Page 142

“And you are with ... ?”

“The London Gazette.”

With that information, Verity turned back to Mitchell Fairpoint. “As I see it, Miss Daubin ofThe London Gazettehas every right to be here.” She paused. “In fact, I’d argue, given her work with that respected newspaper, she has even more right to be here, Mr. Fairpoint, than you do.”

He sputtered, “That is preposterous!The Londonerhas a longer history, one that affords me a greater respect than some inkwell filler sent here by her employers.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong.”

He tipped his head.

Verity took a step closer. “You see, that seat”—she pointed to the source of the earlier contention—“is not your seat. And the paper you reference?” She paused. “It is not your paper.”

“What are you on about?”

With glee, Verity leaned in. “I mean, my husband and I purchasedThe Londonerfrom Lowery.”

Fairpoint stared at her a moment, and then exploded laughing. “Lowery wouldn’t ever sell to you. He knows women don’t belong in this business.”

Verity waited until his amusement abated. “Lowery never truly cared about this business, Fairpoint. He only cared about the coin to be made in it.” As she spoke, she took relish in the way the color slowly seeped from his cheeks. “And so even his archaic views on a woman’s role fell second to his greed.”

“What are you saying?”

Reaching inside the pocket sewn along the front of her dress, Verity extracted the page that was never far from her person and handed it over. “I suggest you have a read, Fairpoint.”

He grabbed the sheet from her fingers, and as he read, color flooded his cheeks and the page shook in his hand. “What is this?” he demanded, turning the document over, back and forth, several times, as if doing so would somehow miraculously alter the words written there.

Verity folded her arms at her waist. “My husband paid a sizable sum with the stipulation that the transaction remain secret until I was ready to claim ownership.” She smiled coldly. “And I’ve never been more ready. Therefore, Miss Daubin’s seat”—Verity gestured to the wide-eyed young woman—“belongs to her. AndThe Londoner?The Londoneris mine, and you’ve no place here.”

Mitchell Fairpoint’s cheeks drained of all color. “This is ... I don’t ... You can’t ... He wouldn’t ...”

“Ah, words fail you again,” she taunted. “Only, now there’s no one to rob for a proper response, is there?”

His reed-thin frame shook violently.

All these weeks, since she’d learned of the gift Malcom had given her and bided her time for the right moment, she’d wondered what it would be like. Nothing could have prepared her for the thrill of triumph. This revenge taken on behalf of every woman he’d robbed of a place atThe Londoner. For the story he’d stolen from her. For the misery he’d made her existence. “Now, my husband is set to speak, and you are neither wanted nor allowed to be here. I suggest you go of your own volition, Fairpoint, or I’ll have you thrown out on your thieving arse.”

And with the row of reporters staring in wide-eyed wonderment, Fairpoint scrabbled with his collar, and then turning jerkily on his heel, he scurried off.

“That was well done, my lady,” Miss Daubin said softly.

“That was long overdue.” Fishing inside her pocket once more, Verity withdrew a card. “Your refusing to relinquish your place was impressive as well, Miss Daubin. If you are ever in need of work, please seek me out.”

Scrambling to take the card, the young woman strung together a series of incoherent thank-yous.

Her shoulders back, Verity started to the front of the auditorium. She made the long march past the rows of lords and ladies present: most strangers ... some not. Her gaze found her half siblings. The twin sisters sat beside their husbands, and at the end sat the bespectacled Benedict. He caught her stare, and tipped his head in acknowledgment. A watery smile formed on her lips as she returned that silent greeting.

She reached the front row, and Bram and Fowler immediately jumped up.

“Do we need to kill ’im?” Bram asked without preamble.

“Because we’ll do it,” Fowler jumped in.

Still seated, Livvie rolled her eyes.

“Behave,” Verity warned her sister before looking once more to the old men. Going up on tiptoe, she kissed each tosher on the cheek. “I’ve handled it.”

“Told ya she would,” Billy chimed in with a victorious grin as they resettled into their seats ... and waited.