* * *
Rothcomb-Smedley had insisted that even though this dinner was his plan and the guest invitations decided upon and personally delivered by him, he desired that Philip serve as host at the dinner table. "I could never sit at the head of the Duke of Aldridge's table." Elizabeth's cousin had requested to be seated at the center of the long table where he felt he would have the opportunity to address more of the guests.
Once they all took their places, Philip surveyed the gathering. There were eighteen members of the House of Commons, and counting his sister and wife, just six females. His gaze settled at the foot of the table where Elizabeth sat, the candlelight bathing her pretty face, her mouth curved into a smile as she chatted with Lord Highsmith's son, Richard Vickers. She was unquestionably the loveliest lady at the table. Then his eye wandered to Clair. So that she would not be surrounded completely by strangers, Elizabeth had asked Richie's permission to have Clair seated opposite him. Philip had never imagined she could look so pretty. It occurred to him that some of these bachelors dining with them could easily be attracted to his favorite sister.
Now, the only obstacle was her superior rank to most of these men. Some would understandably think that since they had no chance to court the daughter of a duke, they simply would not try. But there were always men who desired to increase their consequence.
He found himself trying to remember each man's name, trying to match the family names with their fathers, who likely served with him in the House of Lords. How truthfully Lord Knolles had spoken at White's last week when he told his followers that their group controlled the majority of the seats in the House of Commons too.
It was good that Rothcomb-Smedley had hit upon this scheme to try to break down these men's resistance, to work toward compromises that could bring about approval of the necessary tax increase.
Elizabeth had done well with the menu selection. These men would think they were dining like royalty. She had spared no expense, denied no delicacy. There was roasted pheasant, buttered lobster, roast beef with French sauce, succulent turbot, clear turtle soup. And the finest wines that could be offered.
The men drank rather greedily. Good, he thought, ply them with very good spirits, then once they were mellowed, set about to sway their opinions. "More claret, Ashworth?" he said to the man at his left, who had quickly finished his first glass of wine.
"Don't mind if I do. Excellent vintage. Very good, indeed."
"Only the best for the men who serve their country so diligently," Philip said, filling the man's glass.
"Can't imagine not serving in Parliament. I like to be in the center of things, if you know what I mean."
"Exactly why I returned from my travels. It was time I take a serious interest in this country.” Philip launched into a description of the vile things Napoleon had done in Italy and how the French armies were swelling with those who had been conquered. “It is imperative we build and equip an army superior to that of the French.”
Swinnerton shook his head in dismay. “I was unaware of the extent of the French domination.”
“If they’re not stopped,” Lorne said, “the whole world will be speaking French.”
“As a strong Tory in support of our Royal Family, even though the Regent is not half the man his father once was," Vickers said, "I shouldn’t like for us to be deprived of so grand a tradition as the monarchy.”
“Aye, I agree,” Douglass said, eying Philip. “What is it you and Rothcomb-Smedley propose?”
Philip frowned. “We must increase taxes.”
“My father won’t like that.”
“Rothcomb-Smedley assures me that as soon as we win this war, the tax rate will revert to what it is today,” Philip said.
“Can that guarantee be written into the bill?” Ashworth asked.
Philip’s brows hiked. “Excellent point, Ashworth. Shall we ask Rothcomb-Smedley? He has much more experience in drafting these measures than I.”
Ashworth got Rothcomb-Smedley’s attention and repeated the question.
“By Jove!” A wide smile crossed Rothcomb-Smedley’s face. “I will do that! Thank you for the suggestion.”
“That addition should make the bill more palatable,” Douglass said.
Ashworth nodded. “Indeed it should.”
“You men must think of it as survival,” Clair said. “Think how those in the cold climes must work hard and put away extra food and chop wood—all at some degree of sacrifice—in order to survive during the winter. The English face extermination if we don’t make the sacrifice.”
Philip smiled. “My sister is possessed of passionate opinions.”
