Lord Gray's List (8 page)
Authors: Maggie Robinson
If he could work with
her
. He didn’t know the first thing about putting the paper to bed.
her
. He didn’t know the first thing about putting the paper to bed.
Her lips twitched. Here at least, was one aspect of bedding where she had the upper hand.
Going back to bed was futile, but Ben did lock himself in his bedchamber. His valet Timms shaved him and then left him alone in his bath, Ben’s rusty temper as heated as the scorching water he preferred. His room faced the back garden, but he knew without a doubt that people were tramping up and down his front steps to complain that he was altering the very face of British civilization by shuttering
The London List
’s doors.
The London List
’s doors.
By now he had read Evie’s article, every scurrilous word imprinted on his brain.
It is with great regret and sadness that I announce the discontinuation of the newspaper you are holding in your hand. For two years, it has been my privilege to report on the vagaries of human nature, restore lost souls (and pets!) to the bosom of their families, and match wives to husbands and employees to employers.
But a certain Baron G, who has oft been the subject of your well-deserved righteous indignation for his profligate ways and puerile stunts, has in his dubious wisdom decided to discontinue this publication. The dastardly Baron G has made the publisher, an elderly, fragile gentleman, an offer which he was unable to refuse in consideration of his desperately poor health and his beloved family. In taking advantage of such a situation, Baron G has proven to the world that he has stooped to the lowest level of despicable conduct. It matters not to him whether E.P. reunites with the mustachioed major who spoke to her so kindly at Hatchards, or who can supply T.C. with a first-quality Spanish leather whip, or if J.K can share expenses to a secluded villa in Italy. Certainly Baron G cares only about himself and continuing his debauched depravity in secret from society. But we will never forget.
—E. R
AMSEY
, Editor
AMSEY
, Editor
Bloody hell. She had made him sound like the veriest monster. Perhaps he should print his own edition next Tuesday and turn the tables on her.
It is with great regret and sadness that I announce that Editor E. Ramsey is not an Edward or an Erastus or an Ethelbert but an Evangeline, who was lately lying on my library floor after she had her way with me. So much for depravity and debauchery—Miss Ramsey is the most infuriating, insulting—Incomparable.
Ben threw his sponge to the carpet. How he could still find her so attractive after all she’d done to him was a mystery. And now she really had his ballocks in a vise—either he had to publish the damn paper or be hunted down at his own home by irate readers. Or worse, be front-page fodder for a brand-new rag. This Fitzhugh had more money than sense or talent—Ben had read the poem he wrote,
Ode to an Oracle’s End,
bemoaning the sale of the paper, and had not been impressed. Byron he was not.
Ode to an Oracle’s End,
bemoaning the sale of the paper, and had not been impressed. Byron he was not.
Ben had until tomorrow to meet Evie’s ultimatum. Hauling himself out of the tub and dripping across the carpet, he picked up the “collector’s edition” of
The London List.
He would read the advertisements this afternoon and weigh his options. And tell Thomas Crowe he might have the perfect whip for him in the attics.
The London List.
He would read the advertisements this afternoon and weigh his options. And tell Thomas Crowe he might have the perfect whip for him in the attics.
December 13, 1820
E
vangeline sat in her shabby parlor, a book upside-down in her lap. She had not bothered with her wig—her father had had a bad spell last night and was mercifully sleeping the morning away, so he couldn’t see the shocking state of her hair. How women of the last century had endured their outrageous powdered creations she had no idea—every time she donned the wig she itched and sweat something fierce.
vangeline sat in her shabby parlor, a book upside-down in her lap. She had not bothered with her wig—her father had had a bad spell last night and was mercifully sleeping the morning away, so he couldn’t see the shocking state of her hair. How women of the last century had endured their outrageous powdered creations she had no idea—every time she donned the wig she itched and sweat something fierce.
And anyway, quite a few ladies of the ton had chopped off all their curls—fast ladies, to be sure, but Evangeline supposed she qualified. Lurking around the stalls at Tattersall’s and betting on cockfights were hardly ladylike pursuits.
