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Another guest was announced, and host and hostess moved on to welcome him. Giles watched Lady Margaret’s graceful sway of a walk as long as he thought he could get away with it without the raptness of his attention becoming notable, then made his way to the group which included Sir James.
‘Hadley!’ the Whig leader said in surprise as Giles joined them. ‘I didn’t know you were acquainted with the marquess. I’ll look forward to having a friend in my corner during the debate tonight. Though you’ll hear the variety of views Lord Witlow enjoys, I fear we shall still be outnumbered.’
Avoiding any comment about his connection to the marquess, Giles said, ‘How does Lord Grey think the lines will be drawn, once the bill comes out of committee?’
As he expected, it required only that question to launch Sir James and the two MPs standing with him into a spirited debate about how the legislation would progress, a discussion Giles would normally have followed avidly. Tonight, he listened with half an ear, surreptitiously trying to keep Lady Margaret in sight.
She was a good hostess, greeting each newcomer, sometimes allowing her father to direct the conversation, sometimes, with gentlemen who were obviously old family friends, giving the newcomer a hug or a kiss on the cheek.
Giles never thought he’d be jealous of venerable gentlemen from the older generation. At least, he told the impatient little voice within that clamoured to be near her, she wasn’t gifting her kisses to any man who looked virile enough to be his rival as a lover.
Startled to realise his interest in Lady Margaret had somehow progressed from admiration to evaluating other men as competition, he followed Sir James’s group in as the butler called them to table.
To his disappointment, he wasn’t seated near his hostess—the elderly Marquess of Berkley and Lord Coopley had that honour, as was proper for the two highest-ranking guests. He was surprised that he’d been seated adjacent to his host, a place that would normally have been reserved for a gentleman of higher status. Unless, he realised with a rueful grimace, one took into account his position as a courtesy viscount.
At first, conversation was general, with comments on the food and wine and an exchange of pleasantries and social news among the gentleman. Having nothing of interest to contribute, Giles listened politely, his glance straying to Lady Margaret at the other end of the table.
She was smiling at Lord Coopley—and what a lovely smile it was, he thought, those generous lips upturned and her eyes brightening. He liked what she’d done with her hair tonight, thick coils of auburn fire pinned atop her head, with little tendrils curling down to kiss her brow and earlobes—as he would love to. That luscious mouth, too.
‘…do you not think so, Hadley?’
Startled by the sound of his name, he jerked his head back to find the marquess regarding him, a slight smile on his face. Realising he’d not only been rudely inattentive to the host who’d done him the honour of seating him beside him, he’d also been caught staring at the man’s daughter, he gave himself a sharp mental rebuke, feeling his face heat.
If he were a parent worth the name, Lady Margaret’s father must already be curious about the link between them. The last thing he needed was to give the marquess a distaste of him by exhibiting the sort of ill-bred behaviour his half-brother always accused him of—or worse still, have Witlow suspect the strength of his amorous interest in Lady Margaret.
That subject concerned the two of them alone.
‘I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t quite hear. Could you repeat the question?’
‘Certainly.’ A little twitch to his lips, as if he didn’t believe Giles’s excuse for an instant, but didn’t mean to call him on it, Witlow complied. This time, Giles listened closely, telling himself sternly for the remainder of the dinner to concentrate on his host.
Once the diners ventured into political matters, the conversation became stimulating enough to hold Giles’s attention, despite the ever-beckoning temptation of Lady Margaret seated at the other end of the table. Giles deferred to Sir James, letting the senior Member shoulder the burden of defending the Reform cause, adding a comment only when called upon. Not that he was afraid of speaking out, but it would be presumptuous for a junior member to put himself forward when Grey’s aide was present, an experienced man better known to this group than he.
Some time later, he heard Lord Coopley call his name. ‘So, Hadley,’ the baronet said in his gravelly voice, ‘your half-brother tells me you carry a torch for the Friends of the People?’
‘In a way,’ Giles replied. ‘Since Lord Grey himself formed the group, all of us who call ourselves Reformers are happy to carry on his ideals. Who could disagree with the notion that talent and virtue should be the chief requirements for a Member of Parliament?’