“A pity women cannot serve in Parliament,” Rothcomb-Smedley said, eying Clair with admiration.
Philip lifted the bottle of claret. “More wine?
***
After the guests had left, he and his wife sat before the fire in the intimate library. He intended to finish off the last of the port, then take his wife to bed. He felt almost like celebrating. It had been a far more successful evening than he had ever thought it could be.
“Did you not think things went rather well?” she asked.
“I did. It was somewhat like watching ice thaw.”
“A good analogy.”
“I shall have to steal your cousin’s plan. Will you be up to hosting another dinner next week—the next time for members of the House of Lords?”
“Of course. Remember, I wish to be your Lady Wickshire.”
“As I recall, Lady Wickshire’s loveliness pales when compared to that of the Duchess of Aldridge.”
“Thank you, dearest. I daresay you’re prejudiced, but speaking of loveliness, did you not think Clair looked most handsome?”
“I am ashamed to say that at first I did not even recognize her. She looked uncommonly fetching.”
“I got so involved with the discussions I forgot to notice if any of the bachelors paid special attention to her.”
“How could they not? She even expresses herself with far more intelligence than most young ladies—though my wife is sure to say I am not an impartial judge.”
“Clair and I are grateful for your unfailing loyalty.”
“And I am grateful for yours.” He took her hand. “How do your widows do?”
“The last family has now moved in. It is impossible to tell you how much pleasure I derive from these families. Your sisters are just as committed as I. We now have eight and twenty children. Only two of them are older than twelve.”
She went on to tell him about the children’s love of the piano and how patient Margaret was with them. As she spoke, her eyes brightened, and there was excitement in her voice. Quite naturally, she went from talk of Trent Square happenings to her enthusiasm for sponsorship of a bill to provide pensions for the soldiers’ widows and children.
God but he hated to crush her. She had never shown such exuberance over anything. “My dear, I have something disappointing to tell you.”
She stopped her animated discussions of the fatherless children and peered up at him, her brows lowered.
“I won't be able to help with the pension bill.”
Her face looked bleak. “But you agreed that it was a good plan!”
“I still agree, but I had not gauged what difficulty I would face in Parliament. Already I am being called a spendthrift. I have to weigh what is for the greater good, and clearly my efforts—feeble as they’ve been—must be channeled into defeating the French.”
“Of course, I understand that. But it shouldn’t take huge sums to help these families who’ve lost so much for their country. You said. . .”
“I bloody well know what I said, but at this time, I cannot help. I promise you that after we are victorious, I will do whatever I can for the widows.”
“But this war has already dragged on for years. So many of these families are destitute now. They may not survive until the war is won.”
“I am sorry.” He could not have felt more wretched had he just brutally struck her lovely face.
She stiffened and set down her glass, then got to her feet. “I’m going to bed now. You know I am out of charity with you.”
He nodded somberly and watched as she stormed from the room.
He had destroyed his own Lady Wickshire.
It was the warmest, prettiest day of spring yet this year, and she hated to spend it indoors. But she and the Ponsby sisters had duties at Trent Square. Later, she would enjoy the fine weather when she and Richie rode in the park.
Just before leaving Aldridge House, Abraham, who had been standing attentively beside the entrance door, cleared his throat and addressed Elizabeth. No footman had ever
initiated
a conversation with her. "Your grace, I beg a private word with you."
She had come to rely upon the footman's assistance with anything that needed doing at Number 7 Trent Square. His countenance was always agreeable, and he was uncommonly good with the children. If she were not so out of charity with her husband, she would have thanked Philip for insisting that Abraham—who not just coincidentally happened to be the tallest, strongest of all the Aldridge footmen—accompany her and his sisters when they performed services relating to Trent Square.
"Certainly," she said. "Shall we step into the morning room?" She swept into that chamber, him following, then she eased the door shut and turned to him. Though he was easily twice her size, there was a youthful innocence in his well-sculpted face as he peered down at her.
