Lady Amelia's Scandalous Secret
Autor
Eva Shepherd
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21
Chapter One
Amelia was determined to maintain her professional façade, but deep down she knew her quest was hopeless. How was she ever expected to succeed when the odds were all stacked against her?
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear,’ the bank manager said with a sanctimonious smile, as if he had not just taken a pin, thrust it deep into her dreams and left them deflated. ‘But you must know it is most irregular to grant a loan to a woman.’
Amelia was tempted to point out that Queen Victoria was a woman. Did that mean the bank would not lend to her? But she suspected such cheek would not be appreciated and would get her no closer to achieving her goal.
‘I’m sure if you asked your father, he would give you the money to pursue your little hobby.’ The bank manager quickly looked her up and down. ‘Or perhaps you could use some of the money that you spend on those pretty dresses,’ he waved his hand in a circle in front of her face, ‘and hats and other whatnots.’
If it was that simple, did he not think that she would have come up with such a solution herself? But, while her father was more than happy to pay for endless pretty gowns, hats and those so-called whatnots, just like the bank manager, her father would neither finance nor lend her the money for anything else, and especially not so his daughter could continue to publish a monthly magazine aimed at educated gentlewomen.
If she was foolish enough to tell him what she was doing, her father would be outraged. Such an enterprise would be deemed an absurd pursuit for a young lady, one who should be focusing all of her energy on finding a suitable husband before it was too late. But unlike the bank manager, her father would not dismiss it as a little hobby. Nor would he see anything amusing in such behaviour. He had made his feelings very clear, on more occasions than Amelia could remember, regarding what he thought of educated women. Even those two words caused his lips to turn down, his nose to rise in the air and his body to shudder as if a woman with an education was an abomination against nature.
That was one of the reasons she was so determined to make the magazine succeed. Even if her father never knew, she would prove him wrong. Prove that women could be successful. That they could be interested in more than just fripperies. That finding a husband did not have to be their only goal in life.
While her father had no faith in her—or any woman, for that matter—her lovely aunt had extended her the original loan to start her magazine, The Ladies’ Enquirer. She had insisted that Amelia use the small nest egg she had managed to squirrel away over the years and put it towards achieving her cherished dream. Amelia had been reluctant to take the money, but Aunt Beryl had insisted, saying it would be what Amelia’s mother would have wanted. Now she wished she had been firmer in her opposition. She should never have risked her aunt’s savings.
The magazine had been going for less than a year, and already it was running into financial problems. It was not as if it required much money to stay afloat. Amelia worked for free. The office she used was poky, run-down, and it would be a compliment to say it was in a rather unfashionable part of town, and many of the contributors did not expect payment. They were women beavering away in academic pursuits or fighting hard to change social injustices. Seeing their work in print was reward enough, and that was something her magazine provided. She had promised those women that The Ladies’ Enquirer would provide them a channel through which their voices could be heard, and she would not let them down.
But she could not do that without money for printing and distribution, and to pay for the services of her one employee who filled the roles of secretary, accountant, salesman, office manager and anything and everything else that needed doing. And, oh, it would be so lovely if they could actually expand. Something that looked impossible unless she could convince this man to actually have faith in a woman’s ability.
She sat up straighter in the chair, determined not to let her father or this bank manager thwart her plans. Too much was riding on her succeeding. She was loath to have her aspirations destroyed so quickly, but more than that, what she most certainly could not do was let down Aunt Beryl.
‘As you will see in the ledgers,’ she said, pointing to the account book open on his desk, ‘The Ladies’ Enquirer is a relatively new publication, but the subscription numbers have continued to grow every month since we were first launched, and with additional investment and a bit more time I am confident—’
‘Yes, my dear, but growth from nothing to slightly more than nothing is hardly growth at all. And as for the advertising revenue...’ His finger ran along the columns of figures. ‘Well, that’s all but non-existent.’
His condescending smile became paternalistic. ‘Sales are not growing, are they? You need to be able to prove that The Ladies’ Enquirer is a viable proposition before the bank will consider lending its money, and these sales figures do not show that. You have to get your numbers up. It’s as simple as that.’
If increasing sales was simple, do you think I would not be doing that? Amelia wanted to say. Instead she smiled as the manager continued to lecture.
‘I’m afraid you’ve entered into a very competitive market. Magazines, journals and newspapers are opening and closing every day.’ He looked down at the copies of The Ladies’ Enquirer she had brought with her, picked one up from his desk and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. ‘“A magazine for women with enquiring minds”,’ he read off the masthead, frowned and looked at Amelia over the top of his spectacles. ‘A rather small market, I would have thought.’
Amelia quashed her anger at his insulting attitude and continued smiling politely. It was the only publication of its sort on the market and that was exactly why she had begun publishing it. The Ladies’ Enquirer was the magazine she wanted to read and she was certain there were many other women out there just like her, if only she could reach them. ‘As I said, the numbers are growing and I’m positive—’
‘But not fast enough.’ He slammed shut the thick black account book and placed the folded copies of The Ladies’ Enquirer on top.