When she thought of it, it was quite amazing that no one had recognized her in London, but ten years had passed and she was not the awkward girl she’d been. Plus, people saw what they expected to see, and why would one suppose that beneath the figured waistcoat and brass watch fobs was a young woman of relatively gentle birth?
Her father had of course squandered what there was of the Ramsey fortune, thus necessitating a career in cards. He’d lost every piece of property he’d ever owned save for the disintegrating family seat in Argyll. The huge manor house was uninhabitable, and too far from the doctors he was now dependent on. Their return to London to this mean little house went unnoticed by the ton two years ago, and Evangeline had been relieved to hide behind her newspaperman’s façade as she struggled to turn a profit on her father’s last unlucky winnings.
The London List
had been an extremely unsuccessful publication, fit only to start fires or wrap produce. Evangeline had singlehandedly made it so vital to London—indeed to the entire countryside—that the closing of it had sparked a near-riot yesterday. Even more readers had greeted her upon her return to its office to fetch her belongings, expecting her to be their champion with the wicked Baron Gray.
had been an extremely unsuccessful publication, fit only to start fires or wrap produce. Evangeline had singlehandedly made it so vital to London—indeed to the entire countryside—that the closing of it had sparked a near-riot yesterday. Even more readers had greeted her upon her return to its office to fetch her belongings, expecting her to be their champion with the wicked Baron Gray.
She presumed Ben would come here to give her his decision, and had taken more than unusual care with her toilette. She could do nothing about her hair except let the ringlets spring, but she was wearing a rather pretty white dress trimmed with carmine ribbons. Evangeline had found a dried-up rouge pot and dabbed a bit on her cheeks and lips to make her look less dead—the night had been a trial for her and her father’s man Wilfred.
So now she waited, her mind spinning possible scenarios. If Ben chose to keep the paper up and running, she would offer her services—at a fair wage, for no matter how much money he had given her father, she would not work for nothing. He could stay away to live his frivolous life and leave everything in her hands, for surely a wastrel such as he would have no interest in the day-to-day tedium of reading letters and setting type.
If he sold the paper to Lord Fitzhugh, she was certain he’d need her, too—the man had no head for anything except badly rhymed quatrains.
If Ben closed it down for good—well, she had a cadre of unhappy people at her fingertips, many of whom were unemployed and had time to march in front of Lord Gray’s home. A few days of that, and Ben would have to bend.
Whichever way Ben decided, she had an interesting future ahead of her.
Ben’s topcoat, hat, and gloves were laid neatly on the tattered parlor sofa. She could smell them from across the room, Ben’s distinctive fresh scent as pervasive as cooked cabbage in a tenement. If he didn’t come today, she’d send Wilfred with the clothing—she did not need the fragrant reminder of the one man she seemed unable to get out of her system.
A quick knock at the door, and Evangeline straightened, setting her book to rights. Her frowsy maid Patsy curtseyed ungracefully but with enthusiasm. “Lord Gray to see you, Miss Evangeline.”
Evangeline’s heart skipped a beat, but this was what she was waiting for, wasn’t it? “Thank you, Patsy. Send him in.”
In seconds Ben appeared in the doorway, bringing the full force of his odor and rugged handsomeness. Evangeline fixed him a cold look. “Well, my lord?”
“Hmm. Not even a ‘How pleased I am to see you again in one piece’ after setting your jackals on me. My mother—and my butler, which is even worse—are in distress, their last nerve shredded by the rude individuals that have been camped out in front of my townhouse for over twenty-four hours. My mother has gone to stay with her ailing friend—apparently the company of a dying woman is more congenial than that of her beleaguered son. She’s not speaking to me now, you know. Closing
The London List
has hit her very hard.” He sat down next to his coat and the sofa screamed at his weight.
The London List
has hit her very hard.” He sat down next to his coat and the sofa screamed at his weight.
Evangeline tried hard not to smile at Ben’s peevish tone. It served him right to feel the consequences of his high-handed action.
“I take it you are sticking to your original plan then.”