"It's difficult for me to admit this, yer grace, but I never 'ad the opportunity to learn readin' and writin'."
She was astonished. All the Haverstock servants had been literate. Her severe father had required them to attend Sunday church services and Sunday school, where they were taught how to read in order to read Scripture. Her heart went out to this big, strapping, exceedingly handsome fellow who must be about the same age as her. What a very great misfortune it would be not to know how to read. She was not sure why he wanted to bring up this topic with her. . . unless he wished to be instructed. She would not hesitate to give him permission to learn reading. "Do you desire to learn?"
"More than anything, yer grace." He cleared his throat. "It occurred to me when I saw the little children at Trent Square being taught to read that I might be permitted to be instructed along with them—unless you should disapprove or need me services elsewhere."
"Of course I would never disapprove of such a thing." But the vision of those long legs of his folded into a chair beside the five-year-olds was most pitiable. "Allow me to speak to Mrs. Hudson on the subject." Mrs. Hudson was currently teaching letters and rudimentary reading skills to seven children, each of them about five years of age, give or take a year.
Not long after they arrived at Trent Square, Elizabeth begged a private word with Mrs. Hudson right after that woman had requested that Abraham go help the cook with some large sacks of flour.
Elizabeth and the youthful widow went to the morning room where the draperies were open, and sunlight filled the golden chamber. She met Mrs. Hudson's quizzing gaze. The melancholy that had defined the pretty woman when they had met for the first time a few weeks previously was fading away like a scar upon a child's knee. Elizabeth derived great satisfaction in knowing she was in some way responsible for bringing the life back into the widow’s fine green eyes. Of course the credit really should go to James. Had it not been for him, none of them would be at Trent Square today.
"I should like to ask that you teach Abraham how to read."
The young mother's brows lowered. "He cannot read?"
Elizabeth solemnly shook her head.
"What a grave misfortune it must be not be able to read."
"Indeed it is. He wishes to learn so badly he asked to be permitted to learn alongside the children you're instructing, but I cannot help but be cognizant of his manliness and shouldn't want to humiliate him in any way. It took great courage for him to approach me on the subject in the first place."
"He approached you on the matter?"
"He did."
"It most certainly did take a great deal of courage. He's an admirable man. Louisa adores him." Mrs. Hudson's pensive gaze went to the window. "I would be honored to teach him how to read and write. Privately. I believe he'd learn quickly, based upon how keen his mind seems. I give him long, verbal lists of things I need him to do, and he remembers every single one. And. . . he knows the name of every child here."
"Oh, dear. He must have a remarkable memory. I must own, there are a few children whose names I still have not learned."
"But yer grace, you've had many other matters to distract your attention."
"You're too kind."
"No. Your approval of Abraham's instruction demonstrates your incredible kindness. When should you like me to begin working with him?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "Today. May I suggest that first thing every day when we arrive, you and Abraham have a private lesson? A half hour to an hour a day should suffice. I will also give him leave to study when he's not busy at Aldridge House."
Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Instead of in the school room, where the tables and chairs are so small, I thought perhaps he and I could go sit at the big table in the dinner room."
"An excellent suggestion. That way, with the two of you sitting side by side, he should learn quickly."
"I have always found that one learns best when being personally instructed."
Elizabeth nodded. "One to one. Yes, that is the best way."
* * *
That afternoon Elizabeth rode in the park with Richie. She could not remember ever seeing more conveyances in the queue to enter Hyde Park, nor had she ever seen so many couples strolling along its verdant paths.
"I must ask you," she said, "if you were serious when you told me you would support the measure regarding the widow's pensions."
"Of course I was serious. It's an excellent plan."
She nodded somberly. "Philip has changed his mind about supporting it."
Richie tipped his cap at a passing couple, then frowned. "It's probably for the best that he focus on only one bill at a time. He is meeting with a great deal of resistance on that tax bill. Because he's been out of the country for so long, it will take patience, time, and cunning in order for him to win over those set-in-their-way peers."