Candice Hern (23 page)

He didn’t want the bloody magazine. It was hers. He’d intended her to have it all along. The wager had just been a game to fuel the competition between them. He was willing to give it to her outright, but she would be too proud to take it.

Yet it was not too late for her to win it fair and square. If she won it, surely she would not walk away from it. There were still two weeks left in the wager. Perhaps he would simply ignore her concession and see what he could do to insure her victory.

“Did you see this, Edwina?”

Prudence handed her a copy of the
Morning Chronicle
and pointed to an advertisement at the top of the front page, alongside announcements of new book publications. Edwina blinked when she saw the name of her own publication in the ad.

She looked at Prudence, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You see?” she said. “He is trying to help you win.”

“It is too late. I have already conceded.”

Prudence’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”

“I conceded. There was no hope of winning.”

“But there
is
. Look what he’s done.” She jabbed her finger at the advertisement.

“Even that won’t bring in six hundred subscribers in less than two weeks. It doesn’t matter, Pru. I’ve decided I don’t want the
Cabinet
.”

“What? You can’t mean it.”

“I do. It was never anything more than a piece of
light entertainment with a few subtle messages buried inside. Those messages would never reach enough readers to make a difference. In the meantime, people are starving less than a mile from here. The
Cabinet
isn’t helping them.”

Prudence frowned. “What has got into you, Edwina? You have always admitted the magazine was not a true political forum, but only a convenient vehicle for those subtle messages. I cannot count the number of times you told me how even that was important in its own small way, and how proud you were to be involved. And now you’re saying you no longer care about it? You’ve conceded the wager?”

“Yes, I have. I already sent him the Minerva as a forfeit.”

“You didn’t!”

Edwina shrugged. “And I resigned as editor. I’ve decided to find other ways to make a difference. Besides, after our quarrel—an inadequate word for what happened—he will have no wish even to see me again. I daresay it would be awkward for both of us if I stayed on.”

Prudence placed both hands flat on the desk and leaned forward. “You have always been an inspiration to me, Edwina. I have respected you, admired you, even envied you. But how can I continue to do so if you behave so foolishly?”

“Pru, I—”

“Yes, Mr. Morehouse was angry, and rightly so.
And yes, he may have said things that hurt you. But this ad shows he still cares. He wants you to win. He
loves
you.”

Lord, how she wished she could believe Prudence. She had tried desperately to quell her feelings for Anthony. She had tried to convince herself she did not love him. She did not want to love him. She thought she had cried him out of her system, that she was over him, that she could banish him from her mind.

But it had been impossible to do. When she closed her eyes sometimes, she could still feel his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin, could smell the musky male scent of him, could feel the strong muscles of his back and shoulders and legs, could hear the sounds of his pleasure.

It would be a very hard thing to forget.

“Nicholas had a talk with him, you know.”

Edwina groaned. “No, I did not know. How do
you
know?”

“He told me. He felt badly about that mixup with the pamphlet. It was his fault, he said, and he went to Mr. Morehouse and told him so.”

“Damn it, I wished he had just stayed out of this. He has only made it more difficult. Anthony will think I sent him.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Prudence said. “Mr. Morehouse knows you would be too proud to do such a thing. But please, Edwina, don’t allow one mistake to ruin the love between you. Accept the peace of
fering of his advertisement. Accept this implied apology, and give him a chance to accept yours.”

And at that moment Nicholas burst into the room. “You won’t believe this,” he said, and slapped on the desk a copy of the
Times
.

“My dear boy, have you gone mad?”

“It’s quite possible, Mother, but indulge me, if you please. You made dozens of those little Union wreaths earlier in the year. Only this time they will be Peace wreaths.”

“But Anthony,
five hundred
of them?”

“I know it’s a lot, but I’ve brought all the ribbons, hundreds of yards of ribbons. And I have helpers for you. All you need to do is show them how the wreaths are woven and give them a place to work. I’ve put them in the breakfast room.”

“Helpers? In the breakfast room?”

“Yes. You see, I’ve thought of everything. So, will you do it, Mother? Please?”

“Five hundred peace wreaths to give away with magazine subscriptions. It would be a formidable project.” Lady Morehouse smiled and rose to her feet. “But I never could refuse you, as you well know. I shall do it. I only hope it brings you what you want.”

