Page 7 of Season of the Scoundrel
“Ivy is…” Edgerton hesitated.
Ross arched a brow, intrigued.
“Driven,” Edgerton finally said. “More so than any lady I’ve ever known, except perhaps my grandmother. She wants to make a difference with her writing, particularly in regard to society’s ills.”
“Well, I applaud such an urge. If you’re requesting that I consider her portfolio, you are welcome to send her my way. I can be found inThe Sentineloffices most mornings by nine.”
“Thank you.” Edgerton looked as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and finally settled back against the chair’s cushions. “Would your staff be willing to show her the various aspects of running such an enterprise?”
“Does she have managerial aspirations?”
Edgerton frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “My wife came to me this evening and explained that Ivy would like to start her own newspaper one day. She has asked me to considering handing over her dowry so she may do so.”
“Driven indeed.” Ross grinned. He admired tenacity.
The club’s staff came around with drinks for both of them. Ross sipped his whiskey as he pondered the boldness of Edgerton’s sister-in-law. He had one married sister, and his fourteen-year-old sister, Eloise, was willful, but he couldn’t imagine her demanding her dowry at the age of twenty.
“Has she renounced marriage entirely then?” Ross wondered if the Duchess of Edgerton was as bold as her sister. If so, the man had his hands full.
Edgerton shrugged. “She finds the prospect of employment in the city much more appealing, but as she’s but twenty years of age, I would like her to learn a bit about the responsibilities and risks of running a newspaper before she attempts to undertake such a venture. My wife and I agree that curbing her impulsive nature is unlikely, but we must try.”
Ross lifted his glass out toward his friend. “I promise to explain the risks and burdens of owning a newspaper in the most solemn terms.”
Edgerton leaned forward and clinked his glass with Ross’s. “Thank you, Blackbourne.”
“You do realize you’re asking me to educate a future competitor.”
Edgerton laughed. “Up until a few years ago, she aspired to become a private inquiry agent. So perhaps she will find a passion for some new pursuit before she comes of age. But even if she does establish a rival newspaper, you’re a man who welcomes a challenge, are you not?”
“I am indeed.” Ross wasn’t averse to competition, and he quite liked the idea of proving useful to anyone hoping to succeed in a new business endeavor.
The only question was whether Miss Bridewell wished to learn. She sounded less than biddable.
But, as Edgerton said, he did relish a challenge.
CHAPTER 3
Ivy had sent a letter of thanks and a refusal of Mr. Smythe’s offer the previous afternoon, so she could hardly believe she was back on Fleet Street again.
Yet today she wasn’t thinking of all the journalists busy at work in offices nearby. A tall, dark-haired stranger who’d wrapped an arm around her middle insisted on consuming her thoughts. Irritatingly, he’d lingered in her mind the previous evening too. He’d possessed the most extraordinary eyes—not pale blue, not a bright robin’s egg, but a deep indigo. When he looked at her, she’d felt noticed in a way a no wallflower was used to.
Of course, she had caused a bit of a scene. But what else was she to do? Watch a man batter a helpless child?
She’d told her sister Lily much of what had occurred, leaving out the bit about momentarily leaning against the warm, hard wall of a strange man’s body. And Lily, bless her, had thought it best not to share the story with Griffin at all.
Griffin—Ivy’s brother-in-law and guardian until she came of age—had not been enthusiastic about the notion of giving her the funds from her dowry to start her own newspaper. Though he hadn’t refused entirely. He’d agreed to consider the matteragain next year, but he’d also suggested a compromise in the meantime. If she would wait until next year, he would introduce her to someone who could educate her about the ins and outs of running a newspaper.
Apparently, one of his cronies in the House of Lords, the Duke of Blackbourne, had recently acquired a London daily, and Griffin had convinced the man to allow her a brief apprenticeship of sorts.
As she strode down Fleet Street on her way to meet Blackbourne, she looked about for the girl or the handsome stranger from the previous day, but she saw neither.
She’d brought her folio with her again today, though she now felt an odd trepidation at the prospect of another person reviewing her work. Mr. Smythe’s reaction to her piece about the insurance scam and the strange nexus of crimes she had found centering around a particular noblemen made her wonder if her work was too unpalatable for any editor to publish.
But, of course, the nobleman she was meeting with today was not necessarily considering her for employment. Blackbourne had only recently come into the newspaper business himself with the acquisition ofThe London Sentinel, so she suspected he was learning the ins and outs of the enterprise too. But Griffin assured her that the duke had maintained the daily’s long-term staff, and she was certain they could instruct her in the myriad skills needed to successfully run a newspaper.
She had heard a bit about the Duke of Blackbourne. He was well-known for his business acumen.
And based on the bit of research she’d been able to do the previous night, while sifting through her piles of old newspapers, Blackbourne was wealthy, respected, and known for supporting bills she would have championed in the House of Lords—if women were ever able to sit in that vaunted chamber.
