She scowled. “The duke is not attending this meeting, no matter what the press may assume. So tell him to be off, or I’ll—”
“I’ll take care of this,” Marcus said, drawn over by the discussion.
After they left, she stood there, seething. “I wonder how the Times found out. If one of our ladies told them, I swear I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“How?” Regina asked. “You won’t be part of the London Ladies anymore.”
Louisa’s heart sank. “Drat it all.” She stared out at the crowd, tears burning in her throat. Her members were settled in their seats, watching her expectantly. Best to get this done, before she fell apart. “Time to begin, I suppose.”
Regina nodded and went to sit in the front row.
With a sinking in the pit of her stomach, Louisa took her place at the podium and waited until the crowd fell silent. “Good morning, ladies. I do appreciate your coming here today. It is with great sadness and regret that I announce—”
“—that her husband is deplorably late,” finished a voice from the back of the room.
Her words caught in her throat and her gaze shot to where Simon was hurrying to the front, with several men at his heels. He looked harried as he gestured toward the chairs, and his companions slid into whatever empty seats they could find.
She tensed, not sure what to make of this. Was he actually daring to take over her meeting? After forcing her to have it in the first place?
As he reached the podium, she murmured, “Who are those men?”
“Members of the press,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry—I meant to be here an hour ago, but I had some trouble extricating myself from Sidmouth and Castlereagh.”
“If you think I’ll allow you to use my meeting for your political purpose—”
“Trust me.” Seizing her hand, he squeezed it hard. “Let me have my say, all right? I promise you won’t regret it, my love.”
The words “my love” arrested her and she stared at him. He looked far different from when she’d left him yesterday in his study. The animation in his features lent a new brilliance to his beautiful blue eyes. And he was smiling so warmly that it couldn’t help but light a spark in her, too.
With her heart clamoring in her chest, she nodded, then turned with him to face the murmuring crowd, her hand still caught in his. She spotted her brother standing in the back, an approving smile on his lips, which increased her hope.
Simon cleared his throat and the crowd fell silent. “As my wife said, we appreciate your coming here today. Because she and I are pleased to announce that we will be joining the London Ladies Society in endorsing Mr. Thomas Fielden for the upcoming by-election.”
Louisa’s breath hitched in her throat and she swung her gaze to Simon, hardly able to believe her ears. He was supporting Mr. Fielden after all?
To her shock, Simon winked at her—winked, of all things!
He squeezed her hand again and went on. “Would you come up to the podium, Mr. Fielden?”
Mr. Fielden rose, looking as flummoxed as she felt, and made his way to the front amid applause and ladylike murmurs of approval. Louisa stole a glance at the reporters, who were scribbling madly in their notebooks.
As the man reached the podium, Simon seized his hand and shook it vigorously, then turned back to the podium. “We are confident that Mr. Fielden will be a fine asset to the Commons, especially in light of his continued interest in prison reform.” He stepped back. “Would you like to say a few words, sir?”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Mr. Fielden approached the podium. To his credit, he was able to think on his feet, for he gave a short and pithy speech that laid out his progressive aims well.
The whole time, Louisa stood there frozen, her hand crushing Simon’s. Did this mean Simon had come to his senses?
Mr. Fielden finished his speech, then returned to his seat amid enthusiastic applause. Simon drew Louisa back to the podium. “In the past few weeks, I have had the great honor of watching my wife at the helm of this fine organization. In that time, her cause has become my own. That is why I am pleased to announce that, as of today, my good friend Robert Peel has agreed to head up a Parliamentary committee to draft a Gaols Bill.”
A stunned silence fell upon the room. Then the ladies rose as one and burst into thunderous clapping. As Louisa’s knees buckled under the weight of her rampaging emotions, Simon caught her about the waist to steady her.
