Tragic accident or murder—or worse?
“It’s on everyone’s minds. The public will demand a thorough investigation. It’s impossible for me to ignore such a prominent scandal,” Helton said. “But Westcott here says you were chums in school—mentioned that you’d helped him out a time or two. So, I’m willing to hold off. If you can change the narrative, give me something even more interesting by…” He glanced over to the fireplace, where a large clock sat upon the mantel. “Midnight Tuesday, I’ll print this instead.”
He tossed out a second paper.
“Standish marries the Duke of Crossings’ daughter?” Reed asked. “But she was my cousin’s fiancée.” A bark of ironic laughter escaped. Even given an entire year, he doubted he could make the headline true.
As her fiancé’s cousin, Reed had been introduced to Lady Gardenia Hathaway and even attended the house party to celebrate her and Rupert’s betrothal. But it had been well known that he was there as a courtesy, and worked for his family as the estate manager. The duke’s beautiful daughter had been polite enough but otherwise dismissive.
In truth, she’d been raised to be a duchess. Her mother had, in fact, made it clear that she’d considered even Rupert, heir to an earl, to be beneath her daughter. If not for Reed’s uncle’s dealings with the Duke of Crossings, the betrothal would never have come about.
“But you are Standish now,” West pointed out.
Reed stared across the room at Helton, earl and publisher. “Couldn’t you simply water down the first version?”
“No.” Helton didn’t even think about it. “Not if I’m going to make this paper profitable. But if you provide me with something to distract them…” He shrugged.
Reed swallowed, imagining a noose being dropped around his neck.
In exchange for one story, Helton wanted another. And it would have to be marriage. An exclusive announcement of a mere engagement to Crossings’ daughter, while interesting, couldn’t replace the drama of the first headline.
The first story was by far more damning. Words such as suicide, arson, murder, and even treason were all mentioned. The article would erase any hope he had for securing his sisters’ futures. And if he did end up in Newgate, they’d be left to fend for themselves.
Newgate.
The word pinged around his brain and sweat snaked down his spine as he imagined walls closing in around him.
“You certainly are thorough.” He grimaced.
“Not me,” Helton said. “My reporters.”
Reed shifted his attention to the second headline and exhaled. “You’ll kill the first story if I convince Crossings’ daughter to marry me before you go to print Tuesday night.” Today was Sunday, and the day was already half over. So he’d have less than three days. The only way he saw himself succeeding in this demand was if he kidnapped the chit.
And that scenario had the potential to bring his standing even lower.
“It would hardly be worthy of the front page if you observed proper mourning first,” Helton spoke around the cheroot in his mouth.
Reed shifted his gaze to West and then around the room before allowing it to land on Helton. He couldn’t technically call this blackmail, but his arm might as well be twisting right out of the socket.
“Why?” Reed asked. “Why even give me a choice?”
Westcott’s grimace turned into a deep frown. “Back at school, you came to my aid more than once. I’d do more if I could. But the rumors need to be squashed. I wouldn’t have requested this meeting if it wasn’t dire.”
If the truth behind the fire were made public, his sisters could say goodbye to the possibility of landing proper husbands. Caroline, the eldest and most independent, would no doubt manage, but Melanie had always wanted a family, and Josephine had grown up with stars in her eyes. She was too young to have them extinguished.
And Reed… well, he wasn’t sure how long he could survive being locked up in Newgate.
Contemplating the aftermath of the fire objectively, even Reed comprehended how the circumstances were damning.
But they were just that—circumstances.
Westcott reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of parchment. “We’ve acquired a special license for you. Send word once you’ve secured her agreement and we’ll make arrangements for a ceremony at St. George’s on Tuesday evening—that way, I’ll send word to Helton before he puts the paper to bed.”
The location was simple enough—just across the square from Rutherford Place. But getting a bride there. That was a near impossibility.
Reed shook his head, imagining his cousin’s former fiancée—the diamond of the Season, in fact. With her perfect figure, golden hair, and crystal blue eyes, Lady Gardenia could have anyone she wanted. “She’ll never agree to it.” She had a reputation for being her father’s puppet, dancing to his tune, obeying the duke’s every command. “There has to be another way.”
“Nothing as newsworthy,” Helton said. “Crossings’ chit has been said to have the character of an angel. If she marries you, that’s as good of a declaration of your innocence as you can hope for.”
