then straightened and handed the manuscript back to Phin. “Though, for the record, you aren’t a catch. Even if you are sympathetic to the female cause.”
“How terribly kind of you to say so, dear brother,” Phin said, dripping with sarcasm, as he rolled the papers Lionel had finished reading into a cylinder.
Truth be told, he loved his brother more than just about anyone else that he could name, besides their father and sisters. Lionel was more than a brother, he was a true friend. He was also someone Phin stayed up nights worrying about. With his delicate good looks and powerful demeanor, Lionel was a walking target for the busybodies and blackmailers who sought to lure men like him into traps that would land them in prison, the pillory, or worse. It had come as an immense relief over the summer when Lionel had announced he’d given up his fast-living ways to take a steady job as a clerk for the Law Offices of Dandie & Wirth, but that didn’t mean Phin would ever stop worrying about him.
“I am simply being pragmatic,” Lionel said with a refined tilt of his head. He brushed the cuff of his perfectly-tailored, devastatingly fashionable suit and sniffed. “It’s one thing to seek out a woman to marry for money, but Father hasn’t left you much to offer in return. A baronetcy isn’t much in terms of bait for high society ladies swimming in a sea of earls and viscounts.”
“It is when those earls and viscounts keep setting up shop with American heiresses,” Phin told him.
Lionel hummed. “Yes, well, there’s that, isn’t there.” He shot Phin a look that said he knew full well what he thought of Dollar Princesses. One Princess in particular. “Which is why I find this rhapsodizing about Miss Lenore Garrett to be so amusing,” he went on. “She’s engaged already.”
“To Freddy Herrington,” Phin said. He and Lionel both knew enough about which way the wind was blowing that he didn’t need to say more.
“All the same,” Lionel went on with an almost indulgent grin, “good luck with that. Also,” he continued, nodding to the papers Phin carried, “I don’t like that one.”
“You don’t?” Phin stared at the roll of papers in his hands, trying to decide whether to be mortally offended by his brother’s criticism. Writing had always brought him joy in a difficult world. Writing erotic stories that set society buzzing even more so. He was as proud of his work as he was amused by the reaction to it.
“No, I mean, the thrust of the action is fine,” Lionel said, emphasizing the word “thrust” in exactly the way it was meant. “But everyone is going to know you’re targeting poor Lady Agnes Hamilton, which is a positively terrible idea.”
“Her antics at the theater were worth remarking on,” Phin said with a shrug. “Besides which, Miss Garrett gave me a few ideas about how to craft a unique story by mentioning her friend from home.”
Lionel arched an eyebrow at him. “Taking advantage of an otherwise delightful young lady who suffers from a devastating fear of crowds by writing about her being ravished by an intruder after being closeted away by her mother at home is beneath you, Phin.”
“I think it has a rather Rapunzelian feeling to it,” Phin argued.
“‘Rapunzelian’ is not a word,” Lionel replied. “I wish you’d disguise Lady Agnes’s identity more.”
“But hints and innuendos about specific members of society are what cause Nocturne to sell. And you know it has to sell, for all of our sakes,” Phin went on, more conflicted than he wanted to be. It had seemed like a harmless bit of fun to write about Lady Agnes, and, as far as he was concerned, the playful sensuality of her character might even help the shy lady to find a suitor in real life. He’d thought he was doing the woman a service.
“I have a bad feeling about where this could be headed. You know that Lady Hamilton, dear Agnes’s mother, is a harridan. And that she’s not particularly bright. It’s a dangerous combination in the best of times. You are asking for trouble by publishing this.”
“Hazel and the girls need the money,” he muttered, referring to their younger sisters. The needs of their sisters was his last resort of justification whenever his conscience pricked him.
“Hazel is resourceful, and you can write another story,” Lionel countered.
Phin trusted his brother’s judgement—and it was true that his conscience had pricked him a bit as he’d penned the erotic story based on what he’d observed at the theater—but he held onto his belief that the story might do Lady Agnes some good, and they’d reached the office of his publisher, which meant it was already too late.
“As you pointed out,” he said in a quiet voice as they entered the building, trying to be as discreet as possible, “I am no catch, no matter how desperate the ladies of society have become. It’s all well and good that you’ve finally taken gainful employment, but our loved ones back home need food on the table and warmer clothes for the coming winter. Gladys and Amaryllis are growing like weeds.”
Lionel only had a chance to hum dubiously in response as Phin headed to the unmarked door at the far end of the hall they’d entered. He knocked once, then let himself and Lionel in.
“Mr. Mercer,” the short, balding
