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Chapter Three

Two evenings later, Giles arrived back in London and headed for the room at the Quill and Gavel, eager to compare notes with his friends about the election results. He found them all present as he walked in, Davie offering him a mug of ale, Ben Tawney urging him to a seat.

‘What happened in Chellingham?’ Christopher asked. ‘Did Reynolds manage to snatch the seat from Witlow’s man?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he confessed, to the groans of his listeners. ‘Michael Armsburn did so well in the verbal tally, we didn’t bother asking for a formal vote. Riding around with Reynolds, one could tell it was hopeless. Even the unemployed former soldiers one would expect to rally to the Reform cause told us they intended to vote for Witlow’s man. Said his lordship had watched out for their families while they were off fighting in the wars. How did all of you fare?’

‘A win in Sussex!’ Ben announced. ‘We’ll own the county now.’

‘Wins in Merton and Warrenton as well,’ Christopher added. ‘The Whigs should return an overwhelming majority.’

‘That calls for another round, don’t you think?’ David asked. After walking to the door to beckon the innkeeper to bring more ale, he said, ‘Ben and Christopher, why don’t you make a tally of the projected gains, district by district? I expect we’ll be recalled to committee as soon as Parliament reconvenes.’

Once the two friends settled at the table, Davie raised his mug to Giles. ‘So,’ he said in a quiet voice pitched for their ears alone, ‘what did you think of Lady Margaret?’

Surprised, Giles felt his face flush. ‘How did you know I’d met Lady Margaret?’

Davie shrugged. ‘You’d said you’d try to help the Radicals win one of Witlow’s seats—yet you chose to canvass for one that we knew at the outset was very unlikely to be turned. A seat that just happens to be held by a cousin of Lady Margaret’s, for whom she has often campaigned. And that, after hearing your brother might have matrimonial designs upon the lady. So, what did you think of her?’

‘Sure the Home Office shouldn’t employ your talents to keep track of dissidents?’ Giles asked, disgruntled that his motives had been so transparent. ‘Very well, I was quite impressed. She’s a natural campaigner—the crowds love her. She seems passionate about politics and the welfare of the people in her father’s boroughs.’

‘A shame she’s passionate for the wrong party,’ David said, his perceptive friend watching him entirely too closely for Giles’s comfort. ‘Did you talk with her?’

‘Yes. Her person is as appealing as her politics are not. I have to admit, I was quite…strongly attracted. By the way, she denied any interest in marrying George.’

‘Did she? I don’t know that her lack of interest would weigh much with your half-brother, compared to the advantages of the match. One can only hope her father has a care for her preferences, rather than for giving a leg up to a rising member of his party. Do you intend to pursue the connection?’

‘Yes, I do.’ At least long enough to see if the extraordinary attraction he’d felt lasted beyond that first meeting.

‘And what of George?’

Giles shrugged. ‘Having never in my life consulted George’s preferences before doing something, I’m not likely to start now.’

Davie nodded. ‘Very well. Just make sure the lady doesn’t get caught in the crossfire, if there is any.’

Giles grinned. ‘One thing you can count on: I will always protect a lady.’

Before they could join their friends at the table, a liveried messenger appeared at the doorway. ‘A note for Mr Hadley.’

After Giles raised his hand, the man gave him the missive and walked out. Scanning it quickly, Giles frowned. ‘It’s from Lord Grey. He wants me to join a dinner meeting he’s about to begin with some of his committee chiefs.’

Ben whistled, and David raised his eyebrows. ‘Congratulations on having the party leader call for you!’ Christopher said. ‘Maybe there’s a cabinet post in your future?’

‘I doubt that. I’ll have to go, though, unfortunately, it’s at Brooks’s Club—which is probably why Grey didn’t invite all of us. He knows I never grace the halls of Brooks’s unless I’m summoned.’

‘Maybe you should go there more often,’ Davie advised. ‘Many of the senior party leaders are members; let them get to know you better.’

‘I’d rather meet here, with all of you.’ Giles smiled. ‘Planning strategy and dreaming dreams of change, as we have since that grimy little inn at Oxford.’

‘Being a Hellion was all well and good,’ David allowed. ‘But challenging the prevailing view has served its purpose. Now that the goals we dreamed about are going to be realised, shouldn’t we turn our efforts into getting a hand in determining how they are implemented?’

