"I wish to purchase a copy of The Quest," the young lady announced in imperious tones. "All of my friends have read it, so I suppose I must read it also."
"I believe you will have to go to Lacey's Bookshop for that," Mr. Hammond murmured.
"What a nuisance." The young lady turned to Phoebe and Gabriel as Mr. Hammond disappeared into his back room. She looked at Gabriel through her lashes. "Have you read it, sir?"
Gabriel cleared his throat. He looked oddly ill at ease. "Uh, yes. Yes, I have."
"What did you think of it?" the young lady asked earnestly. "Is it really as clever as everyone says?"
"Well … " Gabriel looked helplessly at Phoebe.
Phoebe realized it was the first time she had ever seen Gabriel appear flustered. He was actually turning a dull red. She smiled at the young lady and coolly stepped into the breech.
"I am certain you will enjoy The Quest," Phoebe said. "In my opinion it represents an entirely new species of novel. It is full of adventure and incidents of chivalry and it does not rely on the supernatural element for effect."
"I see." The young lady looked dubious.
"The tone is very affecting," Phoebe continued swiftly. "The novel engages the most lofty of the sensibilities. Very inspiring treatment of the subject of love. You will be especially pleased with its hero. He is even more exciting than one of Mrs. Radcliffe's heroes."
The young lady brightened. "More exciting than one of Mrs. Radcliffe's?"
"Yes, indeed. I assure you that you will not be disappointed." Phoebe smiled and paused a second before adding the final touch. "Byron has read The Quest, you know. He recommended it to all his friends."
The young lady's eyes widened. "I shall go to Lacey's Bookshop at once."
Phoebe smiled with satisfaction. Another sale for Lacey's Bookshop. If she had not been standing in a room full of people, she would have rubbed her hands together in glee.
She might not have inherited her family's talent for mathematics and investments, but she could certainly pick successful novels out of a pile of manuscripts.
It was unfortunate that her family would not appreciate her peculiar version of the family talent.
It represents an entirely new species of novel … does not rely on the supernatural element for effect … very inspiring treatment of the subject of love.
Phoebe's words were still ringing in Gabriel's head that afternoon as he strode into Lacey's Bookshop. They were very familiar words. They were, in fact, almost the exact words Lacey had used in his letter saying he wished to publish The Quest. Gabriel had read that letter several times, committing the approving phrases to memory.
Ever since leaving Phoebe at Hammond's Bookshop that morning, a suspicion had been growing in his mind. At first it had seemed too outrageous to even contemplate, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it all made a strange sort of sense.
If his suspicion was correct, it would certainly explain how Phoebe had known so much about him right from the start. It would also mean there was no limit to Phoebe's daring.
The man behind the counter inside the bookshop peered at him. "May I help you, sir?"
"Where's Lacey?" Gabriel asked bluntly. He had met Lacey once before, shortly after the beginning of their association. On that occasion Gabriel had made it clear that he expected Lacey to respect his request for anonymity.
The clerk blinked and then coughed discreetly. "I'm afraid Mr. Lacey is busy, my lord."
"You mean he's drunk as a wheelbarrow?"
"Of course not, sir. He's working."
Gabriel heard a noise from the room directly behind the front counter. "Never mind, I'll find him myself."
He walked around the counter, pushed open the door, and stepped into the room where Lacey housed his printing press.
The smell of ink and oil was thick in the air. The massive iron press stood silent. Lacey, a stout, bald man with a florid face full of overgrown whiskers, was in the corner. He was examining a bundle of paper. He wore a leather apron over his ink-stained clothes. A bottle of gin was poking out of one of the apron pockets.
"Lacey, there is something I wish to discuss with you," Gabriel said, closing the door.
"What's that?" Lacey turned his head and glared at Gabriel with rheumy eyes. "Oh, it's you, m'lord. Now, see here, if you've come to complain about not getting paid enough for your last book, you're wasting your time. I told you my partner has put all that sort of thing into the hands of a solicitor. I don't worry about the damned money anymore."
Gabriel smiled coldly. "It's not the money that concerns me, Lacey."
"Well, now, that's a relief." Lacey straightened and pulled the bottle out of his apron pocket. He scowled at Gabriel as he took a healthy swig of gin. "You wouldn't believe how many authors get difficult when it comes to money."
"What interests me is the name of your partner."
Lacey choked on his mouthful of gin. He swallowed frantically and then burst out in a fit of coughing. "Afraid I cannot discuss it, m'lord. Anonymous. Just like you."
"I want the name, Lacey."
"Now, see here, what gives you the right to pry into my private business?"
"If you don't give me the name of your partner, I shall see to it that my new manuscript, which is almost completed, is delivered to another publisher."
Lacey stared at him in horror. "You wouldn't do that, my lord. After all we've done for you?"
"I don't want to take A Reckless Venture elsewhere, but if you force me to do so, I shall."
Lacey sat down hard in a wooden chair. "You're a hard man, m'lord."
"I'm a cautious man, Lacey. I like to know who I'm dealing with when I do business."
Lacey squinted at him and wiped his nose on the back of his stained sleeve. "You won't tell her I told ye? She's real insistent on keeping her name a secret. Her family wouldn't approve of her getting involved in trade."
"Trust me," Gabriel said grimly. "I can keep a secret."
Thursday morning Gabriel sat at his desk and worked on the last scenes of A Reckless Venture. He was rather pleased with the story. In a few days he would have it delivered to his publisher.
He would then await the letter of acceptance or rejection. It would certainly be interesting to see what Lacey's partner had to say about the manuscript.
Gabriel reluctantly looked up from his work when his new butler, Shelton, opened the door.
"Two ladies to see you, sir." Shelton did not look as though he approved of the visitors. "They would not give me their names."