Apparently able to disagree, Lord Coopley sniffed. ‘Every male eighteen and older to have a vote? Parliaments to be elected annually? One member of Parliament for each twenty thousand citizens? Bah! How could the nation’s business be done, with Parliament forming and breaking up every season, and any Tom, Dick and Harry who could stagger to the polls after drinking a quart of election gin able to cast a vote? In private, no less, so one would never know where he stood! I suppose you sympathise with the Spencean Philanthropists, too, who would confiscate all our land and parcel it out, a few acres to every man, woman and child in the land?’
‘Did my half-brother tell you that, as well?’ Giles asked, irritated. Trust George to make him sound like the most rabid radical imaginable.
‘He did. You’re not going to call the Earl of Telbridge’s son a liar, are you?’
Much as he would like to, he knew it wouldn’t be prudent. ‘Certainly not. Though it’s true we agree on very little,’ he replied, trying to walk a cautious line between dismissing the charge as nonsense and agreeing he supported a position he didn’t.
Coopley uttered a bark of a laugh. ‘Distributing land to everyone! I’d like to see what a tailor or a baker or a bricklayer would do with ten acres of prime farmland!’
‘Or a Parliamentarian or lawyer?’ Giles replied with a smile. ‘I think we are all better off staying within our spheres of expertise. I’m sure Mr Stephenson would not like to have me conducting experiments on steam power, lest I blow him sky-high.’
As he’d hoped, the gentlemen laughed, easing the tension.
‘Lord Coopley, could I beg your assistance?’ Lady Margaret interposed, touching that gentleman’s arm. ‘Was it the Warrington Exetors who returned a Tory candidate for the last Parliament, or the Covington Exetors? Your memory for names is keen as a huntsman’s knife, and you know everyone who is anybody.’
‘Covington, my dear, Covington,’ Coopley said, patting her hand. ‘The family have been Tories since Peel’s administration.’ Either forgetting Giles or losing interest in baiting him, the older man launched into a detailed description of each administration in which an Exetor had served.
Giles risked catching Lady Margaret’s eye to give her a quick nod of thanks, to which she replied with a slight smile and a lift of her brows before turning back to her dinner partner.
A short time later, the footmen cleared the table, and Lady Margaret stood up. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll leave you to begin your more…lively debates. Thank you all for coming, and I’ll bid you goodnight. Papa, I’ll be reading in the library; come see me later, if the vigorous discourse you’re sure to enjoy after my departure doesn’t totally exhaust you.’
Giles watched her walk out with appreciative eyes. Initially disappointed that she did not even glance in his direction before she left the room, he brightened when he recalled her parting comment about repairing to the library.
Had that been aimed solely at her father…or could he flatter himself that she’d meant it partly for him, too?
At the idea of having her to himself for a few moments, excitement flared, and he immediately began scheming how he might politely get away without exciting comment.
Sir James was watching her, too. ‘She certainly rescued you deftly!’ the baronet murmured to Giles after she disappeared from view. ‘What a consummate hostess! I wish I had the like!’
‘Lady Graham is a very gracious hostess,’ Giles replied.
‘My Fanny does her best, but she doesn’t truly enjoy it,’ Sir James replied. ‘You need only look at Lady Margaret to see she thrives on discussion and debate. An excellent campaigner, too, which my Fanny most decidedly is not! The travelling, the dust, the crowds all exhaust her. There was talk a while back that Sir Francis Mowbrey might lure Lady Margaret away from her father to work her magic on his behalf, but in the end, it came to nothing.’
‘Sir Francis Mowbrey, the Tory MP from Suffolk?’ Giles asked, hoping he sounded like a politely interested guest—rather than like a man completely obsessed by the lady.
‘Yes, he wooed her some years ago, not long after she came out of mourning. Sir Francis was making a name for himself in Tory circles and had all the right qualifications: old landed family, educated at Eton and Cambridge, related to many of the peers in the Lords, not to mention the ladies found him charming. They were engaged, but just before they were to wed, Lady Margaret cried off. Sir Francis was quite public about his displeasure over the break; understandable, I suppose—it was a better match for him than for the lady, as he would gain access to her considerable fortune, as well as her Tory contacts and political expertise.’