‘Very true,’ Christopher said. ‘Why not take advantage of whatever benefits membership at Brooks’s can offer?’

‘You could even pass them along to us,’ David added with a grin. ‘It’s the only way I’ll ever gain access to them, after all. Their politics might be liberal, but never in this lifetime are high-born Whigs going to allow the orphaned son of farmer into their club, regardless of how highly placed his sponsor might be.’

‘Or the illegitimate son of a governess,’ Ben added.

‘A gently born governess, whose father is now a viscount and acknowledges him,’ Giles reminded Ben. ‘If you asked, your father would likely sponsor you at Brooks’s.’

‘So the members could mutter under their breath about my mother as I walk by, like the boys did at Oxford? I think not.’

‘As for me,’ Christopher said with a grin, ‘being in the unusual position of being considered my legal father’s son even though I’m not, I could be put up for membership. Except that dear legal Papa is a Tory who frequents White’s.’

‘I doubt they would have voted me in, had Lord Newville not been insistent,’ Giles said. ‘I can only imagine how much arm-twisting was involved.’

‘Your nomination did place the members in an awkward position,’ David said. ‘Many of them are friends of your father, and there’s the sticky matter of George. If anything happens to you, George gets the title; like our Oxford classmates, few there would want to befriend you and offend him, in case some day he attains real power.’

‘We’ll just have to see that he doesn’t,’ Giles retorted.

‘Faith and the devil, that reminds me!’ Christopher exclaimed. ‘Wychwood told me that George lost his seat!’

‘In Hampshire, my father’s county?’ Giles asked, astounded.

‘Yes. Despite how strongly the voice vote went in favour of the Reform candidate, Wychwood said George insisted on a formal counted vote. And lost it decisively.’

The other three whistled as the significance of that registered. ‘Pity his poor servants—and any other unfortunate who crosses his path in the next few days,’ Christopher said. ‘He’ll be as quick to lash out as a temperamental stallion with an abscessed hoof.’

‘He’ll surely look for some way to transfer the blame to you,’ David warned.

‘And whine to his father about it,’ Christopher added.

‘I’d avoid him,’ Ben advised.

‘I always do,’ Giles replied. ‘But now, I’d better get to that meeting. With any luck, I’ll be back to drink another mug before midnight.’

‘Take good notes, so you can give us a full report,’ Christopher said as Giles shrugged on his coat and headed for the door.

As he walked out, Davie followed him, then stayed him with a hand on his arm. ‘This might not be the best of times to provoke a quarrel over a lady,’ he said quietly.

‘I don’t intend to quarrel,’ Giles replied. ‘If he tries to start one, I’ll ignore it, as I always do.’ No matter how much I’d like to plant a facer in the middle of that smug face, he added silently.

‘Just…watch your step. I’ve always thought George like a coiled snake, ready to strike if cornered. Don’t give him any more reason.’

‘I shall be the soul of diplomacy.’

‘Giles, the most hot-headed member of our group?’ David retorted. ‘Just remember that resolution, if you encounter George when I’m not there to restrain you. It would be…undignified for a rising Member of Parliament to mill down a former Member in public.’

‘Besides which, George would be sure to haul me up on assault charges. Temper or no, I promise to be on my best behaviour.’

And he would be, Giles promised himself as he walked out to hail a hackney.

Several hours later, dinner and consultation with Lord Grey and two of his ministers complete and a sheaf of notes in hand, Giles had just left the small private dining room when an unwelcome voice assailed his ears.

Hearing his name called again, he turned towards the card room, girding himself for the always unwelcome encounter with his half-brother.

‘It is you, then,’ George said, and walked towards him.

At least he’d won that small satisfaction, Giles thought as he waited for his half-brother to approach: George had finally learned that Giles would not come running to him when his half-brother beckoned, like the lackey George wanted him to be.

As the man proceeded closer with his measured, self-important tread, Giles noted he was splendidly dressed, as usual, in a dark coat featuring the newly popular cinched-in waist, an elaborately tied cravat of fine linen with a large diamond winking out from the knot, and long trousers. A walking advertisement for his tailor, and for being a man who spared no expense on his person.