‘If you can’t show me that sales are improving, then there is, of course, another option,’ he said as he handed the pile back to Amelia.
‘Oh, yes?’ Amelia sat forward in her chair, hoping against hope that he was going to suggest something that was actually useful.
‘You could ask your father to act as your guarantor. The bank would not hesitate to do business with the Earl of Kingsland.’
‘Thank you. Yes, what a good idea,’ she said, still with that false smile. ‘But would you be so kind as to agree to the loan now, then I will discuss it with my father tonight?’ Amelia hoped this didn’t constitute fraud. Her father knew nothing of her enterprise, and she intended to keep it that way. Not so much for herself as for Aunt Beryl. Her aunt had already had to bear the brunt of Amelia’s father’s wrath for allowing her to acquire an education. If he discovered that she had provided the initial funding for the magazine, Amelia hated to think what he might do.
‘Yes, do that, Lady Amelia. Speak to your father. My office is always open to the Earl. When the two of you return and when he agrees to act as guarantor, then I think you’ll find the bank will offer you very favourable terms on your loan. Very favourable indeed.’
In other words, the bank would lend to her father, who did not need the money, but not to Amelia, who desperately did.
She took the account book and magazines from his outstretched hands.
‘Good afternoon, my lady, and I look forward to doing business with you and your father, or extending you a loan if and when you can show me that this magazine of yours is worthy of the bank’s investment.’
Amelia forced herself to continue smiling as she said goodbye and walked out of the office. She maintained her professional demeanour as she passed through the bank, where male bank tellers working behind grilles were serving their male customers, but the moment she was out of the office and back on the bustling London streets her shoulders slumped and she released a loud, despondent sigh.
Somehow, she was going to have to find the money to keep The Ladies’ Enquirer going. If she was a man, Amelia knew there would be no problem. The bank would have extended her a loan. Her father would have little objection to backing her. She would have an allowance from the family fortune, and friends in the same position who could act as investors.
Instead, she had no money of her own. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Beryl’s small contribution, she would never have been able to start her magazine in the first place.
Perhaps the bank manager was right and she was foolish to have embarked on such a venture. But she had embarked on this venture. She had borrowed all the money Aunt Beryl had in the world. She had made promises to all those women who gave their time to write for the magazine. She had to make this work. Standing up straighter and marching down the street with a confidence she was determined to feel, she recited to herself that she would not, could not fail, and she would do everything within her power to ensure that The Ladies’ Enquirer was a roaring success.
Her next engagement was to be a much more enjoyable one than the appointment with the bank manager, and hopefully would push all thoughts of failure out of her head. Several hansom cabs clattered past on the cobbled streets, the drivers looking hopefully in her direction, but she was still full of angry energy and needed to walk it off. By the time she arrived at the Mayfair townhouse of her friend Lady Emily Beaumont, she was starting to relax and was looking forward to spending a pleasant time with her three closest friends.
Miss Georgina Hayward and Miss Irene Fairfax had already arrived and were laughing and chatting together when the footman showed her into the drawing room. All three turned in her direction.
‘How did it go?’
‘What did he say?’
‘Did you get the loan?’
The questions came at her so fast she was unsure who had asked what, but the answer was generally the same for all. ‘It went badly. He said no. I didn’t get the loan.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘So unfair.’
‘Appalling. I wager you would have secured the loan if you were a man.’
Amelia could only agree with all three statements. She took a cup of tea from the footman, and helped herself to a slice of Battenberg cake, hoping the sweet pink-and-yellow confection would cheer her up.
‘Never mind. I’ll think of something,’ she said with as much determination as she could muster. ‘The Ladies’ Enquirer is not dead yet.’ She smiled at her friends. She would not let her mood ruin theirs. ‘So, what have I missed out on? What other gossip have you to share?’
All three rushed to tell of their latest adventures and they were all soon talking animatedly and laughing loudly, behaviour which they knew would be frowned on by many in society and considered gauche for young ladies. Something about which they cared not one jot.
Her friends had seen her through many despondent days. They had met at Halliwell’s Finishing School for Refined Young Ladies, which Emily had dubbed Hell’s Final Sentence for Rebellious Young Ladies. The four young women had all been sent there to finish them off. In other words, change their natures so they would conform to what society deemed correct for a female of their class.
In Amelia’s case, she had been sentenced to Halliwell’s for the crime of being far too educated. Her father, who took little to no interest in his daughter, had been horrified to return home unexpectedly one day to find Amelia sitting in the study with her brothers’ tutor going over a list of Latin verbs. Once again, her brothers had abandoned their lessons and were out playing somewhere. And once again, the tutor, with nothing else to occupy his time, could see nothing wrong with teaching the Earl’s daughter, especially as she was the only member of the household eager to learn.