“I haven’t told you what I want.”

“It is easy enough to guess. All right, my boy. Let’s get started.”

Anthony led her downstairs to the breakfast
room, but they were halted by the great bellowing roar that could only be Sir Frederick in a temper.

“Octavia!”

They rounded the corner to find Anthony’s father, red-faced and fuming. His wife went to him.

“What is it, dear?”

“What in blue blazes are six doxies doing in my breakfast room?”

P
rudence hovered over the desk while Edwina counted the huge pile of subscriptions.

“Four hundred and seventeen.”

“How marvelous!” Prudence said. “In only one week. Those advertisements worked beautifully. You’re going to win this wager, Edwina.”

“But I’ve already conceded.”

“Well, you can just unconcede as soon as all the numbers are in. Imagine it, Edwina. The
Cabinet
will be yours. All yours. Did you ever think it would happen?”

A week ago she had decided she didn’t care if it happened. She was truly convinced that she preferred to spend her energies on more direct action, such as Mrs. Jakes was taking in St. Giles.

But the
Cabinet
was in her blood, she supposed, for the closer the subscription numbers came to the wager’s goal, the more she realized how difficult it would be to give it up. And now it appeared there was a real chance for her to win, for the
Cabinet
to be hers at last.

“Before Uncle Victor lost it in a card game,” she said, “I never hoped to see the day when it would be mine. Since then, since the wager with Anthony, I have dreamed. Oh, how I have dreamed. But I will tell you frankly, Pru, I didn’t think we could do it.”

“And we could not have, without Mr. Morehouse’s help. He has certainly done a great deal to lose his own wager. It seems rather strange for a gambling man, does it not?”

“You are a fine champion for him, Pru. But don’t push too hard. I know you have romantic notions about the two of us, but it simply is not going to happen. He may be trying to deliberately lose the wager simply because he really and truly doesn’t want the magazine. He never wanted it, remember. He thought it was a piece of furniture.”

Prudence giggled. “But he has worked hard to make it a success, by bringing in Flora, by allowing you to hire Mr. Raisbeck for the drawings and Mr. Jarvis for the engravings. And the Crimson Ladies, of course. And now the advertisements. You can see the results of his efforts right there on your
desk.” She indicated the pile of subscriptions. “And he’s doing it all for you.”

“I don’t know what to think, Pru.”

It did not make sense that Anthony would be doing this for her. She had betrayed his trust—irrevocably, she had thought—and had sent him the Minerva in concession. Despite the pull of her heart, she had been quite certain whatever had begun between them was over. She did not believe he would be able to forgive her.

So, why was he doing this? Why had he placed those advertisements? If he did it for her, what did that mean?

She folded her hands and leaned her chin upon them. “To tell you the truth, Pru,” she said, “I’ve never been so confused in all my life.”

“Do you love him?”

“Probably.”

“Do you think he loves you?”

“I thought he might, until he discovered the truth. I have thought since then that he must surely hate me. If you could have heard the things he said to me, you would understand.”

“But he doesn’t hate you. Nicholas said so.”

“What?”

“When Nicholas went to talk to him, Mr. Morehouse said he did not hate you. He was angry and disappointed. But he doesn’t hate you.”

“Well, that is something, I suppose.”

“It certainly is! It means there is hope for reconciliation. Hope for the future.”

“You are too much like Simon, my dear. Always spinning romantic dreams.”

“Simon’s dreams came true.”

Edwina smiled. “They did indeed.”

“Don’t you have dreams, Edwina?”

She shrugged. “I stopped believing in dreams long ago. But I confess…I had hoped…” She was reluctant to put into words what she had in fact dreamed. What hopes she had cherished in her heart after Anthony had made such sweet love to her. She had made an effort, a Herculean effort, to put those hopes and dreams out of her mind.

“What had you hoped?” Prudence asked. “Tell me.”

Edwina heaved a deep sigh. “I had only hoped…that he might love me. He made me feel so alive, so whole again.”

