“Welcome to the venerable rabbit warren,” he announced with a wave of his hand, breaking in on her profitless thoughts. She looked around. They were crossing Old Palace Yard, opposite the Abbey, where buildings ancient and new seemed to grow out of each other like barnacles. “Warren” was an apt description, she decided, for shops, law courts, coffee houses, government offices, and even private homes coexisted here on intimate, overcrowded terms, clustered around the nucleus of Westminster Hall. Over it all hovered a dark-smelling, unsanitary dampness. It was anything but grand, and seemed a great deal more medieval than modern, yet there was vigor in the diversity and energy in the chaos. Riordan’s tone and manner were consciously modest, even deprecating, but there was a flush of pride in his face; glancing about, she had a glimmer of an idea why.
“Walter Raleigh lost his head right…here,” he told her, pointing to the ground at their feet, while she tried to ignore the hand he held at the small of her back. “Milton was married over there, in St. Margaret’s. Oliver Cromwell’s head sat on the roof of the Hall for twenty-three years. Sir Thomas More was tried there, and the Earl of Essex, and Guy Fawkes. That’s the House of Lords, Cass, in the Chamber of Requests. And this—this is the Commons.”
She regarded with surprise the modest, three-story stone building with leaded windows and a slate roof. “It looks like a church,” she observed. Perhaps if she pretended she was on a guided tour with a stranger, she could get through this.
“It is. Or it was, St. Stephen’s Chapel. It was deconsecrated in 1557, and it’s been the House of Commons ever since. Come on, let’s go inside. I want to show you—” He stopped, his eyes on the figure of a stoop-shouldered gentleman coming down from the stone portico. The man saw them in the same moment. He squinted, then raised his arm in a sort of greeting.
“That you, Philip Riordan? I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”
Cass was astonished when Riordan halted in his tracks like a schoolboy caught in a prank. But he took hold of her arm and marched bravely toward the older gentleman, as if preparing to take his punishment.
“Good afternoon, sir. What a pleasure to—”
“Don’t ‘good afternoon’ me. What’s this reform nonsense I hear you’re planning to introduce this term, before I can even get my coat off?” The speaker was past sixty, a heavy-set individual in a scratch wig and round spectacles, with a deeply lined, profoundly weary countenance. “I’ll oppose you, my boy,” he warned, stabbing at Riordan’s lapel with a stubby finger. “You can count on it.”
“I expected that, sir—”
“What do you mean, taking up time with fluff like this? We’ll be at war with France inside the year if I have my way, and that’s a damn sight more important than whether a horse thief hangs or goes to jail.”
Riordan grinned. “You’re quite right, but I’ll wager we can find time for both.”
“We’ll see about that. Who’s this, then, your new wife?” He touched his hat, and his care-worn face softened.
“Yes, sir, this is Mrs. Riordan. Cass, I’d like you to meet Mr. Burke.”
Extending a hand, Cass had to retrieve her fallen jaw. The Mr. Burke? Edmund Burke? But this man was so old! “I’m honored to make your acquaintance,” she said earnestly. “I’m a great admirer of your work.”
Mr. Burke looked skeptical.
“It’s true,” Riordan assured him. “She’s read almost everything you’ve written.” His eyes twinkled. “In all candor, sir, she likes you better than I do.”
The great statesman lowered his brows in a fierce scowl. “Then you’ve married well, you young rake, and much beyond what you deserve. Let’s hope some of her good sense rubs off on you.” He turned back to Cass. “I don’t envy you, madam. Keep an eye on this scoundrel. The only admirable qualities I’ve noticed in him are a keen mind, absolute integrity, and the ability to get along with anybody. A dangerous start.” He touched his hat again. “Good day to you both. And good luck.”