Surprised, Giles said, ‘I wouldn’t have expected Lady Margaret to be a jilt. Or capriciously change her mind at the last minute.’
‘Well, let’s just say Sir Francis was better at wooing than he was at fidelity. He liked the ladies as much as they liked him, and though he was discreet about it, apparently continued his little amours even after the engagement. The on dit was that Lady Margaret got wind of it, and decided she didn’t want to become a wife who had to look the other way. Fair enough, I suppose.’
The man sounded like an arrogant jackass, Giles thought, though he made himself utter something appropriately banal. Better not to express his disgust, and risk alerting the baronet to the intensity of his interest in the lady.
But if Sir Francis had been foolish enough to lose the esteem of a woman of Lady Margaret’s stature by trysting with other females, he didn’t deserve her.
And if he’d led her on with declarations of love that turned out to be hollow, that might explain, Giles suddenly realised, why an eminently eligible female like Lady Margaret had chosen not to remarry.
Their attention was recalled by the marquess, who invited each guest to give his opinion on what would be the most important matter to be brought before Parliament in the current session. Mentally filing away what he’d just learned from Sir James, Giles returned his attention to matters political, biding his time until he could take his departure.
Finally, after an hour of intense debate came the lull that enabled him to make his escape. Pleading an early day working on committee reports, he expressed his appreciation to his host and took his leave. After enquiring of a footman where he might find the library, so he could bid his hostess goodnight, Giles walked in the direction indicated and towards the encounter he’d been anticipating all night.
The door to the library stood ajar. Intending to announce himself, he paused on the threshold, taking in the scene within.
Lady Margaret sat on a sofa near the fire, a full brace of candles on the table beside her, a slight smile on her face as she gazed down at the book she held. Light from the blazing hearth played in a teasing dance on her auburn hair, setting the burnished locks aglow and illumining her pale face with a blush of amber.
The sight of her, looking so solitary and yet so serene, struck his chest like a blow. In a rush of memory, he recalled how, after being put to bed, he’d sneak back to the small parlour in the little cottage he’d occupied with his mother, wanting another story or a goodnight kiss. He’d slip in to find her alone and reading, and think how beautiful she was. Long before he’d learned that they were poor, that they’d been cast off by his father, that she was living in exiled disgrace, he’d felt such a deep sense of peace and safety when she welcomed him with a hug before carrying him off to bed again.
Lady Margaret cast so similar an aura, for a moment he had the ridiculous feeling that he was coming home.
Before he could shake it off, as if that special energy that sizzled between them had alerted her to his presence, she looked up. ‘Mr Hadley!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is the group breaking up so soon?’
‘No, the rest of the gentlemen are still avidly engaged. I believe they’ll be there until the brandy gives out.’
She laughed softly, a musical sound that made him want to smile. ‘Since the supply is virtually inexhaustible, they should be there until dawn. But you need to leave?’
‘Well…’ He gave her a rueful grin. ‘To be honest, I must admit I made my excuses early…hoping to have a private word with you.’
Her smile widened. ‘And I was hoping you might slip away. Won’t you come in?’
A body blow from a skilled pugilist couldn’t have kept him from advancing towards her. ‘With pleasure.’
Chapter Seven (#ulink_b5f8381d-c2a9-5106-b4a9-883f54bce5e2)
Looking up to find Mr Hadley standing on threshold, so discretion-meltingly handsome with his broad-shouldered form outlined by the darkness beyond and his face illumined by candlelight, she at first thought she’d longed for him so fiercely, she was only imagining his presence. Then he smiled, confirming he was no illusion, and her foolish heart leapt in gladness.
‘I’m so pleased you took my hint that I’d be in the library,’ she said, trying to slow her pulse as she waved him to a seat on the sofa beside her.
‘I’m so pleased you gave me the hint.’
Now that she’d got what she’d hoped for, she felt unaccountably shy. ‘Did you enjoy the discussions?’ she asked, feeling even more foolish for falling back on the prosaic, when she really wanted to ask him all about himself—his youth, his schooling, how he’d developed an interest in politics, what he wanted to achieve…whether he would reconcile with his father. Oh, she wanted to know everything about him!
