“Anything exciting scheduled for debate at the House today?” she asked.
“He’s back. This may be it. I expect I’ll be gone all day and half the night, Maddie.” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he cast an arch smile in her direction.
There was no elucidation of the “he” necessary between them. “He” was Prince George, appointed regent the preceding February, when it was no longer possible to hope for his father’s recovery from madness. “He” was no real favorite of Lord Fordwich. His high spending, his women, his drinking, and his running off to holiday at his Brighton pavilion at this time of crisis—all these could be overlooked. The great crime was that he was a Whig, almost certainly come back to London now to ask for Lord Perceval’s resignation as prime minister, to set up that demmed Grey or Grenville in his stead.
“That sounds exciting. I’ll go to the ladies’ gallery and watch the show,” Madeline decided.
“The excitement won’t occur in the House,” he told her, “but in private meetings. You would do better to stay home and receive callers. See what you can learn from them about the people’s attitude to this change of power.” But the truth was, there was seldom any but Tory callers in that house, and their attitude was as well known as an old ballad.
“Keep me informed,” she said eagerly. “Send me a note the
instant
you hear anything definite. Perhaps I shall go to Almack’s this evening and see what I can discover of Lady Hertford, or Yarmouth.”
“You’ll learn nothing from that pair,” her father opined, but the young lady still had some hopes of charming the truth out of Lady Hertford’s son, if not the prince’s mistress herself.
The butler entered to inform Fordwich that his carriage was waiting. Madeline accompanied him to the door. She liked to watch his departures—his elegant body being bowed into his shiny black carriage, the horses jiggling in impatience to be off. There was a feeling of solidity and comfort in the knowledge that her father was one of the most powerful men in the country, and looked the part. But how old he was growing!
Just before she closed the door, he turned back. “Oh, by the by, my cousin Aldred is sending his son to town—he should arrive today. He will call, no doubt. Make him welcome. He does not stay here, but is putting up with some friend.”
Her mind flew swiftly over her cousins, scarcely recognizing the name, for the Aldreds were but little spoken of, in the usual way of poor relations. “Coming from where?” she asked.
“The north—Manchester. Looking about for a position, I believe. Aldred says he is a bright chap. You’ll find something for him. I am too busy at this time. G’day.” He nodded and was off, walking carefully, and being half hauled into his carriage.
Despite the excitement of a possible change of government, she continued thinking of her father when she returned to the saloon. Things would be very different when he died. Her position in society depended to no small extent on being Fordwich’s daughter. She had no brother. Upon Fordwich’s death, the title and estate would go to Cousin Morash, who was not at all active politically. It was even possible Morash would not welcome her at his home. Her mother’s fortune of thirty thousand pounds was hers, so she would not be poor, but certainly her new establishment would not equal the one to which she was accustomed.
And if she bought a London home—and she could not envision a life without a London residence—would there be enough left over for a country seat? Never being able to leave the city except as someone’s guest was nearly as dreadful an anticipation as not having a home in London.
Cousin Morash would very likely offer her rack and manger, but his wife was a drab, dreary creature. What manner of social life would Cousin Eileen have, she wondered. The annual ball, for instance, might very well go by the board, as Eileen felt it her duty to present her husband a plight of her troth every year. Six children already she had encumbered him with, every one of them with red hair and freckles.
How
could
women do it? With a shake of her head, as though to get rid of the problem, she went to a desk and began penning her note to Robert Dundas, informing him that Captain Hopper... Her work was interrupted by a new caller. She looked up with interest as the butler announced:
“Mr. Henry Aldred, ma’am.”
Chapter Two
She looked up to see a sharp pair of brown eyes regarding
her curiously. Henry’s bow was graceful, if a trifle tardy. He had examined her longer than she liked. He was neither short nor ugly, and if he was poor, there was no real evidence of it in his appearance. The blue jacket that sat on his broad shoulders was not up to the quality of London tailoring, to be sure. A little bulge under the arms and a wrinkle at the shoulder were noticed upon a close inspection, but in the presence of Mr. Aldred, one’s attention was more apt to be drawn to his person than his garments.