“How can I? Everyone but me seems to think the damn rag is the very life’s blood of society. I was cut at my club, Evie—
cut
by that cur Winkler.”
cut
by that cur Winkler.”
She nodded. “Yes, he collects naughty snuffboxes. He’s paid for an ad right through the next quarter. It’s amazing how many people have them tucked away in a drawer. Lord Winkler pays top price, I understand. His collection is legendary.”
Ben snorted in disgust. “You should not know such things even exist, Evie.”
“Well, I do, and there’s no taking back knowledge. I know a great deal about your friends and acquaintances, Ben. Sometimes I’ve permitted myself to accept a bribe
not
to publish certain things.”
not
to publish certain things.”
“Corruption coming from such a crusader as you? Is that all it would have taken? A few pounds from me and I wouldn’t be saddled with the damn paper?”
“No. No amount from
you
could have kept me silent. And I’ve used whatever extra I received to help people in true need,” she said primly.
you
could have kept me silent. And I’ve used whatever extra I received to help people in true need,” she said primly.
Ben’s mouth curled. “You are a regular Robin Hood and Joan of Arc combined. Blast it, Evie, you set out to ruin me and you’ve succeeded. No matter what I do, I’m cursed.”
“Not really. I’m proposing a compromise for you. I’ll edit the paper and take care of all the details—leaving you out of it entirely, both in the back room and the front page. We can continue to do good, and you can repair your reputation at your leisure.”
Ben looked a little like a fish out of water, his mouth flapping a bit before he sputtered, “You expect me to work with you?”
“Not at all,” she said serenely. “I just said I’d do all the work. All the writing. You need do nothing but collect whatever profits there are. Unless, of course, you decide to sell the paper. I could stay on as it transitioned to new ownership. I think,” she reflected, “that should be a condition of any sale.”
Ben’s green eyes sparked. “And let me guess—I’d have the honor of paying you a salary.”
“Why, certainly. That would only be fair. The paper takes a great deal of effort. Hours and hours a week.”
“Fair!” Ben barked. “You are a madwoman. Your continued association with the publication is at an end. I can get someone else to do it—even that actor Frank Hallett.”
“Ah. You gave him so much money I doubt he needs to return. And my understanding is that he’s going to Italy for the winter. He may have already left.” She shut her unread book with a snap. “Face it, Ben. You need me. You’d never make heads or tails of my advertising system, and without it you’d probably be matching innocent governesses to gouty satyrs. At least keep me on for a few weeks until you get your footing.”
Ben looked ready to growl. “I’ll sell, then.”
Evangeline shrugged. “Suit yourself. Know that Lord Fitzhugh holds you in very little affection—for some reason he finds you unsettling. You’re apt to find yourself on display again.”
“Not if there’s nothing to report! And believe me, Evie, my life has been dull as ditch water this week. And anyway, Fitzhugh’s not the only one in London with money.”
“Ben,” Evangeline said gently, “don’t you think I tried to sell the paper myself? Despite all the advances I’ve made, I was unable to interest anyone, even as an investor. It’s a daunting undertaking putting out a quality product week after week.” There had been times in the beginning when she’d wanted nothing else but to divest herself of the responsibility. She might have welcomed a sale once—but not with Ben as the buyer.
“Quality. That’s your word for it,” Ben sneered.
“You saw yesterday that some folks rely upon it. I’d call that quality.”
“I’d call it insanity! How can one find one’s wife on the pages of a newspaper?”
“How can one find one’s wife in the crush of a ballroom? Or at the whim of one’s parent? Don’t tell me that society’s rules make any sense at all.”
“I suppose we can agree on that. What’s the point of following them when they’re so damned boring?”
For a moment, Evangeline was reminded of a young Ben, the boy who was ready to be dared and diverted from propriety. The very qualities she’d found so attractive at first had led her to reject him. For how could she cast her lot with a man who might turn out to be her father all over again?