“Sorry you had to hear it this way, my love,” he murmured. “I meant to tell you before the meeting started, but it has been a day of meetings for me, and I only made it here because I drove the phaeton neck-or-nothing across Hyde Park.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, nothing!” she said giddily. “A Gaols Bill! Do you know how long we’ve pressed for such a thing? I don’t know what you did to accomplish it, but—”
“I will tell you later,” he broke in. “But first we have to finish this.”
He turned back to the podium as the applause began to die, and she stretched up on tiptoe to speak in his ear. “This does mean I don’t have to resign from the London Ladies, doesn’t it?”
He shot her a teasing smile, though his eyes were full of remorse. “And leave them in the lurch now that they are on the brink of achieving their highest goal? What are you thinking, woman?”
Her heart soared. I’m thinking I love you.
Simon faced the crowd. “And now I shall turn the podium back to my wife so she can continue the meeting, since I am not yet officially a member of the London Ladies Society.”
That garnered him some laughs as Louisa stepped to the podium. “I fear that anything else I could say wouldn’t compare to this wonderful news. But before we adjourn, I do want to thank the duke from the bottom of my heart.” She cast him a smile full to the brimming with love. “Because today he has made me proud beyond words to be his wife.” Amid another burst of applause, she adjourned the meeting.
It was nearly an hour before she could get her husband alone. Reporters besieged him with questions, which he answered with his usual aplomb. Meanwhile, she was swamped with Quakers and members of the Society offering her thanks that she felt almost guilty to accept. Simon had convinced Robert Peel to form the committee—she was sure of that.
Then Lady Trusbut pushed her way through to Louisa, her husband following more slowly behind her. “What a victory, my dear, a complete victory!” she crowed. “I cannot wait to tell the girls. Opal will be positively giddy with joy.” She leaned close. “She’s the one who most encouraged my participation in your group, you know. On account of her aversion to cages.”
Louisa laughed. “Then do thank Opal for me.” She squeezed Lady Trusbut’s hand. “Because we are delighted to have your support. You and your husband’s.”
Glancing around for Lord Trusbut, Louisa spotted him standing apart with Simon, engrossed in a secretive conversation. When the two men were done they headed back to their wives, Lord Trusbut smiling broadly enough to split his cheeks.
“Come, my dear,” Lord Trusbut told his wife as they approached, “we must go. I promised Fielden that we’d stop by his house so he and I can discuss strategy.” When Lady Trusbut looked as if she might protest leaving so soon, he added, eyes twinkling, “And Mrs. Fielden keeps parakeets. Three of them.”
That was all it took to have Lady Trusbut chirping her good-byes and taking her husband’s arm. Before Lord Trusbut left, he nodded to Simon. “I shall see you at Westminster Palace tomorrow, to meet with Liverpool, Peel, and Canning.”
Liverpool, Peel, and Canning? Her gaze shot to Simon. That was an odd group, wasn’t it?
Fortunately, Regina was already herding out the stragglers. She paused to blow a kiss at Louisa, then left the ballroom and shut the doors.
At last Louisa and Simon were alone. Her mind awhirl, she asked breathlessly, “What was Lord Trusbut talking about?”
“It is not completely settled yet, but a new government is being formed.”
“Liverpool is resigning?”
“No. Sidmouth and Castlereagh are. Not yet, but soon. They were given no choice.”
She gaped at him. “But that means—”
“I am not going to be prime minister.” He cast her a faint smile. “Not for some time, anyway. I will be Secretary of War in Liverpool’s cabinet. With Peel as Home Secretary and Canning as Foreign Secretary—once we convince the king.”
“B-but how did this happen?”
He related a conversation he’d had with Trusbut and revealed how change had been in the works for some time.
Yet that didn’t explain what she really wanted to know. “And you’re happy about this? Not being prime minister, I mean?”
The smile he shot her looked genuine. “Fine, actually. You were right—I was only trying to prove myself to my grandfather. But if I had sold my soul to Sidmouth and Castlereagh, I would have regretted it all my life. Grandfather Monteith was from a different age, as are they. And I did not belong there.” He took her hand in his. “I belong here. With you.”