He was tall, well formed, his face open and innocent without being rustic. The wind had turned his cheeks to scarlet, and the removal of his curled beaver had left one little strand of his dark hair hanging over his forehead, increasing his boyish charm. Yet he was clearly more than a boy—at least in his mid-twenties, she reckoned. There was an air of confidence on his ingenuous countenance that one did not see on younger faces.
“Cousin Aldred, delighted to make you welcome,” she said, offering her hand, like a gentleman. Aldred blinked in surprise, but stepped forward to grasp her fingers and give them a firm shake.
“Lady Madeline, delighted,” he replied, as his eyes made a quick trip from the top of her fashionably tousled dark curls to the tips of her equally fashionable feet, clad in patent slippers. Neither was the lively face omitted, nor the graceful figure.
She took no objection to this scrutiny, occupied as she was in a similar examination of her caller. “I hope you left the family in Manchester well,” she said politely, as though she were doing no more than making civil small talk. In fact, her every faculty was alert to judge his accent, his manner of expressing himself, his quickness. It was always amusing to annoy the ladies by appearing with a new escort.
“Tolerably well, thank you, ma’am. Papa tells me Cousin Fordwich is fine, and I can see there is nothing amiss with
your
health.” This speech held just the proper amount of flirtation and admiration for a new young acquaintance of the opposite sex.
She smiled with satisfaction. “Do have a seat, Mr. Aldred, and let us become acquainted. Such a pity we cousins grow up with never a peek at each other. It is always interesting to meet grown cousins for the first time, isn’t it?”
“Not always so interesting as on this occasion,” he replied with a gallant smile, as he accompanied her to the settee. He waited till she had arranged her skirts before joining her.
“Would you care for some coffee?” she asked. “I can see by your cheeks, and hear from that howling wind, that it is deuced cold out.”
She judged correctly that the fleeting rise of his brow was caused by her using the word
deuced.
She enjoyed to shock provincial friends with her city expressions.
“Thank you. That would be lovely. The fire looks tempting. Would you mind if I go to warm my hands?”
“Not at all. We’ll sit closer to it, shall we?” She purposely walked a pace behind him, to observe him from the back. The shoulders were a little too padded, the waist nipped in more tightly than was fashionable. The hair too was cut shorter than that being worn by the urban bucks.
These details were not only acceptable but welcome. There was no point in having a protégé if she could not help him, point out the little improvements, add the refining touches. Already it had darted into her mind that he would make an interesting protégé. The boots, she was happy to see, were unexceptionable. Much could be judged by a man’s boots.
“Papa tells me you are putting up with a friend,” she went on, in a spirit of conversational small talk that hid her rampant interest in him. “Would I be likely to know him?” She sat on one fireside chair, Henry on the other facing it.
“So he tells me,” Aldred replied. “Taffy Barker, a friend from my university days. He says all of London knows Lady Madeline, and admires her.” There was a glint of a smile in his eyes, a hint of admiration. He looked around the room as he finished his speech. The room too pleased him. It matched the woman—elegant, rich, good taste. He had learned that the correct method of proceeding was not to mention these things, however. To draw attention to them would imply a lack of familiarity. “How cozy this is,” he said when he had finished his examination of the spacious chamber.
“Yes, we hardly use the larger rooms once the cold weather hits us. Taffy Barker, you say.” Unexceptionable! To hear too that her cousin had been to university was encouraging. “That would be Oxford then, if I am not mistaken?”
“Yes, we were at Christ Church together a few years ago, and have kept up the acquaintance since, mostly through correspondence, but Taffy has also been to my home to visit me. It was his idea that I come to London.”
“Is it to be more than a visit?” she queried, already knowing it was so.
“Yes, I am looking for a position. I am only a younger son, you must know, but I did not come here asking for help. I came to pay my family’s respects to you and your father. Lord Fordwich is out, I take it?”
“Papa will not likely be home at all today. The prince regent has come back to town, you see.”
