Not that much had been decided. As he expected, the Commons would have to carry the standard on any criticism of the government’s role in Peterloo. The lords, with few exceptions, would choose to hear what they wanted to hear about those events, because they wanted any sign of the lower orders organizing dealt with harshly. No one had forgotten what had happened in France not all that long ago.
The affairs of state no longer occupying his mind, Hawkeswell could not resist a parting goad. “Ten days, you said. I will be watching the notices in the newspapers.”
It was not the ten days that Castleford ruminated about as he bade farewell to the others. That business about Daphne demanding he reform was what stuck in his head. Hawkeswell could be unbearable at times, but sometimes he saw matters very clearly. Had he not found Daphne vague, and wondered if the “no prying” rule might be self-serving? His instincts about women had served him well there.
Was that what her resistance was about? Did she find him unsuitable? That was a hell of a thing, if so. Backwards. He was a duke, after all. During the season he almost needed a sword to go anywhere, what with all the mothers seeking to add his tail to their trophy walls.
Nonetheless, he tried to see matters through Daphne’s eyes. The exercise was a novelty and not without interest. It distracted him enough that he stood by that gaming table for a spell, fascinated.
He concluded, after trying to think like a woman more than any man should attempt, that her words when they spoke of marriage might have been the honest truth. She did not fancy marrying a man who saw it as penance—and he had to admit that he did, although, if he were honest, the notion of having her around more rather than less had appeal.
She also might not want a husband who intended to continue his fun until he died. What woman would?
She had weighed the benefits against those two points, and found the title, luxury, and security lacking.
He was sympathetic until he got to that last part. Only a fool would do such stupid calculations, and Daphne was not a fool. Clearly he was missing something in his speculations on how she viewed the matter.
Unable to imagine what, he turned to leave. He almost walked right into one of the men who had joined them today, who had not yet left himself.
“You were lost in your thoughts, Castleford.” Tamor Raylor, an MP from Oxfordshire, smiled hopefully, much the way a tailor does when he shows you his most expensive superfines. “I had hoped to have a word with you but did not want to interrupt your deliberations.”
“We have had quite a few words already today, Raylor. I have nothing more to say on the matter.”
Raylor chuckled, then glanced askance at the other gentlemen in the card room. “This is about something else entirely. The word I seek is a very private one.”
The day had been too much like a Tuesday already, and Castleford thought to put him off. Then he remembered that it actually
was
a Tuesday. Reluctantly he nodded and followed Raylor out of the room.
Even the library was not private enough for this word. Raylor led him to the retiring room, with its line of commodes.
“I had no idea that you meant
that
kind of a private word, Raylor.”
The man did not comprehend at first, then his eyes widened in horror. “Oh, my dear heavens. Oh, no, Your Grace. I pray you have not misunderstood—I would never—well, that is, if
you
would I am not criticizing, but I personally would never—”
Castleford sat on the lid of a commode. “Unless someone is hiding inside one of the bowls, this is as private as you can find in London, I would guess. With such care on your part, I expect this to be good.”
Raylor mopped his brow with his handkerchief and collected himself. “I am speaking on behalf of a group of men. We have formed a syndicate, you see. I have been sent to offer you a considerable sum for that land in Middlesex, where you have had those engineers working.”
“I had reports of trespassers there. You?”
“We are gentlemen. We do not trespass.”
“But you hire men who do, perhaps.”
Raylor chose not to respond.
Castleford knew he should walk out. He had other plans for that land now. It was a Tuesday, though, wasn’t it? He was supposed to exercise his responsibilities today. “How considerable a sum?”
“Twenty thousand pounds.”
“I am rarely impressed, Mr. Raylor, especially not by you. I will say, however, that today you have risen considerably in my opinion.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. May I take that to mean you are agreeable?”
“Not at all. It is a handsome sum, but that land is worth rather more than that to me, I am afraid.”
Now Raylor was impressed. “Indeed, sir? It must hold something even more valuable than we were—than we were led to think.”
“Yes, it does.” He stood.
Raylor followed him out. “I will speak with the other principles, Your Grace. Perhaps if you give me a number—”
“I could not be tempted for less than fifty thousand, which is not to say I could be tempted at all.”
“Fifty—oh! This is very valuable land indeed! I beg you to allow me to have another private word in a few days, Your Grace. For such a prize, we may be able to meet that expectation.”
“You may speak as many private words as you want, but I would be a fool to sell.”
He shook off Raylor and aimed for the door and the street.
“You should not try to sell what is not yours to begin with,” a voice said quietly but clearly.
Castleford did not break his stride or even look over. “I thought I saw you lurking just inside the library, Latham. Looking for sinners to save with your pompous hypocrisy, are you?”
Latham’s boots passed his own, then pivoted as Latham blocked the path to the door. “You haven’t been about recently. Having fun these days, are you?”
“More than you, I am sure. Pretending to be a saint probably gets very boring.”
“I keep myself busy enough and find fun enough too. Recently, the busy has exceeded the fun, that is true. Besides all those meetings with the ministers, there is this matter of that damned land my father gave you. Half of London seems to be forming syndicates to buy it.”
“Then half of London is made up of asses. I have said again and again there is nothing there.”
“You protest too much. They don’t believe you. Neither do I.”
“That is because you are an ass too. Now, please stand aside. Even on Tuesdays, I have a right to be spared your presence.”