She’d wanted security. Well, she had a form of it, with her loyal, ragtag advertisers, people who were desperate to find happiness and looked to her to help. Shockingly, Evangeline had even been entrusted with finding a gentleman willing to help ensure the continuance of an old family name. She had saved every letter of thanks—some tear-stained—had gone to every local wedding and the resulting christenings. She’d even found the motherly Lady Pennington through
The List,
and had the oddest desire to curl up in the woman’s lap for comfort right this minute.
The List,
and had the oddest desire to curl up in the woman’s lap for comfort right this minute.
Instead she sat across from a man who made her uncomfortable—a rake, a libertine, and quite the most astonishing lover she could imagine.
Not that she’d had much experience. The two other men she had been with had been . . . not Ben.
He’d used the word
insanity,
and she must be insane to think that she could work for him. But it might be only for a little while. Perhaps a buyer could be found—after all, she performed miracles every week.
insanity,
and she must be insane to think that she could work for him. But it might be only for a little while. Perhaps a buyer could be found—after all, she performed miracles every week.
She experimented with a smile, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I’m prepared to be completely professional, Ben. I’ll even call you Lord Gray. And if you want to feel useful, you could take over the accounts for me. I always seem to transpose numbers.” The truth of it was, totting up a column of numbers made her sleepy, although they were rather key in turning a profit.
“Professional.” The way he said the word sounded as if he were tasting it upon his tongue and found it sour. “Just how do you expect us to be
professional,
Evie, when we are at each other’s throats all the time?”
professional,
Evie, when we are at each other’s throats all the time?”
“Simple. Let me go about my business with no interference. You needn’t even see me.”
For a moment his face was frozen, and then he laughed. Watching Benton Gray laugh did something to her insides—his eyes crinkled, his mouth opened wide to reveal his excellent teeth, and his large form shook from top to toe. He was so completely swept away by the humor of his predicament that she felt a stab of envy. Evangeline couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a reason to feel genuine amusement. Watching Ben’s bafflement yesterday had come close, but that was more smug satisfaction than joy.
And still he rumbled. She tapped an impatient foot on the ancient carpet.
Ben wiped away what appeared to be a tear. “This is priceless. Evie—
Mr. Ramsey
—I salute you. You have me tied up in a devil of a knot. But I’m afraid I cannot accede to your wish of noninterference. You wanted me to make something of myself, remember? What did you say three—or was it four—weeks ago?
‘Lord G, for all his faults, has a fine mind that is wasted with each passing week. Would that he only find an outlet for his energy besides frolic and fornication. ’
An exact quote, if I recollect correctly. I was impressed by the alliteration. I believe I’ve found my outlet as publisher of
The London List
. I’ve nothing better to do, as you have so frequently pointed out. You seem to think I’ve never done an honest day’s work in my life, but that’s about to change.”
Mr. Ramsey
—I salute you. You have me tied up in a devil of a knot. But I’m afraid I cannot accede to your wish of noninterference. You wanted me to make something of myself, remember? What did you say three—or was it four—weeks ago?
‘Lord G, for all his faults, has a fine mind that is wasted with each passing week. Would that he only find an outlet for his energy besides frolic and fornication. ’
An exact quote, if I recollect correctly. I was impressed by the alliteration. I believe I’ve found my outlet as publisher of
The London List
. I’ve nothing better to do, as you have so frequently pointed out. You seem to think I’ve never done an honest day’s work in my life, but that’s about to change.”
He rose from the sofa, incurring another groan from its springs, and scooped up his belongings. “I will meet you at the office tomorrow at ten—no, make that nine. Begin as you mean to go on, eh? The early bird catches the worm and all that. You’ll instruct me in the art of the newspaper business. What with my fine mind and all, I’m sure it won’t take long. Good day to you, and give my regards to your father.”
He was gone. The book slid from Evangeline’s lap to the floor. What monster had she created?
This
was not how she’d hoped to spend her winter.
This
was not how she’d hoped to spend her winter.
For a moment she wished she was off to Italy with Frank Hallett, but that would be the coward’s way out. There were people dependent on her, and she could endure most anything, even working shoulder to shoulder with Baron Benton Gray.
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