“Then you must honor him for that, whatever else happens. I have always thought your grief had become like a suit of armor, that you used it to keep life at arm’s length. This is the first time since I’ve known you that you have allowed a man close to you. For such a beautiful woman who could have anyone at all, I have never understood it. If I had a man like that interested in me…”

She flushed and shook her head.

“If you had been in France, Pru, you would know why I am the way I am.”

“What nonsense.”

Edwina’s brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”

“Other people were in France, too. Other people suffered great loss. Entire families were lost. But those left behind survived. They carried on. They built new lives.”

“I did all of that.”

“Yes, but you locked up the best part of you. You closed off your heart. And that is the real tragedy of your time in France.”

“I tried to unlock my heart very recently, and had it shattered in my breast.”

“Oh, Edwina. I am so glad to hear you say that.”

“That he broke my heart?”

“That you unlocked it far enough to allow him to chip it a little. Don’t lock it up again. He is trying so hard to repair it.”

Edwina laughed. “He is certainly up to something. I shall just have to wait and see what it is.”

“Miss Parrish?” Lucy popped her head in the door. “There’s a lady to see you. Mrs. Westover.”

“Eleanor! Send her in.”

Eleanor bounced in looking bright-eyed and happy, wearing a light blue muslin round gown with short frock sleeves, a double plaiting of lace around the neck, and a cashmere shawl woven in shades of red and blue. Edwina smiled that she could recognize such details now.

“So this is where the
Cabinet
comes together?”

“Eleanor, how nice of you to come by. This is my
friend Prudence Armitage. She is our assistant editor. Pru, this is Simon’s wife, Eleanor Westover.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Armitage. But I am afraid I must take Edwina away for a while.”

“Take me away? Where?”

“Grab your bonnet and shawl, Edwina. There’s something I want you to see. We won’t be long, I promise you. Oh, and here’s the next Busybody column from Simon. He sends his love.”

Eleanor would brook no objection or delay, and so Edwina, intrigued, did as she asked.

When they were settled in Eleanor’s barouche—a wedding present from Simon, she was told—Edwina turned to her. “Are you going to tell me what the mystery is? Or must I wait?”

“It is no mystery. It is simply a remarkable phenomenon I thought you should see.”

Edwina narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Does this involve Anthony somehow?”

Eleanor adjusted her shawl. “Why would you guess that?”

“Because everyone seems to want to patch things up between us.”

“I had heard of what happened, of course.” She reached over and touched Edwina’s hand briefly. “Nicholas came by to commiserate with Simon. He felt wretched about it. And of course Simon told me. I have wanted to come and chat with you about it, to offer the same support you once gave me when Simon walked out of my life. But as I was
driving in the park today with Simon’s mother, I saw something that made me think I could wait no longer to speak to you.”

“Anthony was in Hyde Park?”

“Yes.”

Her heart gave a tiny lurch. “With someone else?”

“Not exactly. Or at least, not in the way you mean. You will see. Ah, here we are at the gates. Slow down, please, Hibbert, and pull over to the edge of the road.”

“Why are we stopping? I don’t see Anthony.”

“I thought you might not want him to see you just yet, so I didn’t want to go any closer. Do you see that little cluster of ladies over there near the Serpentine?”

“Yes, but I can’t see—Oh, wait. Is that…is that…
What
is he doing?”

Eleanor laughed. “I believe, my dear, you have found yourself a true entrepreneur. Either that or the man loves you to the point of idiocy. He has set up a table and is soliciting subscriptions to the
Cabinet
.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. He’s parked himself smack in the midst of Hyde Park at the most fashionable hour and is selling subscriptions.”

Edwina laughed uncertainly. “Now why didn’t
I
think of that?”

“If you will allow me, I should like to walk over
there and see just exactly how’s he’s doing it. Then I can report back to you. But you can stay here, out of sight, if you like.”

“Oh, yes, please do go. I’m dying to know what he’s up to.”

“Wait here, then. I shall be right back.”

The coachman helped Eleanor down, and she walked down the long, straight path to the table where Anthony had set up shop. Edwina watched as Eleanor approached. There were several other women crowded around the table. She saw Eleanor speak to Anthony. He handed her something that looked like a flower, but she couldn’t be sure from that distance. Eleanor offered her hand and Anthony kissed it, looked briefly in Edwina’s direction, then went back to whatever he was doing.

