Page 52 of The Rogue’s Countess

The dressmaker paid well, but Phoebe had to live, which left little for savings every month. The Chronicles had changed that. Writing the Currer Chronicles had been her chance to escape London sooner than she’d ever dared hope. Every pound of her extra income went straight into the bank.

Determined to purchase a small cottage in the country, she’d vowed not to touch her savings, no matter how cold or hungry she was. And there had been times when she’d gone without heat or coin to buy a loaf of bread and some cheese. Phoebe had been very close to her goal when Lady Wrotham had convinced her to come to Chelmsford House.

The Currer Chronicles was meant to poke fun at the ridiculous, obnoxious, and often superficial behavior of the Marlborough Set. She’d not even allowed the Prince of Wales to escape her pen, but she’d dealt kindly with Bertie. She’d even heard that he’d had a good laugh at her gentle satire of him.

But not once had she ever singled out a member of the Set as she had Gideon in the installment she’d turned in the other day. Her anger had gotten the best of her, and she’d done more than just poked fun of Gideon. She’d specifically made him the focus of the chapter. Phoebe could only pray that Mr. Meade had not sent the latest installment to press.

As the cab came to a halt in front of the London Times building, Phoebe ensured her veil was secure, so her face remained hidden. She’d done everything possible to keep her identity as P. Currer a secret. Not even Mr. Meade had seen her without a veil obscuring her features. Quickly paying the driver, Phoebe hurried into the newspaper’s business offices and through the corridors to the editor’s office.

Normally, Meade’s door was closed, and she had to wait to be admitted to the man’s office. Today it was open, and as she stepped through the doorway, Phoebe was relieved to see the short, stout man behind his desk. The afternoon sun shining through the window made his bald scalp shine.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Meade.” At her quiet greeting, the editor lifted his head, and a broad smile curved his mouth.

“Miss Currer, what a delightful pleasure. What brings you to the office today?” Beaming at her, the man gestured at the chair in front of his desk. Eager to do what was needed, Phoebe shook her head slightly as she rejected the man’s invitation.

“No, thank you, I’m only here for a brief moment,” she said breathlessly as she remembered her mission. “I have a new chapter that I have written to replace the one I delivered the other day.”

“A new chapter?” Meade arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Whatever for? The one you submitted is the best installment to date.”

“It is a matter of utmost importance. It was imperative that I rewrite the installment to avoid injuring an innocent party. I must have the chapter switched out.” At her fervent plea, regret settled on the editor’s features.”

“I’m sorry to say, Miss Currer, but the chapter has already gone to the typesetter. It will go into tomorrow morning’s edition.”

A wave of nausea rolled over her. Dear God, Gideon would never forgive her if he learned she was P. Currer. Swaying on her feet, Phoebe stumbled forward to sink down into the chair the editor had encouraged her to sit in previously. Concern on his face, Meade quickly circled his desk and bent over her.

“My dear Miss Currer, are you all right? Is there something I can get you?”

“No, thank you. The only thing that could help me now is a miracle,” Phoebe choked out as she fought back tears of horror and regret.

“Are you certain this innocent party you mention would be so offended by the chapter?” Mr. Meade asked in a puzzled tone. “While the installment took particular aim at Lord Chelmbee, the other characters in the story were mocked as well. I cannot imagine anyone finding it insulting, and it was exceedingly amusing.”

The curiosity in the man’s voice made Phoebe tremble. She knew the editor had always wondered who she really was. Phoebe had refused to identify herself, stating it was the best for all concerned. Now she was grateful that she had been so adamant in refusing to tell the editor who she was.

It was more than possible the editor would realize who she was when it became known she had married Gideon. Her mouth dry with fear at the hell she was certain to descend into, Phoebe shook her head in a quick, sharp movement as her nausea intensified.

I cannot begin to explain how terrible it would be if this individual discovered who P. Currer is,” she whispered as she struggled to fight back her tears of pain and remorse. “The damage…it would be…I cannot begin to describe how terrible it would be for all concerned.”

She bent her head as she struggled with the reality of what her anger and pen had done. There’s was only one thing that would prevent a catastrophe. The poisonous chapter would never be printed. Over the top of her head, Mr. Meade uttered a noise of concern, and he squeezed her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

“You’re obviously deeply distressed by this matter, and as it’s of such great importance to you, let me see if I can prevent the chapter’s publication. I assume you have a different installment for me?”

Hope swept through Phoebe as she nodded and pulled the second chapter she’d written from her purse. The editor gently patted her on the shoulder in a reassuring manner.

“I’ll return as soon as I can.”

The man hurried from the room, and Phoebe shuddered as she contemplated what she would do if Mr. Meade failed to stop the publication of the damaging chapter. She would never forgive herself. Not only that, but how could she still marry Gideon? The thought of confessing she was P. Currer was almost as terrifying as him discovering the truth on his own.

This morning he’d given her reassurances that their marriage would give her a great deal of freedom. But he’d also stated his wishes when it came to sharing her bed. Hiding her identity from him had taken its toll on her already. Now it would be almost impossible to continue writing the serial without his discovering the truth.

Gideon would have access to her rooms at any time, which made writing further installments of the Chronicles even more dangerous for her. Phoebe closed her eyes and prayed fervently that the editor would return with news that he’d been able to change out the chapter. Although she wanted desperately to pace the floor to try and calm her fears, Phoebe remained where she was, terrified she would faint if she stood up. After what seemed like an eternity, the editor walked back into his office. Seeing the papers in his hand, Phoebe’s heart sank as the man moved toward her.

“Success, my dear Miss Currer. I was able to change out the chapters. The new installment will run in tomorrow morning’s edition, not this one,” he said with satisfaction as he waved the offensive chapter in the air.

At the man’s triumphant words, relief washed over Phoebe with the strength of a tidal wave. With a sob, she buried her face in her palms and as tears of relief streamed down her cheeks. Immediately, the editor was at her side.

“Did you not understand me, Miss Currer? Your new chapter has replaced the original installment.”

The man sounded uncomfortable at the manner in which Phoebe was sobbing, and he tentatively patted her shoulder. The action emphasized his uncertainty as to how to address her crying.