George stopped beside him, looking him in the eyes for a moment without speaking. His half-brother was of a height, but had the fairer hair and hazel eyes of their father and a pleasant face that, when it wore a congenial look Giles seldom saw, was accounted handsome, or so numerous society ladies seemed to think.

Apparently Lady Margaret wasn’t of their number. That recollection pleased him more than it should.

When Giles refused to rise to the bait of asking his brother to tell him what he wanted, at length George broke the silence. ‘Didn’t believe at first you’d actually entered a gentleman’s club, instead of hobnobbing with the lowborn sorts you usually associate with. Devil’s teeth, to think how much blunt Lord Newville must have dropped, bribing the members to get you accepted here! But in this instance, I suppose I should thank him for sparing me having to track you down in that dive you frequent.’

Drawing in a deep breath through his gritted teeth to stem the rising anger, Giles made no immediate response. He’d long ago figured out the best way to deal with his half-brother’s demeaning remarks was to ignore them, no matter how infuriating—thereby depriving George of the satisfaction of provoking him.

‘Do you having anything of substance to say, or did you just want to tender the usual insults?’ he said in a tone as bored as he could manage. ‘If the latter, I’ll bid you goodnight.’ With a nod of dismissal, he turned to go.

‘Wait! I do have something else to say.’ George stayed him.

Much as Giles would love to snub him and walk out, if his half-brother truly wanted to speak with him, leaving now would only delay the confrontation. Tenacious as a bulldog, George would simply run him down somewhere else.

Wondering what his brother could possibly wish to discuss with him—unless he’d already figured out a way to blame Giles for his electoral defeat—he raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you might wish to do so somewhere more private than Brooks’s entry hall?’ With a gesture, he indicated a small anteroom.

After George followed him in, Giles said, ‘I’ve still got work to do tonight, so I’d appreciate your keeping this short.’ With what he considered true nobility, he refrained from adding that it involved important business for the new Parliament—the one in which George would not be serving. After closing the door, he said, ‘Shall we dispense with the charade of exchanging pleasantries? Just say what you must.’

‘I will be brief. I’m warning you to leave Lady Margaret Roberts alone. She’s a gentlewoman from a distinguished family, her father a nobleman highly regarded by his peers. Neither need be embarrassed by it becoming known that she associated with you. And at a common inn, no less.’

Baffled, Giles stared at George—until his mind made the connection. ‘You mean, in Chellingham?’

‘As far as I know, that’s the only time she’s displayed such a lapse of judgement. Although I understand there was some disturbance that necessitated her removal, and that at the time she let you make off with her, she was not aware of who you were.’

‘It being more acceptable for the lady to leave with a stranger than to leave with me?’ Giles inserted.

‘Well, of course she shouldn’t be leaving with a stranger! Armsburn and Proctor were highly negligent in leaving her alone to begin with. Although it would have been better still if she’d not put herself forward, campaigning for her cousin.’

Although admittedly Giles was not conversant with who belonged to which circle of friendship among the Tory membership, he was not aware that Lady Margaret’s cousin and his half-brother were close. And if they were not…

‘How did you know what happened to Lady Margaret in Chellingham?’ When his half-brother stuttered for an answer, Giles voiced the unbelievable, but only logical, conclusion. ‘You weren’t having someone spy on her, were you, George?’

‘Someone should keep tabs on her, since it’s obvious neither her cousin nor his aide were doing such a good job of it,’ his half-brother replied defensively.

There could be but one reason for George to go to the trouble of having the lady watched: he must be set on marrying her. Even so, the behaviour was unsettling, and definitely raised his hackles on Lady Margaret’s behalf.

‘Is Lord Witlow aware of your…protective oversight?’ He knew Lady Margaret couldn’t be—and was reasonably sure what that lady’s response would be if she found out.

‘Lord Witlow would be gratified that I concern myself with the welfare of his dearest daughter,’ George replied loftily.

So her father wasn’t aware of the scrutiny either. Which made the behaviour even more disturbing. ‘He might also not appreciate having someone wholly unrelated keeping his daughter under observation.’

George gave an impatient wave. ‘My motives are of the purest. Besides, I cherish hopes that we will not long remain “unrelated”.’