Had he seen her? Had Eleanor said something to let him know she was there?

The walk coming back seemed to take twice as long as the walk going. Edwina’s nerves were tied in knots by the time Eleanor was lifted back into the barouche. “Well?”

Eleanor smiled and handed her a small wreath made of red, white, and blue ribbons with a tiny red bow at the top and a pin stuck through the back. It was charming, but…

“What is it?”

“It’s a peace wreath. Anthony has five hundred of them. Or had. He is giving one to every woman
who signs her name to the subscription list. It is a very long list.”

“They are tokens for subscribers? How very clever.”

“And popular. Everyone wants to acknowledge the peace. Almost every woman I passed was wearing one. See there?”

A curricle passed with two women on the seat, both wearing the little patriotic wreaths pinned to their bodices.

“And that’s not all,” Eleanor said. “He is asking them to put their subscription fees in a large jar and says all the money in the jar will go to the London Benevolent Society for War Widows and Orphans. Some are stuffing the jar with much more than the annual subscription fee. The jar is filled to bursting with notes.”

“Oh, Anthony,” Edwina whispered.

“That is the charity he endowed, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“He gave me an extra wreath for my friend. He told me to tell her he has collected over two hundred subscriptions.”

Edwina’s jaw dropped. “Two hundred? Eleanor, I only needed one hundred sixty-one to win the wager.”

“Congratulations, my dear. I believe you have yourself a magazine.”

He came the next day.

She looked up from her desk to see him standing in the doorway, and her heart was thrown into wild, undisciplined, chaotic disorder. He was holding a box.

“I have brought your Minerva back,” he said. His voice was flat, without expression. “You have won the wager.”

“But I conceded.”

“I reject your concession.” He walked into the room and placed the box on the desk. “You won it fair and square. I have also brought papers for you to sign, transferring full ownership of the
Cabinet
to you.”

She stood and brought a hand to her mouth. She thought she might cry, and she hated to cry. But the
Cabinet
was hers! It was a dream come true.

“I don’t believe it was at all fair and square,” she said. “It was due to your efforts, not mine, that the subscription numbers doubled. Even though I told you I no longer wanted the
Cabinet
.”

“I chose not to believe you.”

How had he known? She had fooled herself for a short time. Did he know her so well? Better than she knew herself?

“Besides,” he said, “I only helped a bit at the last minute. The rest you did on your own. With your crack editorial staff, of course.”

“But your recent methods have been most inge
nious. The peace wreaths were very clever. I thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”

“Not only your behalf. A good
cause
was served through all the new subscriptions.”

“Your benevolent society.”

He nodded, then took a set of folded documents out of his inside pocket and placed them on the desk. “Sign these, Edwina, and the
Cabinet
is yours. My solicitor drew them up. You can take time to read through them, of course, so you will understand precisely what you’re getting. I would advise you to do so. Or you can have your own solicitor review them, but—”

Edwina pulled them toward her, dipped a quill in the inkwell, and signed. Then, without hesitation or forethought, she walked out from behind the desk, put her arms around him, and laid her head on his shoulder.

His arms came up to wrap around her and he held her tight.

“Edwina, I—”

She pulled away slightly and placed a finger over his lips. “No, let me. First, I want to apologize for taking your profits and using them for my own ends.”

“Apology accepted.”

“That easily?”

“Well, I was angry as fire at first. But it was the principle of the thing, not the actual expenditures. I
saw where the money was going. The school in St. Giles, for example. The charity hospital in Derby. I did not object to what you were doing, only to how you were doing it. But you can do as you please now, without hiding anything from anyone.”

“Second,” she said, “I want to apologize for not making sure Nickie removed that attack on Cedric Quayle as soon as I found out he is your uncle.”

“Apology accepted. And I have already accepted your brother’s apology. He told me what happened. He took full responsibility.”

“Third, I want to apologize for not trusting you. I should have told you everything from the start.”

“Apology accepted. But you had no reason to trust me after I placed a wager on you the first day.”

“And fourth…” She looked deep into his eyes, trying to judge whether or not she was about to fall off a cliff, or fly.

“Fourth?”

“And fourth, I love you, Anthony Morehouse.”