"Show them in, Shelton." Gabriel put down his pen and got to his feet.
He smiled to himself. The only woman he knew who would be bold enough to pay a call on a man was Phoebe. She no doubt wanted to give him more orders, directions and suggestions. He wondered whom she had brought with her. Her maid, no doubt.
He was aware of a sense of anticipation, just as he had been on Tuesday when he had met her at Hammond's Bookshop. The feeling was a decidedly sensual one. He had a sudden vision of himself making love to Phoebe right here in his library. It just might be possible, he concluded.
If the little fool was silly enough to risk her reputation by coming here today, he certainly had no qualms about putting her reputation even more at risk.
After all, the lady was a born deceiver. She had been weaving her illusions right from the start.
At that moment the door opened again and two elegantly gowned and heavily veiled women appeared in the doorway. Gabriel experienced a sharp stab of disappointment. Although he could not see their faces, he knew immediately that neither of them was Phoebe.
He would know Phoebe anywhere now, veiled or unveiled. It was not just her slight limp that marked her. There was something about the way she held her head, something about the way her colorful, high-waisted gowns framed her breasts and skimmed the contours of her hips that he would always recognize.
He slanted a wistful glance at the green velvet sofa near the hearth. So much for his budding plans to spend the next hour seducing his outrageous lady.
"Good morning, ladies." Gabriel quirked a brow as his two visitors took seats in front of the desk. "I see that a taste for the veil runs in your family. Perhaps all the Clarington females have a heretofore unacknowledged religious vocation."
"Don't be ridiculous, Wylde." Lady Clarington lifted her veil with gloved fingers and secured it on top of her clever little blue hat. "I have no more interest in the religious life than you do."
Meredith raised her veil also and fastened it atop her fashionable flower-trimmed bonnet. She gazed at Gabriel with reproachful blue eyes. "You always did have an odd sense of humor, Wylde."
"Thank you, Lady Trowbridge." Gabriel inclined his head. "I have always thought that some sense of humor was better than none at all."
Meredith blinked uncertainly. "I never did understand you."
"No, I am aware of that fact." Gabriel sat down and clasped his hands together on his desk. "Shall we continue to exchange amusing jests, or will you two ladies condescend to tell me the reason for this visit."
"I would have thought the reason for our visit was obvious," Lydia said with a sigh. "We're here about Phoebe, of course. Meredith insisted."
Meredith cast her mother a chiding glance and then turned her attention back to Gabriel. "We have come to plead with you, Wylde. We are here to throw ourselves at your mercy and beg you not to ruin Phoebe's life."
"Assuming that is your intention, of course," Lydia murmured. She peered intently around the library, unconsciously squinting. "Don't suppose you managed to pick up a fortune out in the South Seas, did you?"
Gabriel gave her a deliberately bland look of inquiry. "Why do you ask, Lady Clarington?"
"Would have made things so much simpler," Lydia said. "That way you could marry Phoebe and no one would bat an eye. We wouldn't be going through all this nonsense."
"Mama, please try to comprehend what is happening here," Meredith said tightly. "His lordship does not love Phoebe. He is plotting to use her."
"Doubt that will work," Lydia said bluntly. "Very difficult to use Phoebe unless she wants to be used. She's much too strong-minded for that sort of thing."
Meredith's dainty jaw was rigid. She folded her hands together in her lap and faced Gabriel. "Sir, I know that you have struck up this friendship with Phoebe so that you can use her to punish the rest of us. I beg you to consider that she had nothing to do with what happened eight years ago. She was a mere child at the time."
"You told me that night that she was the one who figured out how to tie the bedsheets together so that you could lower yourself out the window," Gabriel could not resist saying.
Tears shimmered in Meredith's lovely eyes. "Surely you would not punish her for that. She did not understand. She thought it was all a grand adventure. She had been reading those books you were forever giving to me and she had some childish notion that you were a modern-day knight of the Round Table. Heavens, I think she saw you as King Arthur himself."
Lydia looked suddenly alert. "Do you know, I believe you may be on to something, Meredith. Looking back on it, I do believe that was about the time Phoebe developed her lamentable enthusiasm for medieval legends and such. Yes, it all makes sense now." She frowned at Gabriel. "It is all your fault, Wylde."
Gabriel gave her a sharp look. "My fault?"
"Yes, of course." Lydia squinted thoughtfully. "You were the one who got her started on that nonsense. As far as I am concerned, you have already very nearly ruined her life."
"Now, hold on one minute here." It occurred to Gabriel that he was losing control of the situation. "I have done nothing to ruin Phoebe's life. Not yet, at any rate."
Meredith's eyes widened in shock as the implication of his last words sank in.
"Yes, you have," Lydia said, ignoring the implied threat. "She has never married because of you. I blame her current status as a spinster entirely on you."
"Me?" Gabriel stared at Lydia, trying to follow her crazed logic. "You can hardly blame me for the fact that you have not been able to marry her off."
"Yes, I can. Her interest in that medieval nonsense caused her to become far too particular when it came to suitors. None of them could equal the knights in those silly stories she was forever reading."
"Now, see here," Gabriel began.
"Furthermore," Lydia continued, "she has always complained that none of her suitors shared her interest in medieval lore. Except for that dreadful Neil Baxter, of course. Is that not right, Meredith?"
"Quite correct, Mama," Meredith agreed grimly. "But I do not think that is what we wish to discuss with his lordship. There are more pressing problems."
"Good heavens." Lydia frowned. "I cannot imagine anything more pressing than getting Phoebe married off to a suitable husband." She gave Gabriel a conspiratorial look. "In spite of the damage you have done, we still have great hopes for bringing Kilbourne up to scratch, you know."