So George did intend to press his suit. ‘You’ve spoken with his lordship on this matter?’

‘He’s doubtless aware of my regard,’ George evaded.

‘And the lady?’

‘I haven’t as yet formally declared myself,’ George admitted. ‘But on a matter as important as family alliances, she will follow her father’s guidance, and he will certainly approve. Now that I have revealed my honourable intentions, I expect even someone like you to respect them, and not sully the lady with associations that could only be to her detriment.’

Keeping a tight hold on the simmering anger he didn’t seem able to completely suppress, Giles said evenly, ‘I would do the lady the honour of allowing her to choose with whom she wishes to associate.’

George stared at him a moment. ‘Meaning, you do intend to pester her with your attentions?’

‘I have never “pestered” a woman,’ Giles retorted. ‘If a lady indicates she is uninterested in my company, I am not so boorish as to inflict it upon her.’ That shot flying entirely over his brother’s head, he added, ‘As I said, it is the lady’s choice.’

‘Excellent!’ George said, a self-satisfied look replacing the hostility of his expression. ‘I may be easy, then. Her father would never allow an association so detrimental to her good name and the regard in which she is universally held. That being all I wished to ascertain, I will bid you goodnight.’

Avoiding, as he always did, using either Giles’s last name or honorary title, George nodded and walked back towards the card room.

Leaving Giles staring after him incredulously.

He should be happy, he told himself as he gathered up his papers again, that his half-brother’s incredible arrogance spared him the necessity of wrangling with George over his intention to seek out Lady Margaret. Apparently, his half-brother thought the lady a puppet who moved at her father’s command. And he was certain the marquess would command her to stay away from Giles, and marry George.

Fortunately, Giles already knew the first assumption was unlikely—Lady Margaret had told him plainly that her father respected him.

As for the latter, Lady Margaret seemed sincerely attached to her father, and probably would not willingly displease him. However, Giles doubted the independent lady he’d seen joking with voters on the hustings would let her father compel her into a marriage she did not want.

That conclusion cheered him almost as much as avoiding an ugly confrontation with his half-brother.

Nothing George had told him altered his intention to seek out the lady, at least until George or—he frowned at the thought—his watching minions discovered Giles had seen her again. By then, he should have confirmed whether or not his attraction to her—and hers to him—was strong enough for him to justify navigating the tricky course around his half-brother’s presumptions.

He had no clear idea what sort of relationship he envisioned. Not marriage, certainly—his tenuous position and his past were too chequered to inflict that association on any woman. But the lady was a widow, and perfectly able to indulge in a discreet dalliance, if their respective desires led that way…

Tantalised by the thought, Giles set off for the hackney stand, eager to report back to his friends at the Quill and Gavel. As he climbed into the vehicle, it suddenly occurred to him that he had another pressing reason to seek out Lady Margaret, whether or not the powerful connection between them recurred.

Giles felt the lady ought to know that his half-brother was keeping her under surveillance.

At Lady Margaret’s probable reaction to that news, he had to smile.

Chapter Four

Shortly after the opening of Parliament two weeks later, Lady Margaret climbed the stairs to the Ladies’ Gallery in the upper storey of St Stephen’s Chapel. The odd arrangement in that chamber—a round bench surrounding a wooden lantern at the centre of the room, whose eight small openings allowed a limited view down into the House of Commons below—would make watching the debates difficult, though she would be able to hear all the speeches.

And she’d heard that Giles Hadley was to give an address on behalf of the Reform Bill today.

She claimed a place, thinking with longing of the unobstructed view that, seated right on a bench beside the members, she enjoyed when she attended the Lords to listen to her father. The best she could hope for in this room, if she were lucky and the gentleman stood in the right place, was to catch a glimpse of Mr Hadley’s head. Remembering that gentleman’s magnificent eyes and commanding figure, seeing no more than the top of his head was going to be a great loss.

Would his voice alone affect her? Her stomach fluttered and a shiver prickled her nerves, just as it had each time she’d thought of the man since their meeting several weeks ago. And she’d thought of him often.

Doubtless far too often, for a man she’d met only once, who did not appear at any of the ton’s balls or parties—where she’d looked for him in vain—and who did not frequent the same political gatherings she attended.