It was Riordan’s turn to close his mouth. He stared at the portly, retreating back of Edmund Burke in utter stillness, repeating the great man’s parting words in his head, committing them to memory. After a moment he looked down at Cass, unable to conceal his elation. “Lord, Cass, did you hear him? He—”
“He likes you,” she finished, trying not to smile. “Why shouldn’t he?” There was no reason why Riordan’s pleasure should please her, but it did.
“Because! My reputation’s a shambles, I come to the sessions pretending I’m drunk, I—”
“Perhaps he’s been told how matters really stand,” she suggested quietly. “Isn’t he the leader of his branch of the Whigs?”
“Yes, but—” He stopped, considering. “It’s possible, I suppose. After all, Pitt knows, and some of the other ministers as well.” He paused again; his face was a study.
“It would mean a lot to you, wouldn’t it? To be known for what you are by the man you respect so much?”
He smiled into her eyes, loving her dearly at that moment. He wanted to kiss her, but of course she wouldn’t let him. But there would be time for that later. “Yes, it would,” he said simply, and took her arm.
But she didn’t move. “I think there must be two men inside you, Philip,” she told him, her voice bleak. “One of them is noble and generous and upright. But the other is a liar and a hypocrite. I’m sorry we ever met.”
He shook his head slowly, without anger. It wasn’t only he she didn’t trust, he realized, it was herself. She hadn’t enough confidence in her own worth to believe he loved her, that he could have married her. It was a melancholy insight. “After you change your mind about me, Cass,” he said with quiet determination, “I’m going to make you change your mind about yourself. That’s a promise.”
But first things first. Without waiting for her to answer, he put his hand on her elbow and hurried her up the steps, through the arched portico, and into the House.
The cloakroom was the old church cloisters. Red tapes dangled from the coat hangers lining the walls—so the Members could hang up their swords before going into the Chamber to debate, he explained. Much less bloody that way. “But we always keep our hats on, Cass. Can’t imagine why, but it’s a tradition. Spurs, too, if we like. And you can’t arrest us, we’re immune. Speak ill of us and we’ll have you arrested, for breach of privilege.” He nodded to a porter standing by the door, then led her through another passageway to a high-ceilinged, medium-sized room. “And this is the dark and comfortless Lobby. When a vote’s taken on a bill, we don’t raise our hands or shout out. We walk out here if we’re for it, and the Speaker counts us. It’s called a division. Come on, this way.” He pulled her through a short hallway to another door and threw it open. “The Chamber,” he announced proudly.
His enthusiasm was touching; in spite of all he’d done, she couldn’t bring herself to hurt his feelings. “Very nice,” she said politely, marveling at how small it was, more cozy than grand, not at all what she’d expected. It was even paneled. More than ever it looked like a church, of the Reformed variety.
“That’s the Speaker’s Chair,” he said, pointing to a plain, straight-backed chair on a raised dais. It faced two large groups of benches separated by a green carpet. “I sit here, on the Whig side.” He dropped her hand and walked toward the back of the Chamber. “Here!” He was so far away he almost had to shout. “The important Members sit in front!” He came toward her again, smiling. “Strangers sit up there.” He pointed to a three-sided gallery above their heads. “A Stranger, of course, is anybody who’s not a Member. Burke sits here, on the Treasury bench since he broke with Fox and the other Whigs.”
“Will he really oppose your bill?” she asked, worried in spite of herself. But what she really wanted to ask was, Philip, what are we doing here?
“Oh, yes. That was a foregone conclusion. ‘Reform’ isn’t a word in Burke’s vocabulary.”
“Then why do you like him so much? Wade hates him.”
“Ye
s, I imagine he does. Burke’s his worst enemy. He hates the Revolution for the same reason he hates reform—they both upset the traditions of the past.” He dropped down in Burke’s seat on the Treasury bench. “Why do I like him? Because his mind is brilliant, he’s as honest as he is stubborn, and he’d die before he’d compromise his principles. And he’s the most extraordinary speaker. Or rather, he used to be. Now they call him the ‘dinner bell of the House.’ ”
“Why?”
