Page 27 of The Trouble with True Love

“My leverage,” he went on, ignoring her question, “would vanish if I were to accept this offer. If I took on the job of being Lady Truelove, I could hardly start revealing to our acquaintance that you are she.”

“Yes,” she agreed, sounding quite pleased by the prospect. “Exactly.”

“So that is your true intent in offering me this position? Buying my silence? What makes you think I would agree?”

“Because it’s a winning arrangement for both of us. I am prepared to pay you a generous salary, and your perpetual lack of money is well-known. You will be obliged to keep my secret, as you have already appreciated, and I can stop writing an advice column I am obviously ill-equipped to compose—”

“Why obviously?” he cut in, diverted for the moment. This was the second time she’d disparaged her abilities as the famous columnist, and he couldn’t help wondering why. “You’re quite good at the job, from what I hear. The column is wildly popular.”

She squirmed a little in her chair, making him even more curious. “Why would you disparage yourself in this way?” he asked. “Surely your success speaks for it—”

“I’m far too busy nowadays to write it properly,” she said, cutting him off. “Now that the season has begun, I wish to move more in society, and with all the other duties of the newspaper that require my attention while my sister is away, I wish to hand off the task of writing Lady Truelove to someone else.”

“Perhaps that’s true,” he conceded, “but that’s not what you first said. You said, ‘I’m no good at it.’”

“You were right,” she muttered, rubbing four fingers over her forehead. “You are a good listener.”

He didn’t reply. He simply waited, and since he knew or had guessed most of the facts already, she capitulated with a sigh. “My sister used to write it. She prepared enough columns to cover the time she originally anticipated she’d be away, but then, she and Torquil decided to extend their honeymoon, and she cabled me, asking that I take it over until she returns.”

“In addition to managing the paper? That’s a lot to ask.”

“Since my mother died, my sister has always protected and cared for me. In return, I am happy to do whatever I can for her at any opportunity. But when it comes to Lady Truelove—” She broke off, lifting her hands in a hopeless gesture, then letting them fall to her desk. “I am utterly lost. Offering advice to the lovelorn,” she added with a little laugh, “is hardly my forte.”

He studied her face for a moment, noting its lack of conventional prettiness. No rosebud mouth here, no Grecian nose, no delicately-arched eyebrows. But it was an agreeable face for all that, with its own unique charm, though he doubted the young chaps gadding about town ever halted their gazes on her long enough to see it. She wasn’t, as he knew from his first cursory glance at her, the sort to draw masculine attention. “I see,” he said gently. “And how does your father feel about having someone else assume Lady Truelove’s mantle?”

“My father?” She stiffened, frowning, looking suddenly prickly. “What does he have to do with it?”

“He is the publisher, is he not? He is the owner?”

“Actually, no. He was, but his health has put paid to any involvement in the running of theWeekly Gazette. My sister now owns the paper, along with my brother, Jonathan. He was supposed to come back from America and take over, but circumstances forbade, and as a result, I have been obliged to assume the position of publisher until my sister returns. So, you see, it is within my purview to offer you this position. And with all my social obligations, I would be quite relieved to delegate Lady Truelove to someone else. This would also work to your advantage, since as I said, I’m prepared to pay generously. Say... one hundred pounds per column?”

The amount rather surprised him. A hundred pounds a week totaled more than his quarterly allowance from the estate—when his father was of a mind to pay it—and it was nearly double what Petunia was so generously providing him while he and his father were on the outs. He didn’t know anything about how writers of newspaper piffle were compensated, of course, but it seemed a rather high sum. It was also an indication of how desperate she was to keep her secret safe.

Rex, however, had no desire to be an advice columnist, nor did circumstances require him to do so. “That is quite generous,” he agreed, “but whatever the salary, it’s hardly an incentive for me, since despite my irresponsible spending habits, I don’t need the money. My aunt has been kind enough to provide me an income.”

“Yes, well, about that...” She paused, giving a cough, and the uneasiness inside Rex stirred again. “It’s clear that what you said the other night was true,” she went on, reaching for the newspaper on top of the stack at one corner of her desk. “You really don’t read the papers, do you?”

Rex frowned at this seeming change of subject. “What does my lack of interest in newspapers have to do with anything?”

Instead of replying, she opened the paper in her hand and began flipping through the pages to locate one page in particular. When she found it, she folded the sheet back, turned the paper around, and held it out to him. “You might want to reconsider your aversion to the daily news.”

Taking the paper from her outstretched hand, he looked down, his gaze honing at once on the prominent headline at the top of the page.

LORD GALBRAITH CUT OFF BY SECOND EXASPERATED RELATIVE!

He read it three times, and yet, the words were slow to sink in. And the words after it, as he skimmed through them, seemed little more than a jumble of journalistic insinuations about his spendthrift ways, an accurate reference to his unfavorable opinion of marriage, and a tiresome account of his parents’ miserable lives. Following it, however, was an unvarnished denunciation of him by his aunt, due to his “wild recent behavior and unrestrained manner of living,” and a declaration from her that until he married, settled down, and became a responsible fellow and a credit to his family name, he would not be receiving another penny from her. In addition, she refused to be responsible for any of his debts, past, present, or future.

Oh, Auntie Pet, he thought in dismay,what have you done?

Even as he asked himself that question, he remembered his aunt’s visit this morning and his butler’s words about it.

She has expressed the wish to discuss with you the matter of your recent conduct.

Why, he wondered with a grimace, was hindsight always so damnably clear? He ought to have seen Auntie this morning instead of putting her off. His decision not to receive her had obviously miffed her enough to warrant this declaration to the evening papers. He ought to have endured the inevitable lecture, made his abject apologies, declared that honor prevented him from offering explanations, and assumed full responsibility for the entire disgraceful evening. That might have mollified her and prevented her from taking such drastic and public action.

Although, he reflected, his gaze scanning the article again, any expression of penitence and desire to atone on his part might not have changed a thing. The report here made it plain that Auntie was not above using his conduct at the ball as an excuse to bring him to heel about matrimony, and anything he might have said this morning might well have fallen on deaf ears anyway.

Whether he could have averted this disaster by seeing his aunt earlier today might be open to question, but when Rex looked up from the newspaper in his hand to the girl sitting opposite, he knew one thing.

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