Lady Caroline wiggled her shoulders in answer—delicate shoulders. She wore a prettier gown this morning, one that didn’t button up to her chin and was made up of a blue muslin that nearly matched her eyes.
After the recital last night, Maxwell had stopped into the Emporium. It was something he did a few times a week, just in case Malum had any tips to share or new information regarding the illegal tea trade they thwarted whenever possible.
After going over a possible developing situation with the duke and discussing their next step, Max had returned to the newspaper offices much later.
He’d returned too late.
New mistakes ran through every page and all but one stack had already been delivered to posting stations for the mail coaches to collect, the City Division Post Office on Lombard, or the Westminster division over on Gerrard Street.
Another banner day for the Gazette.
“Why should I trust you?” He didn’t disagree, but he wanted to hear her reasoning. He’d discussed the mistakes with his colleagues and also with Wallace. They depended on the Gazette for their livelihoods, so of course they should want to see it succeed, but ultimately it was Maxwell’s responsibility to maintain the paper’s reputation and keep things running smoothly.
This managing young woman, however, seemed more invested than his own managing editor. But why? Oddly enough, although he shouldn’t, he already trusted her.
“I am an outsider,” she announced. She didn’t even have to think to come up with an answer. “All those mistakes,” she added, “Happened when I had nothing to do with the Gazette.”
Maxwell stared at the delicate handwriting on the pages before him. Not only did she have a flair for writing, but she was also right about the mistakes. Would his other reporters even take her seriously?
“I’ll be attending the fundraiser at the foundling hospital on Wapping Street this afternoon.” She broke into his thoughts. “I’ll bring that story by later.”
“I don’t expect you to be here at night.” Nor should she plan on it. She was the sister of an earl and needed to behave as such—even if that earl had come across his title under questionable circumstances.
“I don’t have anywhere else to be.” She spoke softly and Maxwell remembered how the guests at the Darlingtons’ ball had left her standing all alone and how she’d been given the cut direct by several at the musicale last night. She had tripped and fallen at her own come-out, but that was not the only reason society hadn’t made her feel welcome. No, it would always come back to that fire and people’s suspicions about her brother’s part in the events leading to his becoming Standish.
“I suppose you can help proof the galleys, if you’d like.” Only because he felt sorry for her.
Her eyes widened. “I would.” She began gathering her belongings—her copy of the paper, her stories, and a small pencil. “The fundraiser shouldn’t last long, and I can write about it here.”
Watching her hands—graceful and thin, but efficient—Maxwell was reminded that although she was his employee, she was also a lady. He could give her a hand as she stood. He could open and close the door for her.
Because despite knowing better, the world knew him as a gentleman. “If you come tonight,” he said, “Find me before you leave.” He’d see that she made it home safely—not out of duty but because he was a damn decent human being.
It wasn’t safe for women to be gallivanting around London at night on their own. Not even women as fiercely independent as this one.
He’d left his seat behind his desk and stood beside her, offering his hand.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I don’t want to be treated differently than your other employees.”
But it was too late for that. He would never have attended a musicale to check on any of his other reporters. And if he’d had a choice, he would have insisted his society writer had more experience.
Considering these facts, Maxwell had to remind himself why in the hell he’d hired her.
She had shown herself to have a good eye. And although he hadn’t been looking to hire a society writer, he probably ought to have been. In the past, he’d depended on tipsters who’d sell the latest gossip and then have one of his reporters organize it into a coherent article.
Those stories had been written in a lackluster manner. They had lacked Lady Caroline’s flair.
She was not only intelligent, though. She was also a lady—who was not unattractive.
In an office filled with nothing but men.
Which meant Maxwell was going to have to treat her differently, as were his employees.
She was going to need protection.
Fergus and Crenshaw were both nearing their sixties, so he wouldn’t worry about them, and he was fairly certain two of his compositors lived together—as a couple. The other men, though…
Yes. She was going to need protection.
