Seducing Mr. Knightly (9 page)

And then there was his newspaper, which Knightly protected as if it were his own newborn. He couldn’t explain these things; the words always died in his throat, if he was even able to articulate them in his mind at all. Funny, that being a man of words, there were so many unavailable to him.

Berkeley Square

K
NIGHTLY
discovered that the Marsden residence possessed many of the traits typical to an old ancestral home: it was drafty and vast with many wood paneled rooms and the air of being gently worn after a century of use. Marsden had invited Knightly to call upon him when Knightly sent a note indicating interest in discussing ways in which they might collaborate on the Inquiry, as it had become known. From ballrooms to the coffeehouses it was fervently discussed in hushed whispers. What had the reporter uncovered? The rumors ranged from the benign to the horrific. What was to become of the newspapers?

Livelihoods were at stake. Knowledge, power, and wealth, too.

For Knightly, it was a simple matter of having everything he ever wanted: the success of
The Weekly
in addition to the aristocratic marriage that would assure him a prominent place in the high society that had rejected him.

Or risk it all . . . for what? There were too many livelihoods on the line, from his writers to the unfortunate boys selling newspapers on street corners. The more he thought about it—and sipped excellent brandy and enjoyed Marsden’s conversation—the more saying no became unthinkable.

“Ah, Lydia, there you are,” Marsden said as his younger sister appeared in the doorway a short while after her brother had sent a maid to fetch her.

She was beautiful not because of her features or her figure—both of which were admirable—but because Lady Lydia moved with a perfect grace. Where others might walk, she would glide. Her every movement, whether the incline of her head for a nod or the gentle waver of her fan in a heated ballroom, was a demonstration of perfect elegance. Her hair was dark and sleekly curled. Her eyes were dark and expressive. Her attire—from her sage green silk day gown to the ruby ear bobs—announced her status as A Person of Consequence.

She would look perfect on his arm. Save for the petulant pout. She was not pleased to have his company.

“We were just talking about the scandal at
The Times
,” Marsden said.

“That’s no surprise,” she remarked dryly. The gentlemen stood as she strolled leisurely across the carpet. She was in no hurry to make his acquaintance. Knightly kept his emotions in check and reminded himself of the facts: she was the subject of gossip, and he was an infamous and influential newspaperman. Also, she was the sister to a marquis and he was a bastard. Literally.

“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Knightly, of
The London Weekly
,” Marsden said. “He’s a new friend of mine.”

“I recall that you’ve been singing his praises. Good afternoon, Mr. Knightly.” She offered her hand languidly. The action was polite, and yet there was a stunning lack of interest motivating her. Knightly was intrigued.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Marsden.”

“Are you here for a story? Will we read about this in the gossip columns?” she inquired in the voice of a polite hostess, and yet there was an icy undercurrent not to be missed.

“Lydia—” Marsden said in a tone of lethal warning.

“It’s a fair question, given the newspaper’s
interest
in us,” she said, gracefully lowering herself to sit upon the settee.

“I am pleased to let you know Knightly is on our side,” Marsden said, with a glance at Knightly, who nodded to confirm that their understanding was in effect. Knightly would marry Lady Lydia, and Marsden’s Inquiry wouldn’t look too closely at the daring, questionable practices of
The London Weekly.

“Really,” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. She stared hard at her brother.

“Really,” Marsden said firmly, returning her stare.

Knightly sipped his drink and wondered if this was a typical sibling rivalry or if something else was afoot. He wouldn’t know . . .

“The weather is very fine today. Would you care to walk with me, Lady Marsden?” Knightly offered, thinking he’d have better luck with her if he was not in the middle of some sibling battle. Also, should the New Earl happen upon the sight of him with Lady Lydia, the earl would be rankled and he would be pleased. Sibling rivalry was in full effect even if they’d never met.

“What a capital idea,” Marsden said, clapping his hands. “It’ll afford you both the opportunity to become better acquainted, and to perhaps see if you’ll suit.”

Chapter 10

An “Accidental” Encounter

T
OWN
T
ALK

We hear that a certain marquis with a scandalous sister has been rather short on funds of late. We wonder: how does one lose a centuries-old fortune in under a year?

The Morning Post

I
N
order to attempt the advice offered by Sneaky from Southwark, Annabelle enlisted the assistance of her own devious, meddlesome, and well-connected friends.

The tip: orchestrate an “accidental” encounter.

The trick: discovering when and where one might accidentally encounter Knightly. As far as anyone knew, he traveled from his home to
The Weekly
offices and back again—very early in the morning and very late at night.

However, thanks to Sophie and Julianna’s machinations, the Writing Girls learned that he planned to visit Lord Marsden, probably to discuss the parliamentary inquiry into newspaper practices. The marquis conveniently lived near Sophie, between her house (which might more aptly be described as a castle, it was so massive) and Hyde Park.

The sun was shining. The birds were singing. Yes, they had snooped in Bryson’s schedule for Knightly, but it was for the noble purpose of true love. Annabelle happily strolled along the neat streets of Mayfair with Sophie. Their pace was that of snails. The better to enjoy the atmosphere, of course.

“We have arrived at the park,” Annabelle stated. Yet they had not encountered their quarry. This was not proceeding according to plan.

