Letters to a Wallflower

Chapter 10

In the end, it was early the next afternoon when they convened back at the boarding house. Leighton had come in near daybreak and was still inside, presumably asleep. Helen hoped it hurt his head when Ben stepped forward and pounded on her former friend’s door without ceasing.

They could hear the grumbling grow louder as Leighton approached the door. “Enough!” he growled as it swung open. “What is it you?—”

He stopped as he saw the group gathered there. Ben pushed past him and the rest all filed in behind him.

Leighton eyed them all—Helen and Ben, Will and another gentleman—Mr. Wittmore, the printer. His eye went to her instinctively, in search of support.

“Helen,” he began.

“I should have known you would keep a filthy house,” she answered, eyeing the place with disdain. “Now I know it fits perfectly with the rest of you.”

Leighton’s face darkened. “It’s to be like that, is it?”

“What did you expect? That I would come in here in tears? Pleading to know why you’d done it?” She sniffed. “We all know why. Whatever sniveling excuses you’ve told yourself, they are sure to be entirely selfish.”

“Actually, I should have expected you to be packing your bags,” he retorted nastily. “I would advise you to be out of London before the next issue of the Prattler is distributed.”

“Oh, there’s no worry, there.”

“I assure you, there is.” He looked to Mr. Wittmore, the printer. “I cannot think why you are here, Wittmore. I’ve only this morning dropped off the new article for the next edition.”

“Wrote it yourself, did you?” Will asked with a sneer. “And did you also write the articles shaming my sister for sins she did not commit?”

“I did. And they were damned effective, were they not? Dropped the whole lot of you in your tracks.” He looked to the printer again. “You cannot be finished already, man. Why are you not at your work?”

“Because, Lord Akers, there will be no printing of the latest or any other edition of The London Town Prattler.” The printer sniffed. “Not ever, sir.”

Ben stepped forward. He’d had to resort to his cane again, after the long day and a half they had all had, with much work and no sleep, but Helen thought him very fine. His sculpted good looks, erect bearing and inner solidity put Leighton’s rakish, ruffled looks to shame.

“That was quite a bit of money you owed Wittmore, Akers,” Ben said. “I’ve paid your debts. In return, Wittmore has provided us with a list of every printer in the city with a press big enough to meet your needs. He’s also printed this accounting of how you do business and the shabby treatment you show your business partners, your employees and your friends.”

The printer shook his head. “No one will do business with you, sir. Not ever again.”

Leighton’s lip curled.

“He also printed this.” Ben held up a pamphlet. “Quite a large number of them. It’s the story of how you betrayed Helen to punish her father and the rest of us. It also tells the story of how you acquired the Prattler and how you’ve been the anonymous editor for the last two years. The streets are being papered with them right now. We’ve also sent copies to the Times and the Morning Chronicle. Society is going to be very interested in the story. And Lady Littleton is sure to be gratified to discover how you tossed her into the scandalbroth to try to cover your tracks.” Sighing, he shook his head. “None of these are the actions of a gentleman, Akers.”

“I’d say it was you who should start packing,” Helen told him with a lift of her chin.

Leighton had gone pale, but he stood straight. “You cannot do this. It is your word against mine.” He scoffed at Helen. “A strumpet and her brother.”

“A war hero,” she countered. “And a solid businessman.”

“You have no proof,” declared Leighton

Helen laughed. “Ah, but we do. Do you never stop to think who you are hurting as you scheme your way into and out of trouble?” She shook her head. “Of course you do not. Did you think you could betray Maggie without her taking her pound of flesh in return?”

For the first time, Leighton began to look alarmed. “She wouldn’t.”

“She did.”

“That harlot! You cannot take the word of a woman like that?—”

“We don’t need to. We have your documents, some written and signed in your own hand.”

“It’s over, Akers,” Ben said quietly. “You need to leave London. Perhaps you can go and see to your father’s estate, finally. Or better yet, leave England. Just do not return.”

Leighton turned to Will. “I will go! Only tell your father to give me my inheritance. Hand over the money and I will gladly go back to America.”

Will snorted. “If you think my father will reward your bad behavior, you have not been paying attention. You’ve four more years before it is all turned over to you. If someone doesn’t put a bullet into you before then.”

“Find a way to survive, Leighton,” Helen said, stepping forward. “Try to get through each day enduring the scorn and disdain of everyone who knows you.” She leaned in. “But recall, at each snub, each sniff, each time someone turns away or crosses the street to avoid you, remember that you, at least, brought it on yourself.”

“Helen, please!” Leighton reached for her, but she stepped back. Going to Ben, she took his arm. “I should get home now. Grandmama will be awake from her nap soon and we have so much to share with her. I daresay having a wedding to plan will lift her spirits considerably.”

Ben brushed a kiss over her forehead and with a sigh, she allowed herself to lean against him. Then she straightened, gave his arm a tug and headed for the door. She smiled up at him as they strode out, leaving the darkness of the past behind them and stepping into a lighter, brighter future.