He laughed. ‘The exchange did indeed become more “lively” after your departure! With Sir James to buttress my position, I flatter myself that I gave as good as I got, and managed to rattle a few firmly held opinions. Enough that I thought it prudent to depart and leave them to enjoy their brandy in peace.’
‘I thought you held your own admirably during dinner—and with great diplomacy. Especially with Lord Coopley.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid he can be quite dogmatic, but he’s been Papa’s mentor since he entered the Lords. He’d be so hurt if he learned Papa had hosted one of his “discussion evenings” and we had not invited him.’
‘I did rather feel like a Christian in the arena after the tigers were released. Thank you again for the rescue, by the way. Browbeating aside, I found it useful to hear all the arguments the Tories may summon; it will help my committee prepare the best responses to counter them. Because the Lords must pass the bill this session.’
‘Must?’ she echoed, puzzled. ‘Why “must” this time, when they’ve already failed several times before?’
‘Surely you observed the mood of the country when you went out to Chellingham! There’s even more agitation in the counties, especially in the northern industrial districts around Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds. Memories of the St Peter’s Field Massacre are still vivid. By failing to vote for reasonable change, the Lords could foment the very rioting and civil discord they think to avoid.’
Alarmed, she was going to ask him to elaborate when he held up a hand. ‘But enough politics for one evening! First, let me compliment you on a delicious dinner. After the bachelor fare I usually settle for, it was quite sumptuous! You really are, as Sir James asserted, the perfect hostess, providing for the needs of your guests, making sure everyone is included in the conversation, inserting a soothing comment here and there if the discussion gets heated—without the overheated gentleman ever noticing he’d been deflected. Quite masterful!’
‘Thank you,’ she said, flushing with pleasure at his praise. ‘I do enjoy it, especially “discussion evenings” such as this one, where there are a range of views exchanged. Alas, despite the best pamphleteering efforts of Anna Wheeler and William Thompson, I fear women will not get the vote soon. This gives me some way to contribute.’
‘Your lady mother does not enjoy playing hostess?’
‘Mama’s health is…delicate. She lost two babes in London in the early days when Papa first sat in the Lords; the experience left her with a permanent distaste for the city and, I’m afraid, for politics. Much as she and Papa dislike being apart, she now remains year-round in the country, while Papa resides here when Parliament is in session.’
‘But your brother does not? As active in politics as your father is, I would have thought he would urge his son to stand for one of the seats in his county—or in one of the boroughs he controls.’
‘I’m afraid Julian has no interest at all in politics—much to Papa’s disappointment.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I was the child who inherited that passion. After Mama took us into the country, it was always me, not Julian, who pestered Papa to tell us all about what had happened during the session after he came home to Huntsford. When I spent my Season with my great-aunt Lilly, I persuaded Papa to let me play hostess for a few of his political dinners—and loved it! And so, after…after I was w-widowed,’ she said, not able even after all this time to speak of losing Robbie without a tremor in her voice, ‘I took it up again.’
‘Your brother stays in the country, as well? I don’t recall ever hearing of him in town.’
‘Yes, he watches out for Mama, to whom he is devoted, and manages the estate. After all, he will inherit it, and such a vast enterprise requires careful supervision. Papa began to train him for it when he was quite young, and Julian loves working the land.’
‘While you prefer the city?’
‘Oh, no, I love being at Huntsford! My husband’s estate is in the same county, and had things…not worked out otherwise, I would have been content to live out my life there. Afterward, I…needed to get away. Fortunately, Papa was willing to take me on again as his hostess.’ She gestured around her. ‘So here I am, back in the bosom of my family, though I do return almost daily to my own house in Upper Brook Street. Father, Mama, Julian were everything to me when…when I lost my husband. I really don’t know how I would have survived without them. Excuse me, I know I probably shouldn’t say anything, but that is what I find so tragic about your situation—that you are estranged from your own father, and from the land and people it will one day be your responsibility to manage and look after.’
He seemed to recoil, and worried she’d trespassed on to forbidden ground, she said, ‘It’s none of my business, I know. I hope I haven’t offended you.’
He’d clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he relaxed it. ‘You’re quite brave. Most of my acquaintance don’t dare mention the earl.’