In her imagination, Annabelle would have seen Knightly as he strolled out the Marsdens’ front door. They would laugh together at the marvel of meeting thusly. Then Knightly would suggest they take advantage of the fine day to stroll along the tree-lined paths of the park. They would stroll arm in arm, and at some point Sophie would discreetly vanish, leaving them alone. Perhaps a thunderous storm cloud would arise and they would seek shelter in an abandoned gazebo and he would gather her in his arms and say something devastatingly romantic, like—

“Come to think of it, I cannot believe I did not bring my parasol. I fear freckles,” Sophie remarked, apropos of nothing.

“Since when do you care about freckles?” Annabelle asked, puzzled.

“I think we ought to return to the house for my parasol before we walk through the park,” Sophie insisted. But Annabelle did not wish to spend a minute indoors, where they would certainly not see Knightly.

“You have your bonnet,” Annabelle pointed out.

“I fear it may not be sufficient, and I’ll be a social pariah if I get freckles,” Sophie refuted.

“You’re a duchess . . .” Not only that, she was extremely well regarded. She’d have to do a lot worse than freckles if society were to cut her.

“Oh, Annabelle,” Sophie said with a giggle.

“Oh. That was just an excuse to walk past the Marsden home again, wasn’t it? How silly of me. I’m just hopelessly distracted,” Annabelle said as Sophie’s intentions crystallized. She’d been so swept up in her imagined scene.

“Ah, young love,” Sophie remarked lightly.

They continued their stroll. Annabelle began to marvel that what had seemed so simple on paper might be difficult to manage. At the very least, a stroll with her friend through the elegant cobblestone streets of Mayfair was vastly preferable to her usual afternoon activities of mending worn-out shirts, leading the children in their mathematics lessons, or writing her column solving everyone else’s problems.

Sophie’s exclamation jolted her from her thoughts.

“Mr. Knightly! What a coincidence!”

It’s really working
! It was Annabelle’s first thought.

Then, second:
She is not supposed to be here
. Her brain registered a woman on Knightly’s arm, and further cognitive function ground to a halt. Sneaky in Southwark hadn’t mentioned that she might interrupt Mr. Knightly with another women. More to the point, a beautiful, graceful, elegant lady who made Annabelle feel like the most provincial spinster auntie, even in her fetching new day dress.

“May I present Lady Lydia Marsden,” Knightly said, and the perfect woman on his arm inclined her head ever so slightly. “These are two of the infamous Writing Girls, The Duchess of Brandon and Miss Annabelle Swift.”

There was a flicker of recognition on Lady Lydia’s perfect features.

“My brother has been quite taken with you, Dear Annabelle. Did you enjoy the roses he sent?” Lady Lydia asked, much to Annabelle’s surprise. She glanced up at Knightly and saw him peering at her, intrigued.

Her pulse quickened with a feeling that could only be akin to triumph, for Knightly was now curious to know that she was desirable, for other gentlemen—marquises—had sent her roses.

She felt a surge of affection for Lady Lydia.

“Oh, they were absolutely beautiful,” Annabelle replied. “Although I am surprised your brother finds my column of interest. He must have so many greater concerns.”

“He likes to know everything, however great or small. Like a terrier with a rat, he is,” Lady Lydia said. “I myself don’t bother much with the newspapers these days. I abhor the gossip columns.”

Knightly grinned at Annabelle, and she smiled in return, knowing the same thought had crossed their minds:
Thank goodness Julianna isn’t here!

It was such a small thing, that knowing smile. But she of the overlooked sighs and unrequited longing was now sharing a private joke with Mr. Knightly during an encounter of her own orchestration.

A heady rush of pleasure stole over Annabelle, and it was as much Knightly’s smile as it was the sunshine warming her skin. Most of all it was that she had made this moment occur. Fate had nothing on her.

“It’s a lovely day for a walk, is it not?” Sophie said.

“Indeed,” Lady Lydia replied. “We were just returning from a walk in Hyde Park.”

Annabelle’s hopes started to fade.

“There are matters at the office I must attend to after I see Lady Lydia home,” Knightly added.

After politely wishing them a lovely afternoon, Sophie and Annabelle walked along in silence, until a safe distance had elapsed.

“Perhaps he is merely digging for gossip for Julianna,” Sophie said. “She is like a hound at a foxhunt when it comes to that particular rumor of Lady Lydia’s missing season.”

“Ah yes, the missing second season. What are they saying?” Annabelle asked. Her pleasure in the exchange was starting to fade as she watched Knightly and Lady Lydia stroll off together.

“There are only three reasons a woman would miss her season,” Sophie explained “A death in the family, which we know is not the case, or illness, or a baby.”

“What does it matter?” Annabelle asked.

“It probably doesn’t in the grand scheme of things. But everyone is desperate to know,” Sophie said. “The ton does love their gossip.”

“Do you think Knightly is courting her?” Annabelle asked, with a prayer the answer was no.

“It would appear to be so. Gentlemen generally do not escort marriageable misses for walks in the park if they are not considering something more,” Sophie explained. She didn’t need to add that it was doubly true for a man like Knightly, who did nothing that wouldn’t ultimately benefit himself, his paper, or his empire.

“You do know what this means, Annabelle. It seems you have competition and must try a more ambitious scheme.”

Chapter 11