Page 52 of Duchess Needed
When it came down to it, his affairs and his past was none of her business. She might have gotten too comfortable with the moments they had shared, but the truth of the matter was that theirs was a marriage of convenience and no matter what she thought, that was not going to change.
It was quite late into the night, and as a result, the house felt so silent, one might believe it was uninhabited. And because Phoebe had already guessed she would finish working late, she had also decided previously to see Mr. Lambert that same night and submit it.
Quietly, she put on a cloak, stuffed her work into the pocket she had sewed into it and stealthily made her way out of the house. She had made arrangements with the coachman to wait for her alittle away from the estate, so that she could sneak away from the house and meet him to drive her to town.
This made her trip more efficient and in nearly no time at all, she was at the newspaper publishing house.
“I shall only be gone a few minutes,” she told the coachman as she pulled her cloak closer around her body.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he nodded respectfully.
She was thankfully he had not asked any questions and glad that she could trust in his discretion.
There were less people up and about, compared to the day time, so Phoebe felt slightly more relaxed as she made her way through the familiar hallways. Mr. Lambert’s door was open and he was drinking from a large mug with a broken handle, which he set on his table as soon as she wandered in.
“Ah, Miss Danvers. It is rather late for you, is it not?” he queried in concern.
“Well, I finished these and I thought there was no time than the present, to deliver them. I was also concerned that might not be able to meet the deadline,” she told him sympathetically, as she handed him her work.
He took a moment as usual to assess them, smiling with satisfaction after looking through the pages.
“I wish yours was a skill that could be taught. My girls could learn a thing or two from you,” he sighed wistfully.
“I do believe that if they try their hand at anything and work hard, they could do exceedingly well,” she advised with a smile.
“I can only hope so. They are still young, thirteen and sixteen but all they want to do is whisper about boys with their mama. I wish they could understand that there is nothing special about those bastards. I should know – I was one of those brats,” he shook his head as he pulled open a drawer and counted some money. “Here is your payment for this job, and the last one as well. I included some extra, because out of all my staff, you are the only one who doesn’t give me an ounce of grief. For that, I will forever be grateful.”
Phoebe collected the money, blinking back tears of immense gratitude as she noticed the bills were slightly more than usual.
“I am immensely grateful as well, Mr. Lambert. Your kindness has saved my life, more than you would know. Thank you, sir.”
He waved a hand in the air, looking bashful. “Would you like me to ask one of the gents to escort you home?”
“Oh, no, sir. I will be just fine, do not worry,” she said quickly.
He made a face, as though he could not fathom being worried and she assured him she would be fine. Eventually, he relented and offered to walk her to the door of the establishment at least.
“You take care now. And go straight home,” he instructed, opening the door for her.
Phoebe laughed, “Am I also one of your daughters, Mr. Lambert?”
“Perhaps. Good night, Miss Danvers,” he huffed in a rough voice as she slipped out.
“Good night sir,” she smiled as she stepped into the night air and walked towards her carriage.
The money from a single job was good enough to get Anna a new dress, but with what she had earned from two jobs – plus the extra – she could get Anna a pair of shoes or two and perhaps the hair pin she had wanted for quite some time now.
Phoebe had been so distracted by the thought of surprising her sister with nice things that she did not notice the figure standing in front of her carriage until she felt a hand grab her by the wrist and pull her forward.
She opened her mouth to scream, but the words died in her throat as she got a good look of who was holding her.
“E-Edward?”
When Edward was younger, his aunt had been quite worried about him because after the death of his parents, he had adopted a strange method of regulating his emotions. He hardly grew upset, or angry, and it in fact seemed as though he took things too lightly – even though the results of his work always spoke differently about his dealings.
Still, she fussed and fussed over him, trying her best to encourage him to be more expressive, because she feared he had grown up too fast and as a result had not learned how to properly handle his feelings. Edward never thought he was in any danger of being consumed by any of his feelings. To him, it was an unlikely occurrence, and there were not a lot of things that could upset him when he had worked to remain detached from people and things.
Tonight, however, proved him wrong. Very wrong.