Hope swelled in her chest. “What changed your mind?”
“You have to ask?” he said hoarsely. “Yes, I suppose you do.” He caressed her hand. “It was several things, actually. For one, I found Uncle Tobias’s marriage certificate among Grandmother’s papers. Along with this letter.”
Stunned, she watched as he drew a sheet with charred edges out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. She read it quickly. Addressed to Simon’s grandmother, it began with his uncle’s account of how he came to be dying.
But it was the last two paragraphs that made her heart catch in her throat:
I am sending this in hopes that you can prevail upon Father to do what is right by my dear wife and infant son. As my legitimate heirs, they should receive any inheritance due to them upon my death.
I know Father does not understand my choice of wife, but that is because he fears love too much to embrace it himself. Instead he takes his cold comfort from his accomplishments. But tell him I die content, knowing that for however brief a period, I have had the best thing a man can ask for in this fickle world—someone to love.
Your faithful son,
Tobias Hunt
Tears stung her eyes as she handed the letter back to Simon.
He took it and said in a choked voice, “It appears that Grandmother did try to prevail upon Grandfather, and he tossed the documents in the fire. She must have rescued them and kept them all these years.”
“You can imagine what I felt when I read this. It hammered into my brain what you’d said. And I knew without a doubt that I would be well on my way to becoming my grandfather if not for you.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “I don’t believe that. I always had faith that you could be a better man if you chose.”
“And your words have tormented my conscience ever since you spoke them.” He lifted her hand to his lips, then kissed it. “That is what really changed my mind. That, and the fear of losing you.”
“You wouldn’t have lost me.”
“No? You have too much integrity to live with a man who has none. And I could not have endured watching the woman I love lose her respect for me, ‘compromise by compromise by compromise.’”
His echo of her words touched her heart. Then the rest of what he said registered. “The woman you love?” Tears of happiness clogged her throat.
He drew her into his arms, his eyes so tender it made her chest hurt. “I do love you. I think I’ve loved you for years. But I was terrified of it, as you said—terrified that loving you would mean Grandfather was right about my being a slave to my passions. He probably was right—and I don’t care. Because you are ‘the best thing a man can ask for.’”
He kissed her then, with the sort of soft, sweet affection that fed a woman’s starving soul. When at last he drew back, she understood why poets spoke of hearts bursting for joy. Because surely hers would split its seams any minute.
“Come, sweetheart, let’s go home,” he said.
She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Is that a request? Or a command?”
His eyes gleamed at her as he led her to the door. “What do you think?”
“I think…” she said, giddy with happiness, “it’s a good thing you didn’t marry me seven years ago. I’m not sure I could have handled you then.”
The tigerish glance he gave her set her blood to thrumming. “And you think you can handle me now?”
“No.” When he laughed, she added, “But I shall certainly enjoy trying.”
Epilogue
Dear Cousin,
My friend went into her confinement at Foxmoor House rather than her husband’s estate. She did not want to be away while Parliament was in session, and I gather the duke did not want her away, either. Isn’t that sweet? She says he is planning a christening party to rival the king’s coronation celebration. I fear she is only half joking.
Your cousin,
Charlotte
Simon paced the hall outside his wife’s bedchamber. Raji paced right beside him. Neither one was happy.
“The screaming has stopped, at least,” Simon muttered to Raji. His wife’s screaming and his pet’s. He should have banished Raji to his study, the way Louisa had banished Simon to the hallway. But he needed the company.
“Damned doctors,” Simon told Raji. “She just had to have the prison doctor to deliver our child. She couldn’t let my own capable physician attend her. Oh no. Only the man who’d delivered Betsy’s girl would do.”
Raji chattered in answer, then seized Simon’s leg.