But oh, how even the thought of him still stirred her!

She would certainly try to meet him today. After spending the last several weeks finding herself continually distracted by recalling their encounter, sorting through possible explanations for the magic of it, and wondering whether it might happen again, she was tired of acting like a silly schoolgirl suffering her first infatuation. She wanted her calm, reasonable self back. For even if he did seem as compelling upon second meeting as he had upon the first, at her age, she should be wise enough not to lose her head over him.

Besides, seeing him again in the prosaic light of a Parliamentary anteroom, it was far more likely that he would cease being the stuff of dreams and turn into just another normal, attractive man.

Soon the session was called to order and a succession of speakers rose to address the group, met by silence or shouted comments from the opposing bench, depending on how controversial the subject being addressed. After several hours, stiff from sitting on the hard bench, Maggie was about to concede defeat and make her way out when the voice that had whispered through her dreams tickled her ears.

Shock vibrating through her, she craned her head towards the nearest opening, hoping for a glimpse of him.

The light dancing on the wavy, blue-black curls sent another little shock through her. Nerves tingling and breathing quickened, she bent down, positioning herself to catch even the smallest glimpse as he paced below her.

His voice held her rapt—oh, what a voice! Her father was right—Giles Hadley was a born orator, his full, rich tones resonating through the chamber. As he continued to press his points, even the disdainful comments of the opposition grew fewer, and finally died away altogether.

When the rising volume and increasingly urgent tone indicated the approaching climax of the speech, Maggie found herself leaning even further forward, anxious to take in every word.

‘For too long,’ he exhorted, ‘we have allowed the excesses of Revolutionary France to stifle the very discussion of altering the way our representatives are chosen. But this is England, not France. Are we a nation of cowards?’

After pausing to accommodate the chorus of ‘no’s he continued, ‘Then let nothing prevent us in this session from doing what all rational men know should be done: eliminate these pocket boroughs that give undue influence to a few voters or the wealthy neighbour who can sway them, and restore to our government a more balanced system of representation, a fair system, a just system, one that works in the harmony our noble forebears intended!’

As his voice died away, he came to a stop right below her, his head bowed as he acknowledged the cheers and clapping from the Whigs, the mutter of dissent from the Tories. Then, as if some invisible force had telegraphed her presence, he looked up through the opening, and their eyes met.

The energy that pulsed between them in that instant raised the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. Then an arm appeared in her narrow view, pulling him away, and he was lost to her sight.

Straightening, Maggie found herself trembling. Thrilled by the power of his oratory, she remained seated, too shaken to move.

Papa had said everyone expected great things of him, and she now understood why. How could Lord Grey resist adding so compelling a Reformer to his staff? Even the Tories had fallen silent under the power of his rhetoric.

When he spoke with such passionate conviction, she suspected that he’d be able to persuade her to almost anything.

An alarming thought, and one that ought to make her rethink her intention to meet him again.

She was debating the wisdom of going downstairs and seeking him out, when suddenly the air around her seemed charged with energy. Startled, she looked up—into the blue, blue eyes of Giles Hadley.

Her mouth went dry and her stomach did a little flip.

‘Lady Margaret!’ he said, bowing. ‘What an unexpected pleasure to see you again.’

She rose to make him a curtsy. ‘And to see you, Mr Hadley. That was a very fine speech.’

He waved a hand. ‘The plain truth, merely.’

‘Perhaps, but the plain truth elegantly arranged and convincingly presented. It’s no wonder the full chamber attended to hear you speak.’

He smiled, his eyes roaming her face with an ardency that made her pulse kick up a notch. ‘I’d rather flatter myself that you came to hear me speak.’

‘Then you may certainly do so. I did indeed come with the hope of hearing you, and was richly rewarded.’

His eyes brightened further, sending another flutter of sensation through her. ‘Considering the many excellent speakers you’ve doubtless heard in both chambers, it’s very kind of you to say so. Surely I ought to offer you some tea in gratitude? Normally, we could take it in the committee room, but with the session just begun, everything is rather disordered. Might I persuade you to accompany me to Gunter’s?’

‘I would like that very much.’

He offered his arm. After a slight hesitation, she gave him her hand, savouring the shock of connection that rippled up her arm.