She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Foolhardy, rather than brave. It just…makes my heart ache to hear about a family estranged from one another. After losing two siblings and…and my best friend and dearest love, those few I have left are so precious to me. One never knows how much time one will have with them. Another reason I enjoy playing hostess to Papa.’
He nodded. ‘That’s true enough. With the thoughtlessness of youth, I never imagined I would lose my mother so early.’
‘She must have been wonderfully brave. To endure being isolated, with even her own family abandoning her.’
He laughed shortly. ‘A child accepts what he knows as “normal”. It never occurred to me while I was growing up in that little cottage on the wilds of the Hampshire downs that we were isolated or alone. Of course, like most boys, I wished I had brothers to play with, but Mama made the humble place we occupied a haven, full of joy and comfort. By the time I’d been away long enough to understand what had happened, why we lived as we did, it was too late. Too late to tell her how much I appreciated the love and care she gave, and the tremendous strength and courage she displayed in creating a happy home for her child, despite her own sorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘When my aunt came to take me away to school, I pleaded not to have to leave. I was certain I would be content to spend my whole life there, in that little cottage.’
Emboldened by having him answer her other questions, knowing she was pushing the bounds of the permissible, but unable to stop herself she said, ‘So you don’t think you would ever be able to forgive your father—the earl?’
His face shuttered. Alarmed, she feared he’d either say nothing at all, or give her the set-down she deserved for asking so personal a question. But after a moment, he said, ‘Mama could have lied, you know. Denied that she and Richard had been lovers. My aunt told me that the earl had assured her he’d always known she loved Richard, and only wanted the truth. And then he punished her for giving it to him, in the most humiliating fashion possible. Disgraced. Divorced. Repudiated by her own family. How can I forgive him that?’
The anguish in his tone broke her heart, and she wanted to reach out to him—the isolated child whose adored mother had been mistreated and scorned.
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘But I do know that anger eats away at the soul, creating a wound that festers. One cannot heal until one lets it go.’ Advice she would do well to heed herself, she thought ruefully.
‘Would that I could follow such wise counsel,’ he said. ‘Perhaps some day, I will.’
‘It was presumptuous of me to offer it,’ she admitted.
‘Caring,’ he corrected. ‘You do offer it out of…compassion, don’t you?’
Oh, it wasn’t wise for her heart to ache for his pain—but it did. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
With a sigh, he picked up her hand and placed a kiss on it. At his touch, their discussions of politics, her family, his past—all the words in her brain disintegrated, leaving her conscious only of sensation, as the simmering connection between them flamed up, powerful and resurgent. She caught her breath, her fingers trembling in his, fighting the urge to lean closer and caress his cheek.
Then he was bending towards her, his grip on her hand tightening as he drew her against him. She closed her eyes and angled her face up, offering her lips, filled with urgency for his kiss.
He brushed her mouth gently, as if seeking permission. She gave it with a moan and a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Groaning, he dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her, pressing her against his chest while he deepened the kiss.
At his urging, she opened her mouth to him. He sought her tongue and tangled his with it, sending ripples of pleasure radiating throughout her body. She rubbed her aching breasts against his chest, wanting to be closer, impatient with the layers of cloth that kept them from feeling flesh upon flesh.
Time, place, everything fell away. She was consumed by him, devouring him, afire with ravening need that raged stronger with every stroke of his tongue.
Lost in mindless abandon, she wasn’t sure how much further she would have gone, had he not suddenly broken the kiss, pushed her away, and jumped up to stumble to the hearth.
‘Voices!’ he rasped, his tone breathless and uneven. ‘Coming this way.’
She heard them then, the shock of cold air against her heated cheeks as he abandoned her slamming her back to the present even as she recognised her father’s tones and Lord Coopley’s growling bass.
‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered, raising shaking hands to straighten her bodice and smooth her disordered curls.
Seconds later, the two men entered the library, stopping short when they saw she wasn’t alone. ‘Hello, Papa, my lord. Is the group breaking up?’ she managed.
‘Yes, the others have gone,’ her father said, looking curiously between her and Hadley. ‘Coopley and I were going to have one last brandy.’