Latham hesitated, like a schoolboy taunt. Castleford was deciding the delay justified a fist to the nose when, unfortunately, Latham moved.
“I know what you found there, Tristan, so do not feign bored indifference with me. One of those men you hired thought twenty pounds more useful than your good opinion of him.”
“With all the idiots determined to buy something, eventually some smart fellow would make up something to sell. He probably made twenty pounds enough times over to buy a villa in Naples. I wish I knew who he was. I can always use an enterprising mind like he seems to have.” He wasn’t joking. He should track down the fellow. He needed a new secretary.
“If it were so empty of value, you would have taken Raylor’s fifty thousand.”
“You misheard. I said fifty thousand might tempt me. He did not offer it. Yet.”
“I do. I suggest that you take it. I know you, and I see your game. It is time to stop this farce of encouraging other bids by pretending disinterest.”
“And stop the fun? I am up to fifty thousand already, despite insisting nothing is there. Imagine if I admitted something were.”
“You will do it because I will make good on my warning to contest the will if you don’t sell to me. As soon as my solicitor moves, all other offers will disappear.”
Castleford frowned over the threat while Latham peered at him intently.
“I see that you have me well cornered, Latham. You really are ruthless, aren’t you?”
“I only do what I know my father would have wanted.”
Castleford shrugged. “Hell, if I sell at all, it might as well be to you as to one of the other idiots, I suppose. Money is money.” And Tuesday was Tuesday. “I suddenly do not find fifty thousand as tempting as I thought I might, however.”
Latham’s eyes gleamed. He smiled smugly, confident of victory now. “I might consider a bit more.”
“Put the offer in writing, and I will think about it.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“W
e prune like this, Mrs. Palmer.” Daphne showed the woman the proper use of the little knife. The climbing rose on the arbor showed the results of the artless use of that tool today, accomplished before Daphne had time to stop the damage.
She left Mrs. Palmer to try again and walked over to where Mrs. Reever hoed at some weeds in the kitchen garden. All of the women knew about growing food, and this plot had seen excellent care the last week since they all arrived. She made them take turns, however, because she needed them to learn the finer points of horticulture if the business were to thrive.
The day proved warm enough, but with the arrival of September the breeze now carried that crispness that heralds the colder weather to come. Soon the chores would return to the greenhouse, and there would have to be much more instruction.
The word from Failsworth was that indeed some men had come looking for Margaret and even entered and searched her home. Daphne wanted to believe it was due to some honest inquiry into that day’s horrible events. She did not believe it, however. Neither did her guests.
They would remain with her a good long while, she suspected.
Mrs. Hill came out of the house. “Mail,” she said, handing over several letters. She peered out from under her cap’s edge. “I’ve been laying in staples and such, as you told me. I can always feed more mouths on the money we spend, but be expecting a lot of soup and bread.”
“I have every confidence in you, Mrs. Hill. As long as we do not starve, all will be well.”
Mrs. Hill gazed at the gardens and at the three bonnets bent to their labors. “Their trouble will pass, I am sure you know. They will not be here forever. Nor the others coming now. I’ve no good sense with plants in the growing, only the cooking, as you also well know. Once they all leave, and with Katherine gone now—”
“I appear to attract women who need homes, much as a light attracts moths, as
you
well know,” Daphne said with a teasing smile. “I expect there to be others.”
Mrs. Hill nodded. “I guessed about Katherine. I was tempted to talk to her, to reassure her. She remained so fearful, as if she expected a magistrate to show up any day. Of course, I assumed she’d had the good sense to do him in. I always say, if a woman is going to cut a brute somewhere, she may as well make it his throat.”
Daphne always found Mrs. Hill’s lack of contrition about one brute’s neck a little dismaying. But then she reminded herself just how broken and battered the woman had been when they met six years ago.
“It was just as well that you did not talk to her, Mrs. Hill, let alone share your opinion regarding the fate due husbands who beat their wives. We would not have wanted her guessing how you came to be here, would we? It has been some years now, but there is probably a magistrate still curious about your whereabouts too.”
“That be the truth of it, for certain.” She bent and picked some sage from the herb row. “I’ll leave you to those letters. I’ve still to get the chamber ready for those two who came this morning.”
Daphne sat on a small bench to the side of the kitchen garden and turned her attention to the mail.
One letter arrested her attention. It bore Castleford’s seal. She had received no letter since she came down two weeks ago. Afterwards had happened faster, and with more finality, than she had expected.
She tore it open and knew at once from the penmanship that the duke had not written this. He had a new secretary, it appeared. A Mr. Austry introduced himself and wrote in Castleford’s stead to invite her to a dinner party His Grace was giving this Friday, in honor of the Marquess of Wittonbury. His Grace would send his coach for her on Thursday, and she would be his guest until Monday.
Once more, the duke had scrawled a short postscript in his own hand.
You must come. I insist on it. If you do not, I will come down there, as I warned I would
.
She laughed at the arrogance of those lines. Yet it touched her that he had bothered to write anything at all, let alone reveal his continued interest so clearly. A happy glow entered her heart.
The other letters came from her friends. They reported on their efforts on behalf of the little quest that she had confided in them. Audrianna also mentioned the dinner party Castleford would host and asked if she would be staying at Park Lane in order to attend.
Daphne carried the letters into the house, to the writing table in the library. She wrote to Verity first, asking her to put into effect some very special plans that they had discussed. Then she wrote to explain those plans to Celia and Audrianna.