“At least my doctor wouldn’t have let her kick me out of the room. All I was doing was begging the man to stop her pain. What’s wrong with that?” Simon picked the rascal up, needing something to keep his hands busy so he didn’t put a fist through a wall. “She said I made her anxious. Her? She’s bloody well killing me! It’s been fourteen damned hours. How long does it take to have a baby, anyway?”
The door opened and the doctor emerged, beaming from ear to ear. “You have a fine and healthy son, Your Grace.”
Simon caught his breath, clutching Raji so tightly, the poor devil protested. “And Louisa? Is she…?”
“She’s doing well. Tired, but that’s to be expected.”
Tears sprang to Simon’s eyes. “Thank God.”
He headed for the door, then paused to thrust Raji into the doctor’s hands.
“Wait!” the doctor cried. “What am I to do with him?”
“Just don’t let him come in here, that’s all,” Simon said.
As he entered the room and shut the door firmly behind him, he heard the doctor mutter, “I wasn’t going to, believe me.”
Regina was helping the nurse clean off his son, but Simon had eyes only for his wife, who reclined against the headboard. He’d never seen her look so pale, so drained.
So damned beautiful.
Hurrying to her side, he seized her hand. “We’ll never have another one, I swear. We’ll use sponges and condoms and watch the phases of the moon—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a weak laugh. “We’ll do no such thing.” She cradled his hand against her heart. “It wasn’t so bad, you know.”
“You were screaming! Raji went almost out of his mind to hear it.”
“And you?” she teased.
“I was way beyond out of my mind.” His voice grew hoarse. “I have never heard you scream like that.”
“You’d scream, too, if someone were trying to shove their way out of your belly.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “But given your bedside manner, I believe next time I’ll banish you to a room farther away. In Shropshire, perhaps.”
“That’s not funny,” he grumbled. “I was afraid I’d lose you.”
She cupped his face with a tender smile. “I know. But I wasn’t about to let something so silly as childbirth pangs keep me from spending my life with you.” When Regina came over and laid the babe in Louisa’s
arms, Louisa added, “And our son.”
A lump lodged in Simon’s throat. Their son. It hit him at last. He had a son.
He leaned closer to look at the squirming bundle, at the closed eyes and the cherry of a mouth, then blinked back more tears. “He’s absolute perfect.”
“Of course he is. He’s yours, isn’t he?”
Simon gave a choked laugh, feeling light-headed. He touched the tiny fist, and the little fingers closed about his index finger, holding on with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Now tell me, what happened?” Louisa said eagerly.
“What happened where?” he asked, absorbed in marveling over his son.
“The Gaols Bill! Did it pass the Second Reading?”
Good God, he’d forgotten entirely where he’d been when she’d gone into labor. “Yes, Joan of Arc. It passed. They had just announced it when the servant summoned me home.”
“That means it’s sure to become an Act of Parliament.” She gazed at him, her eyes alight. “Oh, did Mr. Fielden give his speech? The one I wrote for him?”
“Indeed he did, and it was every bit as stirring as the woman who wrote it.” He chucked her under the chin. “You are quite a piece of work. You just bore your first child, and that’s what you’re thinking about?”
“Not only that.” She grinned. “I also want to know the news about your cousin. Regina said the decision about his title was to be made today. I did not expect it so soon—what happened?”
“The king finally upheld one of his promises to me, believe it or not. He hemmed and hawed a bit, but after the way Trusbut and I forced him into changing his cabinet last year, he knew better than to cross me in the matter of Colin’s title. I told him I wanted it done with all due speed and he made sure it was.”
“So?”
“Colin is now officially the Earl of Monteith.” He shot her a mischievous glance. “And my grandfather is now officially turning over in his grave.”
“Good.” She smiled down at their son. “I hope he turns a dozen more times once our boy grows up. Because little John David Henry Augustus is sure to be a far more progressive prime minister than your nasty grandfather ever was.”
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