“Because as soon as he rises to speak, everyone leaves.” He chuckled fondly. “Well, he goes on so. You have to remember, many of the M.P.’s are only simple farmers or merchants—they haven’t the patience for his convoluted arguments and flights of fancy. And he’s getting on in years—he gets weary and out of sorts, and then he can’t seem to bring his speeches to an end. Ah, but you should’ve heard him a few years ago, Cass. There was never anyone like him.”
“And yet Colin doesn’t see him as harmless, I don’t think. He really despises him.”
“His power is in his writing now. When he lost the support of the Whigs, he went over their heads to the people. It’s mostly because of him that public opinion is turning away from France these days.”
He stood up. She was afraid it was time to leave, that for some reason he’d wanted her to see all this before he let her go, but now the tour was over. “How many Members are there?” she asked. She was stalling, she realized glumly, and despised herself for it.
“About six hundred and fifty.”
“So many! Surely they can’t all fit in here.”
“No, only about half show up at any one time. It’s always been that way.”
“How does it work? What do you do?”
“We debate. The Speaker calls on the Honorable Gentleman from Muddleton-on-Sea. He rises. He begins to speak—extemporaneously, of course; any man caught with notes is hooted out of the Chamber. All the other Members are either absent, asleep, talking out loud, or hurling letters back and forth to each other. It’s the most extraordinary thing, Cass, you would hardly credit it. If he’s a dull speaker, poor fellow, he’s interrupted by jeering so loud you can’t hear a word he says. But if he’s good, the whole Chamber listens in absolute silence. Junior Members soon learn that they won’t be governing Great Britain single-handedly after all. Some go into a long sulk after their maiden speech and don’t say another word for years. Others set out to learn the game.”
“Like you,” she guessed. “That’s what you’ve done.”
“What I’m doing. It’s a long process, but worth the effort. Because although I’m not governing Great Britain, this House of Commons is.”
She smiled. “And I thought it was the king.”
“No, we only let him think so.” He took out his pocket watch. “Well, love. Let’s go, shall we? It’s getting late, and I have one more thing to show you.”
She felt a weakening in the knees at his thoughtless endearment. The pain of leaving was almost too much to be borne. All at once, it struck her that she didn’t have to bear it. She could choose to stay with him. Who would care? Who would know the truth except her, and him, and John Walker? He was waiting, his hand outstretched. She shuddered as the vista of a life with Riordan—or as much of one as he cared to give her—spread before her mind’s eye and she balanced on the brink of capitulation. But at the last second she drew back.
“Philip,” she said tensely, “what are we doing? Why did you bring me here? Please, this is—difficult for me. Mayn’t we go home now?”
He came close, but didn’t touch her. His face was extraordinarily tender, his eyes seeming to see to the bottom of her soul. “You promised me two hours,” he said gently. “It’s almost over. Believe me, sweet Cass, I want to go home as much as you.” He put his hand out again. “I don’t ask you to trust me. Just to come with me.”
She hesitated, then slipped her hand in his.
Out of the Chamber they went, through a different dim passageway, down a winding stairway of damp stone, and along another series of narrow halls, until at last they came to a studded double door. She looked at him inquiringly; his expression was odd and unreadable. He held the door open for her. She went past, took three steps, and stopped. By the light of a hundred votive candles, she saw that this time she was in a real church.
“What is it?” she faltered, whispering.
“The Lower Chapel. It’s only used by Members nowadays, for weddings and christenings.” He cleared his throat and stood in front of her. “I thought it would be a good place for us to get married.”
No, he couldn’t do it without touching her. He reached for her lifeless hands and took a deep breath. “Will you marry me again, Cass? I love you with all my heart.” He pulled her closer, taking her stunned silence for indecision. “Marry me and let’s get old together. You’ll be the most beautiful little old lady.”