Her father had not been angry with his sons—saying ‘boys will be boys’—and he had agreed with them when they’d said, ‘Who needs Latin verbs anyway?’ But he was furious with his daughter. No man wanted an educated wife, he had bellowed. ‘It’s unnatural. You’re a disgrace to me, to the name of Lambourne, to your ancestors.’
Poor Aunt Beryl, the woman who had raised Amelia since her mother died, had been blamed. Amelia had argued long and hard, trying to convince her father that her lovely aunt knew nothing about her secret studying. She had promised he would never again find her doing something so shameful, but that hadn’t stopped him from sending her away to a finishing school where she would learn the feminine arts of embroidery, water-colour painting, deportment and how to converse with prospective beaus, which as far as Amelia could see consisted of smiling a lot, agreeing with men and laughing at their jokes.
If not for Emily, Georgina and Irene being sentenced to the same school for equally outrageous crimes, Amelia doubted she would have survived the tedium. They had remained friends after they were released from school, supporting each other through the good and bad times, and today was no different. Irene shared her good news, that she had been accepted by an art school. Lady Emily discussed her plans for a children’s hospital she was hoping to establish in the East End of London, and Georgina regaled them with a funny tale in which she evaded the attentions of yet another amorous young man who had fallen hopelessly in love with her enormous dowry.
By the time afternoon tea was over, Amelia had almost forgotten about her terrible day. Almost.
But any good cheer she felt was destroyed when she arrived home and found her father waiting for her in the hallway of their Belgrave townhouse. And he did not look happy. She braced herself, hoping and praying the bank manager had not contacted him. Weren’t they bound by some sort of privacy agreement, or did that only apply to their male clients?
‘Where on earth have you been?’ he asked before she had even handed her hat and coat to the maid.
She released a held breath. He didn’t know. Thank goodness for small mercies. ‘I’ve been having afternoon tea with—’
‘Yes, yes, yes. All right. We’re running late. We’re expected at Leo Devenish’s for dinner this evening.’
This was the first time she had heard of such an invitation, but Mr Devenish was known for sending out invitations on the day of his dinner parties. It was highly irregular, and everyone knew it was yet another way of him expressing his power. No one invited would turn down such a summons.
She had met Leo Devenish on several occasions and he was everything she despised. Arrogant, superior and far too handsome for his own good. He had an appalling reputation, not just as a ladies’ man, but as a ruthless businessman as well. Amelia doubted he ever had to go cap in hand to a bank manager. They probably fell over themselves trying to throw money in his direction. And to make things worse, he had recently moved from acquiring railways and industries to purchasing newspapers, and had a portfolio that included many of the leading publications in the country.
The last thing she felt like doing was spending time in the company of a man who saw newspapers and magazines as a commodity to acquire in his pursuit for greater wealth and power. Especially on a day such as this.
‘Come along, make haste,’ her father said, actually pushing Amelia towards the stairs. ‘Mr Devenish is not a man who appreciates tardiness.’
Mr Devenish was one of the few men her father was wary of, while at the same time despising him for his lowly origins. As an earl, her father was all but untouchable, but he supported many a politician, men who could further his own interests, and a bad word in one of Mr Devenish’s many publications could destroy a politician’s career. So when Mr Devenish commanded attendance at one of his dinner parties, her father accepted, no matter how inconvenient it may be to his schedule. Amelia suspected Devenish enjoyed making these titled men come running when he commanded.
‘Do I really have to go?’ Amelia was unsure why she had asked, as she already knew the answer.
‘Of course you do. Prebbleton and Bradley will be there.’
Her heart sank further. Lord Prebbleton and Lord Bradley had both expressed interest in courting Amelia, or at least in courting the daughter of the Earl of Kingsland, a woman likely to come with a substantial dowry. Having to spend an evening with Mr Devenish would be bad enough but having to endure the company of the two Vacuous Viscounts really was the limit.
Amelia had no illusions about herself when it came to men and marriage. Men were certainly not attracted by her beauty, or lack thereof, and her father was not the only man to have informed her that men did not like intelligent women. At an early age she had come to the realisation that if she wanted love, wanted a husband and children, she was going to have to bury part of herself and become the sort of woman men did find attractive. One who listened rather than spoke, agreed rather than argued, and always, always made the man feel as if he was in every way her superior.
That was something she would not do and had long ago come to accept she would not be marrying. But her father still had illusions that he would one day walk his daughter up the aisle and palm her off on a titled man of his choosing.
‘And don’t shame me tonight by trying to be intelligent. It’s bad enough that I have an unmarried daughter of twenty-three—I don’t want them to think I was lumbered with a bluestocking as well.’
Amelia knew better than to come back with a clever refrain. That would only make her father even more irritable. Instead, she went upstairs to dress for an evening of tedium and torment.