She did have the answer to one of the questions that had bedevilled her since their last meeting, she thought as he walked her down the stairs. The effect he had on her was definitely not a product of election excitement or the danger of that skirmish in Chellingham. Leaving caution behind in this chamber of debate, she intended to enjoy every second of it.

‘So,’ he said after they’d settled into a hackney on the way to Gunter’s. ‘Did my speech convince you that the time is right for reform?’

‘Your arguments are very persuasive,’ she admitted.

‘I hope your father and the Tories in the Lords agree. With so many Whigs returning to the Commons, passage of the bill in the lower house is certain. Though many in the Lords resist change, even the most hidebound cannot defend the ridiculousness of a pocket borough with a handful of voters having two representatives, when the great cities of the north have none.’

‘True. But Members are not elected to represent only their particular district, but the interests of the nation as a whole,’ she pointed out.

‘Another excuse to oppose change that the Tories have trotted out for years!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Let’s be rational. When a borough contains only a handful of voters who must cast their vote in public, they usually elect the candidate favoured by the greatest landholder in the area.’

‘Who, since he does own the property, should look out for its best interests and those of the people who work it and make it profitable,’ she countered. ‘Which is why giving every man a vote, as I’ve heard you approve, could be dangerous. A man who owns nothing may have no interest at all in the common good. With nothing to lose, he can be swayed by whatever popular wind is blowing.’

‘Just because a man owns property doesn’t mean he tends it well, or cares for those who work it. Oh, I know, the best of them, like your father, do. But wealth and power can beguile a man into believing he can do whatever he wishes, regardless of the well-being of anyone else.’

As his father had? Maggie wondered. ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed. ‘But what about boroughs where the voters sold their support to the highest bidder? Virtue isn’t a product of birth. Noble or commoner, a man’s character will determine his actions.’

‘With that, I certainly agree.’ He shook his head admiringly. ‘You’re a persuasive speaker yourself, Lady Margaret. A shame that women do not stand for Parliament. Though since you favour the Tories, I expect I should be grateful they do not!’

At that point, the hackney arrived at Gunter’s, and for the next few moments, conversation ceased while Hadley helped her from the carriage and they were seated within the establishment. As Hadley ordered the tea she requested in lieu of the famed ices, Maggie simply watched him.

She’d been intensely aware of him, seated beside her in the hackney during the transit. But she’d been almost equally stirred by his conversation.

Most gentlemen felt ladies were either uninterested in, or incapable of understanding, the intricacies of politics. Only her father had ever done her the courtesy of discussing them with her. Even her cousin Michael Armsburn, and the several other candidates for whom she had canvassed, valued her just as a pretty face to charm the voters.

None of the men she’d supported had ever invited her to discuss their policy or its philosophical roots. Giles Hadley excited her mind as much as he stirred her senses.

Or almost as much, she amended. He mesmerised her when he talked, not just the thrilling words, but watching those mobile lips, wondering how they’d feel, pressed against hers. She exulted in the tantalising magic of sitting beside him, the energy and passion he exuded arousing a flood of sensation in her, the heat and scent of him and the wondrous words he uttered a sea she could drown in.

Oh, to be with a man who burned with ardent purpose, who inspired one with a desire to be with him, not just in bed, but out of it as well!

Tea arrived shortly thereafter. Maggie forced herself to cease covertly studying the excellence of Giles Hadley’s physique, the breadth of his shoulders and the tapered elegance of his fingers, and concentrate on filling his cup.

After they had each sipped the steaming brew, Hadley set down his cup with an apologetic look. ‘I’m afraid I must confess to not being completely truthful about my reasons for inviting you here.’

Her great-aunt’s warning returned in a rush, dousing her heated euphoria with the ice water of wariness. ‘Not truthful? In what way?’

‘Much as I am enjoying our excursion to Gunter’s, we could have taken tea in the committee room. Except there is a matter I feel I must discuss with you that demanded a greater degree of privacy than would have been afforded in a Parliamentary chamber.’

Foreboding souring her gut, she said, ‘Then by all means, let us discuss it.’

‘I spoke with my brother not long ago. As you know, we…are not close, and he generally does not seek me out unless he wishes to dispute with me about something. The matter he wished to dispute about this time…was you.’