Still she didn’t speak, but neither did she protest when he wound his arms around her and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m so in love with you,” he murmured, brushing her nose with his lips. “I’m a good catch, Cass—even Burke says I’m an honest man. And there’s a group of men in Buckinghamshire who’ve invited me to stand for the next election from their district. As strange as it seems, it looks like I’m a man on the rise. Are you going to say yes? I don’t mind getting down on my knees if it’ll help.”
He touched the tears on her face softly with his fingers. “I love you,” he said into her shining eyes. “I’ll never stop loving you, even when I’m a shriveled up old goat of a man.” He dropped his voice. “I’ll always be after you, too, because I’ll only get more virile the older I get. You won’t be able to keep—”
“Oh! Philip!” She flung her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt. “Oh! Oh!” was all she could seem to say.
“Does that mean yes?” he laughed, embracing her, lifting her off the floor, and then immediately loosening his hold for fear of breaking her ribs.
“Yes! Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, Philip!”
“It’s a good thing I’m the one in this family who gets paid for being eloquent,” he grinned, then kissed her with all his pent-up passion. “Do you love me, Cass?”
“I do, I do love you. I love you, Philip, I’ve always loved you.” She was giddy with happiness. It was as if a dam had burst inside, and the long-submerged words of love were spilling from her lips in an irrepressible cascade. “Shall we really marry, then? Here?”
“Here, as soon as I can speak to the canon and arrange it. I spent half the afternoon trying to find him, but he wasn’t available.”
“Will it be soon?”
“It will if I have anything to say about it. Because we won’t really be marrying, we’ll be solemnizing new vows, so there’ll be no need to wait for the banns. I don’t see why it can’t be done right away.”
Solemnizing new vows. She hooked her arms around his neck and hugged him. “You mean this time we won’t just ‘declare our wish to marry’?”
He didn’t return her teasing smile. “You are my wife, Cass. You were before and you are now. Do you believe me?”
“I’m not sure,” she murmured, wetting her lips. “Maybe you’d better show me.”
He made a sound in his throat, part hum, part growl. “Why, you cheeky wench. And in the Members’ Chapel, too.”
She felt cheeky. “What better place to have a Member than in his chapel?” she asked, pressing herself against him, loving the way his eyes widened in amusement and answering desire. He brought her even closer and kissed her with the slow, sensual urgency that always undid her, then walked her two steps backward until he had her pressed against the thick oak door. She loosened her arms around his neck enough to give him room to touch her but not enough to break the kiss. Her breasts changed shape in his palms. His tongue filled her mouth; her head went back and she let him nibble and taste while one of his hands restlessly stroked her stomach. When he pushed himself against her and murmured something starkly suggestive i
n her ear, she knew it was only his weight pressing against her that was keeping her upright.
She also realized how close they were to committing a sacrilegious act. She pulled away with a heroic surge of will and whispered against his throat, “I’ve thought of a better place.” Riordan was breathing hard, and unable to remember what this related to until she finished, “In the Member’s bed.”
“Ahh,” he said on a shuddering sigh, “the Member’s bed. Yes. The very thing.” But he looked around reluctantly. “Still, these pews couldn’t be as hard as they look. If we—”
“Philip!”
He chuckled. “Tell me you love me before we go,” he urged. “I don’t think I heard right before.”
She brought his head down and put her lips to his ear. “I love you,” she said distinctly, then repeated it for good measure, in a sibilant whisper, her teeth nipping his earlobe.
He shivered involuntarily. “Oh, Cass. Are you going to get it.”
The mixture of threat and promise excited her unbearably. Without another word, they took each other’s hands and left the chapel, intent now on nothing but the deadly serious business of getting home fast. Walking was out of the question. They found a hackney near the park and flung themselves into it like escaping criminals. Riordan called out the address to the driver imperiously and promised him an extra crown if he could make it in under a quarter of an hour. Inside the coach, they collapsed with laughter, amused at their own eagerness.
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