“Oh,” he answered blankly. “Your father is a good friend of the prince, is he?”
“Good God, no! Especially not at
this
time!”
“What is special about
this
time?” he asked.
Before long, Mr. Aldred was hearing about the likelihood of the prince unseating the Tory party, and putting a Whig government in to rule instead.
“You seem very much interested in politics,” he mentioned after a little talk.
“We live, eat, breathe, and sleep politics in this house, Cousin,” she admitted readily. “But enough talk of me. What sort of work will
you
be looking for?”
“It is embarrassing to admit that after my years of university, I have not the least notion,” he confessed. “I would have been wiser perhaps to have taken Holy Orders, or studied for some profession—the law or medicine.” He sat thinking a moment. When he spoke, he said, “I wonder if there won’t be plenty of opportunities for positions with the new government when it takes over. It stands to reason a new broom will sweep out a goodly number of the old boys.”
Such an expression of interest in working for the opposition would have sent Lord Fordwich flying into the boughs. Lady Madeline was not the least distressed. It showed her he was wide awake, alive to an opportunity when he saw one. She would soon head him in the proper direction.
Before lunch was on the table, she had already begun dropping hints of so interesting a nature that Mr. Aldred had become half a Tory. Other comments revealed that so far as political principles went, he was not very well versed in partisan politics at all.
“Yes, no doubt there are opportunities on either side,” he agreed over a raised pigeon pie, “but there is no advantage to aligning oneself with a party on its way out the door, if you see my meaning.”
“There is many a slip twixt the cup and the lip, Mr. Aldred. The regent’s main friend on that side of the house was Charles Fox. Now that he is dead, the inclination to change the government will not be so strong. Of course some of Prinney’s best friends are Whigs—Lord Moira, Sheridan, Lord Hutchinson and others. It is not
certain
he will depose Perceval, though he
does
hate him for his support of Princess Caroline.”
“The regent’s wife, you mean?”
“Yes, he took her side some years ago when the trouble developed between them. It has been a dreadfully unhappy marriage from the outset.”
“The princess is extremely popular in the countryside,” he told her.
“Well, she is not terribly popular here,” she said stiffly. “Only the Whigs support her. We have more allies on our side. Lady Hertford, a great friend of the prince, and even the prince’s own brother Cumberland, are by no means Whiggish. Never speak the words
Catholic Emancipation
before either of them. Then too, some of the Whigs wish to call off the Peninsular War, and I cannot think Prinney would like that.”
“I personally believe Catholic Emancipation is long overdue, but as to the war, surely no man who calls himself an Englishman would speak of stopping now, when it seems Boney is pulling many of his troops out of the Peninsula. I hear rumors he is mounting a campaign in Russia.”
She nodded in satisfaction to hear he was well aware of what passed around him, even if he had no particular interest in the government. Approving of Catholic Emancipation was tolerable—many of her father’s crones did likewise. After lunch they returned to the grate in the Gold Saloon.
“You lead a very interesting life,” Henry said, as she offhandedly mentioned various doings with the nation’s most elite personages.
She smiled softly and began to reel him in. “Did it never occur to you to involve yourself in Tory politics, Mr. Aldred?”
“I am as ignorant as Paddie’s pig in such matters,” he confessed bluntly. “I haven’t the connections for it, nor the financial backing either.”
“I will undertake to arrange the connections. We are cousins, after all. I would be happy to do it, but the ignorance you must correct yourself.”
“I am a fast enough learner. You are very kind, ma’am. I am convinced it would be a great bore for you, to have an unlicked cub like myself on your hands. Then too, there is the matter of money.”
“I expect your credit is good. You cannot have done anything to destroy it. You’ve only arrived in town.”
“I would not like to run into debt!” he said, aghast.
“It won’t cost as much as you might think. We will find something that will keep you afloat for the nonce. Papa knows the ins and outs of the Civil List. You have some money, I expect?” she asked quite frankly.
“I am not completely destitute,” he answered, showing a little pink around the collar at the open discussion of what was generally considered a private matter.